#he knows his schedule and the government names of everyone he’s ever interacted with

[morsmortish]

evan who intensely stalks barty and barty who finds it hot

[nexility-sims]

𝐍𝐎. 𝟗   ❛ 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 ❜   |   CANARÍS, OCTOBER 1991

❧  𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲  /  𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠  /  𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  /  𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

In Canarís, something shifted. Arnaut perceived it as subtle, and he struggled to name it when he wondered aloud to Lorraine. He danced around it, grasping for meaning in observations, but there was a simple explanation. In his gut, he felt that people had been happy to see him. Their family arrived at the train station as the work week ended, emerging like generations before them to a crowd of locals eager to greet royalty. German and Abelina were becoming accustomed to the rhythm of life in Uspana. It was cause for optimism that the newborns would grow up without the adjustment pains that the rest of the family faced. Just as well, their birth inspired a deluge of good press. Arnaut quickly learned the public more readily embraced him as a father than as someone capable or even destined to lead them. Yet, at the train station, the tenor of their shouts was different. The questions they asked were different. He embraced them, old women and teenagers and grinning toddlers, and they gazed at him with what struck him as new—changed, even—eyes. 

❧ we're back !!!!!!! gonna post the magazine covers separately :^) as a reminder, large text will be below the read-more going forward, for ~readability~

𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 & 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

Such welcomings happened everywhere, but residents of Canarís understood themselves to be reenacting a kind of ceremony when it was their turn. A century after abandoning Canarís, the House of Tecuani remained seemingly divided on where its capital lay. The seat of government was in Nakawe. The ancestral home was in Yaas. Many members preferred in recent decades to live by the sea in Canarís—or to buy second homes, at least. This was where the Hunter went when he descended from the mountains to build the kingdom of Uspana, joining seafaring families whose names were subsumed into the clan they chose to lead them. It was the capital until revolting Uspanians many generations later burned and razed much of it, including the king’s palace. There were no palaces in Canarís anymore. There were still magnificent estates, but everyone politely called them villas or cottages, speaking as if belief alone could render the enduring resplendence quaint and inoffensive. 

It was possible the crowd’s warmth felt so palpable because Arnaut had spent the entire train ride stewing in desperation. This vacation was unearned, he had decided. The Crown positioned holidays as indispensable. Beatriz herself set aside a few days each month to feign relaxation away from the capital; Arnaut held fond memories of those childhood getaways spent in Initizara, surrounded by their ever-expanding family. No one much had the stomach for Initizara these days, but the schedule of vacations remained.

Yet, Arnaut felt anxious. Didn’t it teeter on the dangerous edge of presumptuousness—promising to work hard, to change minds, and then sacrificing time to pleasure instead? He wrote the accusatory headlines in his head. More than just knowing their names, he listened to news commentators enough to conjure up imaginary criticisms in their voices. Should I smile? he wondered. Or would that make it worse, looking sour and ungrateful? They would ask what he had to complain about. They would think, ‘I’d lose my job if I ran off to Canarís for a week!’ Disapproval had a face in his mind. It was an older woman who watched daytime television while her grandchildren played nearby. She was a clan mother. She voted. She used a backstrap loom. She had looked into a television camera and insisted with dismay, ‘People don’t change at forty.’

Still, that was the sense he got as he interacted with the crowd. Some wanted to fawn over him. They said beguiling things about how excited they were to see him, how happy they were he had come to Canarís, how they prayed for him. The mood was distinct. These people were not just eager for photographs and stories to brag about; they hadn’t all joined the crowd amassing at the station for want of afternoon plans. For some of them, enough to matter, Arnaut inspired something positive. He wasn’t an unwanted pretender masquerading as their crown prince. His visit meant something to them because, in an undeniable way, he did. 

Later, he would finally blurt out to Lorraine, ‘I think they were proud of me—really, who knows why or if it’s true, but I believe they were.’

It wasn’t implausible. Arnaut had been hard at work for months, single-minded in his pursuit of improvement. Managing a crowd with charisma had never been an issue for him, but they were too often overcast by a cloud of suspicion and disappointment. On some level, he understood that the smiling faces and enthusiastic waving spoke for themselves and, in reality, his own insecurities were to blame for any misgivings. It was the litany of surveys and polls that shaped his reality, however. He obsessively watched the news, and his head swam with a flood of data pinpointing all the ways the nation found him lacking. It represented the millions of people who didn’t turn out in hopes of having their hand held by a prince for one brief, fleeting moment. Of course, those millions didn’t closely follow his real work, either—weren’t regular readers of tabloid rags like the National Exchange or newspapers of record like Relay. They responded instinctively to what was in the water. If the politicians at Nakawe Palace and the reporters who circled it and the royal family’s true fans found him lacking, the distaste became unimpeachable truth. It was truth to the faceless millions, and it was truth to him.

Lately, he had begun to feel like there was less blood in the water. 

They were joining Martin in Canarís, and the two families spent the time frolicking on the beach and dining under the stars. When they went out onto the water together, Martin confirmed Arnaut’s hunch. He suggested in his characteristic brusque way that Arnaut wasn’t as much of a laughable embarrassment as he had been that spring. Martin's wife was frail and almost a stranger, but she laughed heartily and smacked Arnaut’s arm after teasing out the admission that, yes, he was finally feeling likable. She was kind and likable herself, and her slow but steady decline was one of two dark spots on the vacation.

One morning, Arnaut found Martin out on the deck with remnants of breakfast and pages of print news splayed on the table. He only glance at them long enough to register what they were and remarked, “I thought we weren’t reading the news here,” as he sank down into an open seat. 

Martin’s nose was in a copy of the Fiscal Register. He replied without looking up, “Not really news, is it?” 

Examining the pages, a series of similar headlines grabbed Arnaut’s attention. He slid one of the papers, reorienting it in his direction, and absorbed the cover story with wide eyes. It wasn’t unusual to see Leonor on the front page of tabloids. She had become an exciting subject, and the loyal pack of photographers that trailed her around Nakawe ensured a steady supply of intriguing, occasionally outrageous, exploitable pictures. Arnaut remembered those days. Or, he remembered something akin to what her life was now, so limitless and delicious as to be out of control, with the crucial distinction that the press felt less hungry in his memories. His bad stories came from trustworthy leaks given to reputable journalists, not from candid photographs that spoke—screamed, really—for themselves. He had also never found himself in the mess Leonor appeared to have fallen into almost overnight. These covers offered grainy but unmistakable pictures of her, and Arnaut didn’t need to believe the sensational headlines and captions to be troubled by what the images suggested. 

“Did you see this?” he demanded of Martin, his tone incredulous. He flipped the paper around and pointed at the picture dominating the page. 

Martin lowered his paper. “Obviously. These aren’t here to be decorative.” 

Slowly, Arnaut blinked. “Is that it?” he asked. “You don’t—what, really, no thoughts? It’s shocking, isn’t it? Does anyone know—they do, they must, but what are we doing?” 

He might have continued with this attempt to process the news aloud, but Martin interrupted him. “We’re not doing anything.”

“Aren’t you concerned?” 

Martin shrugged. “It’s a little dramatic, huh?” 

“Is it?” Arnaut shuffled the papers together and read from them. “‘Princess L’s Big Plunge—Almost,’ ‘“Wanted to End It All,” Friend Says,’ 'Drug-Induced Psychosis? Our Expert Speaks on Page 3—’” Arnaut huffed. “I mean, look!”

“We’d know if it was that serious,” Martin replied, untroubled. “You see her all the time, don’t you? Either you can’t be that surprised or it’s all nonsense. You tell me.” 

At this, Arnaut frowned. It was a stretch to say they saw each other that frequently. Leonor’s preference was to behave like coworkers, not like relatives and certainly not like people who had always been bound together by deep love for the same remarkable person. Her hours were erratic at best, but it was difficult to complain when no one else did. The people on their team knew her; she had been gifted their unshakeable trust at birth, it seemed, and he struggled with envy for that. When she jeopardized the infallibility of that trust, she would do something to shore it up—impeccable contributions on the policy front, experience-informed insight in a meeting, effortlessly leveraging valuable connections that Arnaut still bumbled his way through. She was living a double life of sorts, so was the problem that she did it too well?

“Maybe she’s fine,” he ventured, folding his arms on the table. Martin had set aside the Fiscal Register and was looking at the papers Arnaut had reorganized. As he did, Arnaut continued, “You know, she looks thinner, but she seems better? I suppose it seemed inappropriate to comment on that kind of thing—everyone else does, so why would I? Someone would say, if she wasn’t healthy. And, she’s there, she’s present, except for when she’s literally not there, which, frankly, is often, but—” At this, Martin snickered. “Even if she’s not actually—uh, what would you say?” 

“A drug addict?” Martin offered, grinning.

Arnaut groaned. “Right, okay. Even if she's not doing that badly, then ... She's going to get in trouble for this. I haven't talked to Mama lately, but—”

Martin sat back in his chair. “Oh,” he said, making a show of the pause in a way Arnaut found obnoxious. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“What?” Arnaut retorted. “Don’t be an asshole.” 

“Well!” Martin exclaimed, raising his hands. “Look, it’s a mistake to think that this isn’t ... part of the plan.”

“Plan?”

Looking solemn, Martin nodded. “You know Mama reads the tabloids every day. She’s worse than anyone. I think she likes getting mad, or maybe she just likes the gossip that much—” Arnaut waved a hand, and Martin sniffed. “Anyway, she knows what’s going on. Absolutely. I guarantee she knew about this story before either of us did.” 

Their mother was a voracious consumer of lurid slop, Arnaut knew. It was a hobby of hers in the same way other people read literature or advice columns. Copies were delivered nightly, and she read them alongside her stack of briefs and letters. Broadly, she was part of their target audience. Uspana’s gossip rags, especially those with an emphasis on royalty, targeted women of a certain age who had grown up alongside Beatriz, who felt empowered by her unprecedented reign, and who saw themselves as equivalent matriarchs in their own communities. They were gatekeepers. They dispensed advice. They protected order, tradition, and the future itself. In all gossip, they found tools to aid their missions, whether it was identifying local problems or raising new national specters to be exercised from their communities. On a baser level, one that was just as real for Beatriz, witnessing other people’s private messes spilled in public gave them an enjoyable reprieve from cleaning up those that were their responsibilities. 

Arnaut nodded. “But ... This is a problem, Martin. It looks terrible for all of us, and Leonor is—she’s official, not someone on the sidelines.”

To Arnaut’s surprise, this elicited a knowing smirk from Martin. He nodded and said, “That’s right. Think about it, okay? I know this isn’t your strong suit, but there’s a logic here. It’s a simple idea. Give someone enough rope, and they’ll hang themselves, eh?” Martin mimed the tug of a noose, sticking his tongue out. Arnaut winced as he asked, “Does that ring a bell?”

It did, but it wasn’t clarifying. Arnaut frowned. “I don’t ... Why would that be helpful?” 

Martin shrugged. “Mama’s from the old way. Competition? Neutralize it.”

“What?” Realization dawned on Arnaut as Martin sat staring at him, pleased with himself, and he struggled to beat it back. It was the kind of awareness he didn’t want to have, that would be a burden on his heart, but Martin was determined he have it. 

“What? What!” Martin laughed, mocking, before concluding, “It makes you look better. If our little niece is out ruining herself, less people are going to be daydreaming about the alternate universe where she does a Beatriz and—”

Arnaut held up his hands. “Alright, I get it. That’s horrible.”

“That’s Mama,” Martin quipped. “But, you know—”  

Perhaps as no coincidence, Lorraine and German appeared in the doorway behind Martin’s shoulder. She offered a greeting, and Martin waved before picking up his paper again. The conversation was over. Arnaut looked up at her with gratitude in his eyes, and German leapt over on cue with a large kite in his hands. 

“Can we go?” he asked, looking briefly at his uncle before tugging Arnaut’s hand. “The wind is perfect, and Julian is saying I don’t have the right ‘energy’ for flying kites. I don’t even know what that means. They’re not alive, are they?” 

Arnaut chuckled and stood up. “Let’s go find out, huh?”

TRANSCRIPT:

[Crowd clamoring]

ARNAUT | I thought we weren’t reading the news here. MARTIN | Not really news, is it? ARNAUT | Did you see this? MARTIN | Obviously. These aren't here to be decorative.

ARNAUT | Is that it? You don’t—what, really, no thoughts? It’s shocking, isn’t it? Does anyone know—they do, they must, but what are we doing? MARTIN | We're not doing anything. ARNAUT | Aren't you concerned? MARTIN | It's a little dramatic, huh?

ARNAUT | Is it? "Princess L’s Big Plunge—Almost," "'Wanted to End It All,' Friend Says," "Drug-Induced Psychosis? Our Expert Speaks on Page 3—”

ARNAUT | [huffs] I mean, look! MARTIN | You see her all the time, don't you? Either you can't be that surprised or it's all nonsense. You tell me.

ARNAUT | Maybe she's fine. You know, she looks thinner, but she seems better? I suppose it seemed inappropriate to comment on that kind of thing—everyone else does, so why would I? Someone would say, if she wasn’t healthy. And, she’s there, she’s present, except for when she’s literally not there, which, frankly, is often, but— [Martin snickers]

ARNAUT | Even if she’s not actually—uh, what would you say? MARTIN | A drug addict?

ARNAUT | Right, okay. Even if she's not doing that badly, then … She's going to get in trouble for this. I haven't talked to Mama lately, but—

MARTIN | Oh. You don't get it, do you? ARNAUT | What? Don't be an asshole.

MARTIN | Look, it's a mistake to think that this isn't … part of the plan. ARNAUT | Plan? MARTIN | You know Mama reads the tabloids every day. She’s worse than anyone. I think she likes getting mad, or maybe she just likes the gossip that much—Anyway, she knows what’s going on. Absolutely. I guarantee she knew about this story before either of us did.

ARNAUT | But … This is a problem, Martin. It looks terrible for all of us, and Leonor is—she’s official, not someone on the sidelines.

MARTIN | That’s right. Think about it, okay? I know this isn’t your strong suit, but there’s a logic here. It’s a simple idea. Give someone enough rope, and they’ll hang themselves, eh? Does that ring a bell?

ARNAUT | I don't … Why would that be helpful? MARTIN | Mama's from the old way. Competition? Neutralize it. ARNAUT | What? MARTIN | “What? What!” [laughs] It makes you look better. If our little niece is out ruining herself, less people are going to be daydreaming about the alternate universe where she does a Beatriz and—

ARNAUT | I don't … Alright, I get it. That's horrible.

MARTIN | That's Mama. But, you know—

[e1igius]

there's lines that are meant to remain uncrossed , as in , things that are meant to be kept secret. relationships between people was one of those things , huckleberry had long accepted that he was no one to everyone he meant. that his presence in the lives of his so called friends was nothing more than a hole for them counteract the boredom that would otherwise fill an empty void in their current schedule. he is not the first choice for any of the people he interacts with , though he understands he shouldn't be ( or the understanding is supposed to exist - though huckleberry himself lacks in comprehending his own logic at times ). he's a convenience , a usefull tool , and at times , a fun time. and nothing more. and while he enjoys being that for most people... eventually , it gets lonely.

it's why prickles , the little cactus that sits on his kitchen island , is the only thing he turely calls a friend. everyone else , is just people he knows. after all. how long he's going to be allowed to be in their lives is an ever changing cause of the government's leniency , or whenever they get bored of him. the two blondes hadn't really done anything that day... all he remembers is helping her with some groceries and then decapitating a dude. and somehow they'd ended up in the bed of his truck again ( which they seem to end up in quite often if he's being perfectly honest ). he has blankets thrown over the pair off them as they sit in some abandoned parking lot at three in the morning , and everything seems up to par , chowing down on some jack in the box , when... she speaks.

the i love you gets caught up between confused thoughts. eyes brighten with a flush of confusion , blue dancing across to meet hers. staring , he hasn't heard those words in years. let alone... believe them. the last time someone had said those words , he was sitting in the field , a pair of large brown eyes bright with adrenaline staring back at him. ramirez had last said the words to him , he missed that boy every day of his life. often blamed himself for the death of his best friend. it was horrible , to think that one one form this original squad of men had managed to make it much further in life. if they weren't stuck in the corps , they were dead or ( as huck would often say jokingly ) a dead-man walking. huckleberry had made it out so to speak , in all senses of what they'd talked about while he was still in and yet. without ramirez , it had felt that the real huckleberry had died that very same day.

so maybe that's why he doesn't say it back , he can't not really , he's never told anyone that he loves them after that point in time. and yet. he can't. maybe it's because he doesn't. he doesn't love anyone or anything in this world anymore. not even himself , but as he stares at julie it feels wrong to tell her that after the confession. so he sits up a little straighter. and takes her hands in his own , tracing a circle around her palms as the sit face up in his hands. ��� oh jules , ❞ his voice is soft and kind , but not sweet or caring , as if he's already ripped of the bandage he's starting to pry at. ❝ you don't love me , you don't even know my middle name. you love some twisted idea of me. and that ain't right dalrin' , it ain't good for you to be fixing up some idea in your head like that. ❞

yeah that sounded much better. than , i don't love you. ( not like that ).

@ripjulie sent "...I love you."

[nationalharryleague]

Diplomacy

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers Royal AU 

Word count: 12K (I may have gotten carried away) 

Warnings: Parental Death, an American writing about monarchies she doesn’t understand 

A/N: Hi everyone! I have been working on this one for a while and it’s by far the longest thing I’ve ever written and I am so proud of it (please be nice)!! I also made a Pinterest board with all the outfits from this if you want to check it out here!! SO SO SO much love to @meetmymouth​ @bfharry​ and @hardcandy-harry​ for helping me out when I needed it and being the most wonderful people in general :) As always, thank you so so much for reading!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist and feedback/reblogs mean the world!!! 

****

Y/N knew from the day she could understand the concept of marriage that she would one day be married to the little prince with wild brown curls her mother always forced her to play with. She still vividly remembered the first time he told her that she was ugly and that he hated her. She was only five years old at the time.

Fortunately, she hated him just as much as he hated her. He was rude, somehow always sticky, and seemed to have no filter or manners, letting every nasty thing he could think of fall past his lips in daggers aimed at his future wife.

As they grew older, their animosity only grew, from petty to school yard quarrels to attacks on their personalities and who they were as people. Despite her pleas to her mother to be sent to a different boarding school than the one he was already attending, she was shipped off.

She studied judiciously, what was expected of every future queen, while she watched Harry meander through his schooling. He never seemed to listen in class, never studied, and seemed to only care about football and girls. She watched with jealousy and contempt as he flirted with every girl at their school, every girl except the one he knew he was to marry; while every boy in the school knew Y/N was off limits, direct orders from the crown.

It made her uncomfortable how much she disliked him. She was not a hateful person, having been trained well to treat everyone with dignity and respect, she was a princess after all. But something about Harry just got under her skin. She barely was able to control the instinctive eye roll whenever his name was mentioned and she often pretended to gag when discussing him with her friends, especially when one of them would inevitably call him ‘dreamy.’

The happiest day of her life was the day she watched him graduate, knowing she had been awarded years of peace without having to listen to his taunts or watch him flirt with everything that breathed. During those years, she flourished. She grew from a timid girl in line for power to a confident young woman preparing for the crown. She knew her country through and through, her constitution front to back, and had even begun studying Harry’s country as well. Whether she liked it or not, she knew she would have to pick up his slack in governing his kingdom eventually, she might as well be good at it.

Four more years of education at Cambridge, brought four more years of growth and being free from Harry, but the deal she had made with her mother was quickly coming to a close. As soon as she finished her education, their engagement would be made official and wedding planning would commence. While she was tempted to beg for some sort of delay or escape, she understood this was her duty. She owed this to her people, and soon to Harry’s as well; her mother was counting on her.

For the first time in too many years, she stood inside her former and future home. She remembered running through the halls of the massive palace under the ornate ceilings that now hung above her again; reality was sinking in. Through the massive wooden doors that sat in front of her, she knew her fate awaited; a fate named Harry. With a deep breath she steeled herself and smoothed the blush pink lace skirt of her dress, preparing to see the face that had haunted her for so long.

The first thing she noticed was the playful smirk that she associated so closely with his taunts from when they were children. It was the smirk that made her stomach drop; she could only imagine the nasty things that could come past those lips now. He had years to practice.

He stood confidently next to her mother, who had a bright and triumphant grin on her face. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored forest green suit, decorated with his coat of arms pin on the lapel. She wished for the vibrance of his green eyes to lessen but the tone of his suit only made them more intense than she had remembered.

“Harry,” she breathed, as diplomatically and with as much confidence as she could muster. “It’s good to see you,” she lied, reaching her hand out for him to kiss in the antiquated custom that always made her deeply uncomfortable. He delicately grasped her hand and slowly brought it to his blushed lips, the kiss lingering longer than what could have been considered friendly. His snake-like eyes locked with hers, still containing the mischievous glint she had nightmares about. She couldn’t help but notice the hysterically hopeful smile on her mother’s face as she watched them interact.

“It’s always a pleasure, your highness,” he hummed. He must have remembered how uncomfortable that title made her. She was honestly impressed at how he managed to lie and antagonize her in the first sentence he had said to her in over six years.

“Please call me Y/N,” she instructed as politely as possible.

“As you wish,” he said with a conniving smirk on his face. She had been with him no more than two minutes and she already wanted to run for her life. But this wasn’t about her, her country would need a leader soon, and unfortunately, that had to be her.

Her mother rushed over excitedly between the two, breaking the contemptuous silence that had built between them. “Oh children, it’s so nice to see you two back together again. I remember when you used to play when you were little. Always teasing, like you had the biggest crushes on each other.” ‘Teasing’ is a nice way to refer to torture, Y/N thought to herself, never daring to verbalize a thought like that.

“We did always have fun didn’t we, Y/N?” Harry asked her, a thin glaze of politeness coating his malice.

“Oh yes, we did. I still have a scar on my thigh from when you pushed me off the monkey bars.” Her tone was tight lipped and curt, her politeness beginning to give way to the verbal lashing she was dreaming of giving him.

“You’ll have to show me sometime.”

Y/N’s jaw nearly hit the ground. She knew he was a dirty good for nothing flirt, but in front of her mother? If her mother hadn't gently grasped both of their hands, she would have stomped out of the room. Her mother’s gentle touch brought her mind back to what this was all about once again.

“Harry is going to be staying with us from now on,” her mother interjected, clearly sensing the animosity between them. “Oh, and I nearly forgot! Harry, I believe you have something for Y/N, correct?”

“Of course.” He flashed his charming smiles at her poor mother, “How could I have forgotten about that?”

She watched him intently as he reached for the pocket inside his suit jacket, pulling out a small indigo colored velvet box. He opened the box with delicate hands to reveal one of the most gorgeous engagement rings Y/N had ever seen. A deep green emerald sat inside a ring of crystal clear diamond florets, all placed meticulously with care into a gold setting, the color of the velvet intensifying the emerald stone. “It was my grandmother’s,” he spoke softly, the first time she had ever heard him speak with any emotion or genuine feeling. “Before she died, she said she wanted you to have it. She was the mastermind of this arrangement afterall,” he said with a slight chuckle. “For formality’s sake,” he began with a sigh, “will you marry me?”

No, passed through Y/N’s head, but “Yes” fell from her lips. While her heart broke for herself and any chance she had of finding true love, the smile and happy tears in her mother’s eyes reminded her why she was doing all of this. She needs me to do this, Y/N thought to herself, my country is going to need a leader.

Their engagement was announced later that day by royal decree and their wedding was scheduled for the next month. There was no going back now.

The palace was in a flurry of planning and plotting for the big day. Y/N was rushed from meeting to meeting, instructed to make decisions about everything and anything she wanted for the wedding. She stared at floral arrangements until her eyes hurt and flipped through magazines looking at bridesmaid and flower girl dresses until her fingers felt like they were about to fall off. Unsurprisingly to Y/N, Harry was there for almost none of it. Although, she wasn’t exactly complaining about his absence.

He only surfaced when food or his suit was involved. In one vile incident, he arrived at the cake tasting with a wad of gum in his mouth, which was not only strictly prohibited for royals because it could be perceived as being too casual, but Y/N almost called off the entire wedding when she watched him stick chewed bubble gum to the bottom of a 200 year old handcrafted dining table.

“Were you raised by wolves?” she asked through gritted teeth while scolding him and desperately trying to remove the mess.

“Nannies, actually.” She knew by the smirk on his face that he wasn’t done with whatever antagonistic taunts that were planned to fall from his lips. “I’m pretty wild in the bedroom too, wifey.”

His crude comments were meant to hurt her and make her uncomfortable. He knew from their time in school together that she was constantly watched and kept far away from the gaze of any peaking boys, shining a spotlight on the massive double standard between the pair of future rulers. She wore a cloak of inexperience and innocence given to her against her will that embarrassed her to no end, and he knew that the easiest way to pinken her cheeks was to mention sex in any way. He aimed to fluster the poor girl and he got away with it anytime he flashed his dimples in a devilish smirk.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed red in embarrassment and furry before she got up from the table and stormed out of the room, muttering “pick whatever fucking cake you want,” before flying down the hallway to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her.

She felt frustrated tears pricking at her eyes as she slid down the back of the heavy wooden door to the floor below her. She let the fabric of her once perfectly steamed dress crumple beneath her and before she let the floodgates of tears open, she looked down at the dainty silver watch that sat on her wrist. You have five minutes until your appointment with the dressmaker, she thought to herself. Three minutes to cry, two minutes to change into a new dress and fix your makeup.

For three minutes, she let all her anger, frustration, and heartbreak fall out of her in loud sobs that anyone on the other side of the door was sure to hear. For three minutes, she let herself feel every angry emotion she had ever felt towards Harry. For three minutes, she didn’t care about her country or her mother needing this wedding. For three minutes, she didn’t care about anything other than her hurt. But only for three minutes.

Then she wiped the tears away, picked herself up off the floor, dressed herself in her favorite navy blue dress, fixed her mascara, and pressed a cool cloth on her cheeks to quell their angry heat. And then she went to see the dressmaker.

The only joy Y/N got out of this whole ordeal was getting to see her dressmaker, Agnes. Agnes was a kind and quiet old woman who was one of the most talented people she had ever met. The pair would sit together for hours discussing styles, the only time her schedule allowed her to relax, and the woman was in the middle of crafting the gown of  Y/N’s dreams. It was a lace long sleeved gown with a cathedral length train. The top portion of the lace was sheer, making a strapless neckline visible, before the delicately crafted lace moved crawled up Y/N’s neck into a high collar neckline. It was reserved, but elegant and unique; “just like you,” Agnes once said.

The first time Y/N was able to try the dress on was bittersweet. The dress was stunning and it made her feel like the princess she was, but she did shed a tear thinking about how this moment was tainted with Harry. She wouldn’t be wearing this dress while walking down the aisle to marry the love of her life, she was marrying someone she would consider an enemy.

She bowed down reverently when her mother placed a veil and tiara on her head. The tiara was encrusted with diamonds and speckled with emeralds that happened to match her engagement ring. The tiara was an heirloom and every woman in her family had worn it while getting married for the last two hundred years.

Her mother wept softly before her, a proud smile on her lips. “I’m so happy I get to see you in the wedding tiara before I go, sweetheart,” she said leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “I know you and Harry aren’t always a perfect pair and neither were your father and I, but we made you.” The queen’s eyes flashed over her face trying to take her in, “And you turned out to be my proudest achievement and the savior of a nation.”

“Thank you, Mama.” She hadn’t called her mother by that name since she was a young girl but it just felt right at that moment. She felt like a child, needing someone to take care of her while she waited for a country to fall on her shoulders.

“I will always guide you through whatever I can,” she said tenderly. “Even when I’m not here, I will always be with you.” Y/N watched as her mother’s eyes welled with more tears, excusing herself quickly before they grew more intense.

Not more than five minutes later, she heard the obnoxious whistling that she had begun to hear in her nightmares from down the hall. What she didn’t expect was for Harry to burst through the door, not only interrupting her fitting, but seeing the dress before the wedding day.

Like all members of traditional royal families, Y/N was extremely superstitious. Her heart immediately broke as she watched his eyes look her up and down, like there was a little piece of her that thought if they did everything right and didn’t break any traditional rules, maybe they would work out. What hurt her even more was that he didn’t even try to leave. He just sat down on a chair, smacking his gum, and stared at her like he was doing nothing wrong. Her eyes were still filled with tears from the emotional moment with her mother and they continued to flow, no longer out of love, but out of anger and frustration.

“Agnes,” Y/N finally spoke, voice cracking as she tried to hold back her tears, “will you excuse us for a moment?”

“Yes, your highness,” Agnes took delicate steps backwards like she was expecting a bomb to go off, before turning around and scurrying out of the room. Her instincts were correct, because at that moment, Y/N exploded.

“What did I ever do to you Harry?” she questioned angrily. “Why are you so determined to absolutely ruin my life? It’s bad enough that I am having an arranged marriage, not even one that I have the tiniest bit of say in.” She watched Harry’s eyes grow wide, like he had never expected her to stand up to him. “I have spent my entire life being watched and guarded, and avoided by every man I’ve ever gotten close to because I was already claimed by someone who wanted nothing to do with me.” She couldn’t remember the last time she had raised her voice like this at someone; she wasn’t sure if she ever had before. “You can’t even pretend that you like me or that we won't be miserable for our entire lives.”

“Y/N, I don’t want this either,” he spoke after a moment of silence, the quiet only broken by Y/N’s heaving breath. “Why can’t you just calm down?”

“Why can’t I calm down?” she repeated. “Maybe because my country is looking to me to become it’s queen. I can’t give myself to my people when I am worrying about you and your incompetence. You may not become king in your country for another 30 years; you have time to learn and grow into a ruler because you’re in my monarchy and you get to learn here first. You’re playing king with my people. Millions of people rely on us the second I am crowned and you act like your irresponsibility doesn’t have far reaching consequences.”

“I’ll be perfectly fine,” he spat back at her, rolling his eyes with his arms crossed in front of himself as he sat back in the chair. “I can’t believe I have to marry you and into this family.”

Y/N felt like she had been punched in the gut. She was stuck with this man for the rest of her life and here he was, disrespecting her, her people, and her family. “Get out,” she said under her breath. When he didn’t move from his seat, she began to yell once again, “Get out! I mean it!” She dropped her voice once again, and spoke more seriously than she ever had before. “I have never hated anymore more than I hate you, Harry. I am doing all of this because I love my country and my people, but I want you to know, I will never be happy because of you.”

For a moment, through her tears, it looked like he had been hurt because of her words, but he was gone from the room before she could confirm it.

She fell to her knees on the dress platform, surrounded by the piles of pure white fabric. She was a perfectly dressed ball of furry and sobs, angry at the world and her predicament. Leaning over and putting her head in her hands, she felt the tiara as it began to slip off her head, falling into her lap.

Y/N picked up the tiara, using gentle reverent hands, examining it closely. The tiara represented the monarchy and every female ruler in her family that had come before her. It shined and dazzled in the bright lights of the room, its crystal clear and emerald stones reflecting multi colored light onto the crisp white of the dress below her. “I’m doing this for you,” she whispered quietly to the tiara like it could answer, tears still silently rolling down her face.

***

They didn’t speak again for almost a week. They communicated solely through their royal secretaries, sending the poor men back and forth with angry messages, almost gossiping about what was happening with each member of the pair when they returned to the sender. Y/N hated Harry, Harry hated Y/N; the same sentiment sent back and forth over and over. The two were driving fast towards a brick wall, and the brick wall was their wedding.

When she woke up one morning about a week before their nuptials, there was a small envelope sitting on the ground like it had been slid underneath her bedroom door. We have to talk, was all it read. It was not lost on her that the stationary had a small olive branch illustrated onto the page.

Later that afternoon, they met in the garden. It felt like a neutral place to talk, the palace obviously being her territory. She had worn a casual flowing white dress, like she was raising a white flag; and she carefully walked with a mug of black coffee, a peace offering of sorts, careful not to get any of the dark liquid on the fabric of her dress.

She found him along a bed of purple Hyacinths, their sweet perfume enveloping them both, sitting on the soft ground dressed in the most casual clothes she had ever seen him in. He was wearing a simple lilac button up and a pair of jeans. He seemed more approachable this way, without the tailoring and the coat of arms that always sat on his lapel. The golden highlights in his curls came out in the sun and his tanned skin seemed to glow. He held a rose colored leather bound notebook in his hands.

“Hi,” she said softly, a sharp contrast to her screaming the last time they spoke. “I brought you a coffee. The nice ladies in the kitchen say you take it black.” The corners of his mouth turned up slightly and he gave her a friendly but unenthusiastic smile.

“Thank you,” he breathed, as she handed him the hot mug.

“Can I sit?”

“I’m not in charge of you,” he mumbled into the cup taking a sip. It wasn’t until she noticed how his eyebrow shot up and how his eyes had a playful gleam in them, that her offence washed away. “Of course, you can sit down.”

“What’s the book for?” she asked gently once she settled on the ground a safe distance away from him. She decided a few grass stains were worth being on speaking terms with the man she was supposed to marry.

“Um, it’s actually for you.” He reached over and placed the book in her hands. She ran her hands over her initials that had been embossed onto the leather cover. “I’ve been meaning to give it to you for a while,” he said quietly, “I remember you used to write a lot when we were in school together. I thought you would like it.” She felt a confusing mixture of thankfulness for the book, guilt for her outburst, and all the frustration that she still held towards him.

“Thank you, Harry. That was really thoughtful of you.”

A silence hung among them, neither of them sure of the next steps this conversation had to take.

“Can we talk?” Harry asked, finally breaking the tension between the pair.

“Yes, please,” she answered just as quickly as he had asked.

“I wanted to apologize for interrupting your fitting like that. I didn’t know all the traditions meant so much to you and I never meant to make you so upset.” She had never heard Harry apologize before, to anyone else, and definitely not to her.

Before that moment, she had always thought of him as an impenetrable force, wondering if there even was a soul or a conscience in his body. But here he was, vulnerability and all, offering an olive branch and an apology.

“Thank you,” she said cautiously, wading into the almost friendly waters she had never been in with him. “I’m sorry for screaming at you like that. I said some very hurtful things to you.”

“So have I.”

“I want you to know that I don’t hate you and I shouldn’t have said I did. But, I don’t necessarily like you either, Harry,” she said, deciding now was the time they needed to open the line of communication. One of them would eventually combust if they continued on with their hatred like this. “You have tortured me since we were little kids and it’s going to take me some time for me to get over that.” She watched as he nodded his head along with her words, seeming to listen intently.

“I feel like that is also something I should apologize for. No offence, but I didn’t want to get married to you either- still don’t, but I was much more of a dick about it then,” he let out a light laugh, flashing one of his famous dimples before releasing a sigh. “I took out not having control of my life out on you and I’m sorry.” She never thought she would receive validation for all the hurt he put her through for so long.

“Listen, we are getting married as part of a diplomatic partnership,” she began, “I feel like we should at least act diplomatic towards each other.”

“Does that mean that we have to be friends?”

“Definitely not. Just not enemies.”

“I think I can do that, wifey.”

***

The next week passed in a surprisingly civil blur for them both. Y/N was still in the throws of getting ready for a wedding and Harry was off doing whatever Harry usually did. She didn’t expect him to be doing much but she was just glad he was out of her hair. But when they did run into each other, usually at some sort of meeting surrounding the menu, they had a new found respect for the other.

The pair hadn’t been fighting which was nice for a change, even though it did raise some eyebrows in both of their staff. At her final dress fitting two days before the wedding Agnes had asked her if she was ready to be a married woman. “Absolutely not,” Y/N had laughed, “but it’s my responsibility to my people and my country. I have lived the most privileged life imaginable up until this point, it’s time for me to begin my duties.”

“You’re a good girl, your highness. You’re going to make a great queen when the time comes. Even with a husband you may have to wrangle sometimes.” She ended her compliments with a giggle as she zipped Y/N into the dress, and she felt her heart warm. Agnes placed the final touches of the veil and tiara on top of her head, giving her a nod of permission to finally look at herself in the mirror.

The dress fit her like a glove. The delicate lace ran the expanse of the dress, starting at the very back of her immensely long train and crawling its way all the way to Y/N’s throat, and the fitted top half gave way to a full ball gown skirt. Y/N’s eyes followed the intricate lace patterns down her arm, eyes eventually landing on her hand and the ring that sat upon it. For the first time since it had begun to sit on her ring finger, she didn’t want to throw it across the room in frustration. It really was gorgeous and the tiny inkling of respect she had for Harry now made it much less painful to look at.

Staring at the mirror, she noticed the blurring of her vision and the wetness on her cheeks.

“I really am getting married, aren’t I?” she asked with a disbelieving laugh.

“Yes you are, your highness.” Agnes looked up at her through her thick lensed glasses with a proud smile on her face. “Now, let’s get you out of this contraption so you can go rest up for the big day.” Anges’ skilled hands freed Y/N from the beautiful layers of fabric and tulle and sent her on her way back to her bedroom.

Y/N was finally almost asleep in the early hours of the morning when she heard a gentle and almost timid knock on her door. She could have ignored it, rolled back over and let her dreams take her, but for some reason it felt important for her to get out of  bed and answer the door. Her bare feet hit the cold wood floors and she tip-toed her way to the door.

When she grabbed the knob to open it, she heard a familiar voice say “don’t open the door! I don’t think I’m supposed to see you,” in a hurried and hushed tone.  

“Harry?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” His voice was gravelly with exhaustion and had an apprehensive, almost nervous quality she had never heard from him before.

“Why are you here?”

“I just wanted to talk to you.” He said it so softly she wouldn’t have been able to hear him if her ear wasn’t pressed up against the doorway. The sentiment brought a smile to her lips and she wasn’t completely sure why. She was quiet for a moment, deciding if she wanted to turn him away or not when she heard him sarcastically ask, “What? I’m not allowed to talk to my wife?”

“I’m not your wife yet,” she reminded him with a tired chuckle. “But we can talk,” she assured him. “I’m going to sit down, okay? My legs are tired from my heels all day.” She kneeled down and leaned herself up against the hard wooden door.

She had been in this same position only a few weeks before, angry at the world and wanting to kill the man on the other side of it; but here she was, speaking to him willingly, even joking with him. She listened close as his own body rested against the floor and leaned on the opposite side, mirroring her own position.

“Those heels really hurt, don’t they?” he asked, voice still hushed. If she wasn’t so tired, she might have even said she heard a smile in his voice.

“Yeah, they are like little death traps for your feet and legs.” He let out a small laugh on the other side and her lips pulled into a smile that she hadn’t given them permission for.

“How many pairs do you have? You always match your dress to your shoes so you must have a ton.”

She was gradually learning that he was much more observant than she had originally thought. He apparently wasn’t the dumb boy that she remembered from school anymore.

“Too many,” she said with a soft laugh and a shake of her head. “I’m wearing my favorites tomorrow.”

“And which ones are those?”

“They’re white, obviously; they have to match,” she smiled. “They have a green gem at the toes. They match the tiara I’ll be wearing.” She stopped for a moment before continuing on. “And your grandmother’s ring.” She played with the gold band that sat on her ring finger, still somehow dazzling in the very limited light of her dark room. “Thank you, by the way. It’s gorgeous.”

“You’re welcome. She wanted you to have it.”

“Did she really?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said confidently on the other side of the door. She imagined him nodding along with his words to emphasize his point, as he often did while speaking. “She kept tabs on you while we were growing up. She was always talking about how smart you seemed and that you would be a good queen one day. If I didn’t know better, I would say she liked you more than me growing up.” Y/N felt her cheeks heat up with the information. She was flattered by his grandmother’s opinion of her, but her heart also ached for Harry.

“I’m sure that's not true.”

“I think it was. I was always screwing up in one way or another; always creating messes that her and my parents had to clean up.” He paused for a moment and she heard him let out a long sigh. “Always running around with other girls and making the one I was supposed to marry feel like shit.”

She wished she could see his face. She wished that she could get a read on his emotions. But there was, literally and figuratively, a wall between them.

“Y/N,” she heard his voice squeak out through a voice crack, “I really am sorry for everything I’ve done to you.”

“I know. I forgive you, Harry.”

Saying those four words, lifted a weight she didn’t know she had been carrying off her shoulders. This moment felt like an absolution, a time to wipe their long and complicated slate clean. There was no better time for them to start anew than the night before they began the next chapter of their lives. But this chapter would be together, as a pair and a team.

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry too, Harry. I know this all had to happen so fast so I could take the throne, but I know you thought you had more time. I thought I did too.”

“What do you mean? Why did it have to happen so fast?” he asked.

First, Y/N was confused. There was a very obvious answer. Then her heart began to break for him. He wasn’t ready at all for what was coming. No one must have told him.

“Harry,” she said softly, “Do you know about my mother?”

“What do you mean?” From the tone in his voice, she knew he genuinely didn’t know.

“My mom-” she began gently, swallowing the lump in her throat that always appeared when she began to talk about this, “My mom is dying, Harry.” She heard a soft gasp through the door before she went on. “She’s been sick for a while, but things are getting really bad. Her doctors think she only has a couple weeks left.”

She listened to his breathing stop, like his mouth was hung open searching for something to say. He was quiet for a few moments before he landed on what seemed like the only thing he had said over and over these last few weeks, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’m here for you if you need to talk about all of this.”

His offer was not lost on her. The idea of Harry being someone she could confide in was a new one, but one that she would consider.

“It’s okay.” She choked out, wiping a few stray tears that had found their way out, off her cheeks. “I have had enough time to come to terms with it. But in our archaic constitution,” she said with a biting distaste in her voice, “a woman cannot become the sovereign of the country if she isn't married. That’s why this all had to happen so fast.”

“I see.”

The pair were quiet, both curled up on opposite sides of the wall; simultaneously experiencing a unique type of loneliness that only the other could understand. In less than 12 hours, they would be married, linked by an oath that neither of them had signed up for, in circumstances with responsibilities that neither of them were ready to handle.

“Harry,” she peeped, breaking a silence that hung heavy over them both, “you should go to sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”  

She listened through the door to the rustling of him getting up off the floor beside her. “You should get some sleep too.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“So will I. I’ll see you at the altar, wifey.”

She let out a strangled laugh at the nickname he had adopted for her, her throat still tight from crying. She listened to his foot falls until they disappeared down the hallway before she mustered the strength to drag herself back to bed. Her staff was on strict orders from the wedding planner to have her woken up at 8 to begin getting ready and she wanted to get some rest before the sun came up.

And like clockwork, her curtains were thrown wide open at 8 am, sunlight blinding her as she woke up. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to her rude awakening, but soon she could make out the bustling room around her. Hair stylists, makeup artists, bridesmaids, flower girls, her mother, and some lady with an ear piece and a clip board fluttered about her bedroom with an excited chatter. Taking in the chaotic scene, it really hit her. Holy shit, I’m getting married today, she thought.

Her stomach twisted and turned in knots as the gaggle of women fawned over her, instructing her to stay still and “stop shaking” as they applied layers of makeup and fussed with her hair. Her hair was pulled into a delicately crafted low bun and her eyes were painted with neutral tones and a little bit of shimmer. Diamond and emerald earrings were threaded through her ear lobes and her fingernails were inspected to see if they needed any touch ups. Her shaky body was zipped into her dress and her feet slipped into her heels while her cathedral length veil was pinned meticulously into her hair. She was only missing one last thing.

“Your tiara, your highness,” her mother joked through the happy and proud tears welling up in her eyes. The tiara was the one last thing she needed before she was sent on her way to the cathedral. She bent down slightly, her mother delicately crowing her; when she rose, she couldn't help but grab onto her mother and hold her tight. It was hard for her not to think about the next time she would be crowned, a time when her mother wouldn’t be there to offer the guidance or support Y/N needed.

“I love you, Mama,” was all she said. It was the only reason all of this was happening. She loved her mother too much to let her down.

“I love you more, my princess,” her mother said gently, before turning away and scurrying off to do something else. Y/N tried to ignore the wince on her face when she moved too fast and the slight wheeze she made when she was speaking.

Surveying the scene around her, Y/N felt like she was about to die. Her heart was pounding hard in her ears, her palms were slick with sweat, her breathing was labored, and her chest felt tight. She had never been so overwhelmed with anxiety before. She had known today was coming her entire life, but the fact that it really was here was too much for her brain to wrap itself around.

It was like she had blacked out from fear, an hour of her life completely unaccounted for. She didn’t remember the last minute checks and touches to her hair and makeup. She didn’t remember her mother delicately resting her veil over her face. She didn’t remember getting in the car bringing her to the cathedral. She didn’t remember someone shoving a bouquet of flowers in her hands. She didn’t remember the music starting up or walking down the aisle of the giant imposing and ornate cathedral.

She was only brought back to reality when she reached the imposing altar and Harry delicately took her hand into his. His green eyes were painted with concern when he saw the worried crease between her eyebrows and the way she was chewing on her bottom lip under her sheer veil, swiping his thumb up and down her skin in an attempt to soothe her. It was the first time he had ever touched her voluntarily; it was a gentle and tender touch, full of care.  She gripped back tight onto his hand, holding on for dear life as she thought over everything that was about to happen.

They were instructed to stand forward, watching the officiant as he droned on about love and duty to one’s country and spouse, but their hands stayed clasped tight onto each other, like they were being thrown into a stormy and unpredictable sea and the other’s hand was their only life line. And in a way, they were.

When they were told to turn towards each other to begin their vows, their eyes locked and she began to really look at him for the first time. She watched his plush lips closely as he recited the words fed to him from the officiant, although she didn’t hear a single word of them. Her eyes traced his strong cheekbones and landed on his adorable button nose before returning back to his eyes. She noticed the slight blue bags that sat under them, signaling he had just as much trouble sleeping as she did.

His eyes brought her a calm that she hadn’t felt in years, silently telling her that she wasn’t alone in all of this, his warm hands still holding on to hers punctuating that sentiment. There wasn’t anyone else in the massive cathedral but the pair of them anymore, just two scared kids trying to make it through the demands weighing on their shoulders together.

Shaky hands exchanged rings, her heart stopping for a moment when the ring caught and didn’t slide onto his finger gracefully. But her heart regained it’s rhythm when she heard a light chuckle coming from the man across from her, a gentle smile that was just big enough to flash a dimple at her, signaling that it would be okay.

She recited her vows without much thought, letting ‘I do,’ slip past her lips while still entranced by Harry’s intense yet comforting gaze. She watched his strong hands disconnect from hers as he lifted the lace trimming on the veil covering her face, dark lashes flickering down to her glossed lips. She let her eyes fall closed as he leaned in towards her and rested a hand on her cheek, prompted by the officiant and clapping coming from the pews, bracing herself for a feeling of disgust she hoped wouldn’t come.

He carefully connected their lips softly with a sweetness that felt gentle, tender, and caring. But there was more to the kiss than a softness, there was a respect there as well. His hand felt secure and protective on her cheek, and he pulled away with a smile after a short time, sure not to overwhelm her. The feeling of disgust in her belly that she was waiting for never came; if she didn’t know better she would say she felt an excited flutter.

They stood on the altar for a moment and just stared at each other, excited and relief filled smiles creeping into their lips, his dimples prominent. “Shall we, wifey?” Harry beamed with a sigh, extending a hand to lead her back down the aisle, now as a married woman.

“We shall, husband,” she giggled back, cheeks still a fiery red from their contact. Calling him her husband felt foreign, but not unwelcome.

Harry held her hand tight, keeping her in the moment by the warm contact. He held her hand down the aisle and all the way back to the palace, all throughout the signing of their marriage license, and all throughout the many, many photos taken of the two and their wedding party. She found comfort in his warm touch, continuing to ground her through the chaos that unfolded around them. Even when they had briefly disconnected from each other, he was always close by, only a call of his name away.

She was shocked by how careful he was around her giant dress, taking calculated steps to avoid dirtying the crisp white fabric. He was playing the role of a dutiful husband, and was seeming to enjoy it.

They spent the next hours just following orders from wedding planners, shuffled around from place to place, constantly surrounded by people. All she wanted was a moment to speak to him alone, but it seemed far out of reach.

That moment finally came in the middle of a dance floor, with hundreds of eyes staring at them as they danced. They swayed together slowly, a gentle rock to the delicate sound of strings. “Thank you for staying by me all day, Harry,” she said quietly, hoping that no one could hear them over the music.

“No need to thank me, wifey,” he said with a chuckle, his lips grazing against her ear as he spoke. She chuckled like always at the name and shook her head.

“I mean it. I don’t think I would have been able to get through all of this,” she said looking out at the crowd watching them and the giant ornately decorated ballroom they were in the center of, “if you hadn’t been by my side.”

“I quite like it, actually. I could get used to standing with you.” He said nonchalantly, like it was no big deal, while her heart just about stopped.

She wasn’t able to answer before the music slowed to a stop and they were pulled apart by their mothers and dragged off to speak to “very important” people. He seemed just as disappointed as she was when they were separated.

When they finally found each other again, Y/N had changed. She had abandoned her massive conservative skirt of tulle and lace for a creamy silk gown that she could actually move in. It was a simple a-line v-neck dress with cap sleeves, but the back held a deep V that ended at the small of her back coupled with a loosely tied bow.

The cool breeze on her back made her feel sexy. She knew she was pushing the boundaries on what was appropriate for a princess and she loved it.

“My darling, you look gorgeous,” he said, taking her hand and spinning her so he could fully take in the new dress, mindful of her tiara and trying his best not to knock it off. Her cheeks burned at his flattery, something he could surely feel when he pulled her close and pressed a delicate kiss on her cheek.

“You’re just saying that,” she said bashfully staring down at the floor, deflecting the compliment easily.

“Wifey,” he singsonged the teasing nickname that had evolved into a term of endearment. He lifted her chin to look up at him and he looked down at her with the most honest expression she had ever seen him wear. “You look beautiful. You have all day.”

“Thank you, Harry.” She spoke quietly, barely audible, unsure what to make of her husband’s compliments. He leaned in to her, layed a tender kiss on her forehead, and dragged her across the room to the dance floor.

They stayed on the dancefloor most of the night, almost always touching in some sort of way, while dancing and celebrating with their friends and family.

And Y/N was happy; a genuine type of happiness that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Obviously, this wasn’t ideal. She was now married to a man she knew virtually nothing about, who had been a sworn enemy of hers only a few days ago, and had only begun enjoying his company last night. But happiness isn’t linear, she thought to herself.

Their night had passed in a joyous and opulent blur that went late into the night; full of food, dancing, and a swimming pool's worth of champagne.

Eventually both of them were led, by dutiful staff as they were both quite drunk and couldn’t exactly be trusted to make it on their own, to their new bedroom, or bedrooms depending on who you asked. They were led into the massive room consisting of two separate suites connected by a dressing room of sorts in a cloud of giggles, finding themselves in a fit of laughter after passing a portrait in the hall of some distant ancestor who had an amusing mustache.

“Thank you for leading us back,” she said, trying to gain a sober composure to the men who had flanked them on their way back, “you can go now.” The men shared a look between themselves that seemed to say ‘someone should be watching them,’ but followed the princess’ orders anyway.

“I just can’t understand how he got it to curl like that,” Harry cackled, beginning to wheeze from his hysterics and slightly stumbling as he was doubled over.

“Maybe it was natural like your curls,” she suggested, through her giggling hiccups that she let return when their staff left the room. “I quite like your curls, ya know? I like it when you let them grow a bit.”

They were still holding hands, despite being alone in their new found privacy, no longer needing the support from the other to shield them from the pressure of looking eyes.

“Then I’ll have to grow them out a bit,” he said, a smile still beaming at her with droopy drunk eyes. He tugged on her hand softly, bringing her body into his and setting his hand on the exposed skin of the small of her back. His hands were warm and soft and in the moment, she never wanted his hand to move from that spot again. “I can’t refuse the princess’ orders.” His voice had dropped low, not to a whisper but to a soft and lazy volume that made her feel safe.

Their faces were close and she could smell his strong vanilla and sandalwood cologne coming off him that she wanted to envelop herself in. He looked back down at her with a face that was loving, but she attributed it to the alcohol in his system. For a moment, she was overwhelmed with adoration for this man who she had spent so much of her life violently hating. Admiring and adoring him was much easier on her soul than harboring the hatred that had eaten at her for so long.

“I have another order,” she spoke quietly, letting the words tumble from her lips without her usually logical brain’s permission, “I want you to kiss me. For real this time.”

His lips were on hers as soon as the words left her own. It was sloppy and sweet, but with a passion behind it that Y/N felt in her bones. Their lips moved in a drunken rhythm, with Harry’s aimless wandering hands sliding up and down the silk of her dress before resting on her waist and pulling her impossibly closer to him. Her hands found and twirled the few of Harry’s curls that remained after they had cut his hair shorter than usual for the ceremony at the base of his neck and sunk her fingers into it, pulling him further into the kiss by his hair.

It was not long before their tongues found each other and the kiss deepened into a desperate dance of gasping for breath and soft moans into each other’s mouths. Harry’s mouth left hers and began to press sloppy open mouthed kisses down her neck while fiddling with the bow at the back of her gown that would release it from her frame.

Feeling him fuss with the bow made her pounding heart shift from one of excitement, to one of panic. This was too soon, she didn’t know him well enough. She didn’t know his favorite color or any of his hobbies. She didn’t know how he liked his tea, or if he drank it at all. She didn’t even know his middle name.

Her fuzzy mind couldn’t deny how much she didn’t know about him or the anxiety that made her want to pull away from the man and run.

“Harry,” she breathed, voicing the apprehension and anxiety that had begun to rise in her chest, “please stop.” She had squeaked out the words, a mix of embarrassment and panic taking over her slightly slurred words.

His hands froze, pulling himself back quickly from her, a mix of worry and guilt on his face. “Did I do something wrong? I just thought…” he let his words drop off, his own fuzzy mind not sure of what to say either.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry, I just can’t.” Her cheeks grew hot and her eyes became glassy.

She was embarrassed to admit it, but the kiss on the altar that morning was the first time she had ever had another pair of lips on her own. Her entire life she had been shielded from men with any interest in her, her affection already spoken for and claimed. No man had ever held her hand romantically, or danced with her, or kissed her with the passion Harry just had.

Harry had lived a life with freedom that she had never been granted. She remembered all the times she had watched him interact with various girlfriends at school, and remembered the shame she had felt when he had ended up on the cover of tabloids after he was photographed naked and kissing a  random woman on a yacht. Every article had ended with the same line that she still knew by heart. 

“The prince is arranged to marry Princess Y/N when she comes of age in an effort to unify their countries.” 

They had lived very different lives, with very different freedoms up until this point. It was sexist and archaic and unfair, but she couldn’t deny the impacts it had on her while she was around Harry. Even though she couldn’t deny that she was beginning to feel something real for him and she believed that he felt the same; she didn’t fully trust him like that yet. She couldn’t.

“I’ve never done any of this before, Harry. This morning was my first kiss.” Her cheeks burned in a mixture of embarrassment and shame as she spoke the words. “I like you a lot, but today has been nerve wracking and scary enough. I just can’t add another new thing into the mix, especially that. It’s just all too much. I’m sorry.”

Her sheltered and delicate heart couldn’t even bring herself to say the word ‘sex’.

As he listened to her explanation, his features softened. They were no longer fearful that he made a mistake or crossed a boundary, but they moved into a soft and caring smile.

“Y/N, my darling,” he began in a soft and sweet voice, “come here.” He beckoned her with open arms to rest up against his chest again. She had curled her arms in front of herself, holding them close to her body, as she walked into his arms and let herself be enveloped by them while resting her head on his chest. “You are my wife now, but I think we both understand that we are not exactly in this position by choice. I would never ask you to do something you are uncomfortable with and I am sorry that I crossed a boundary.”

“Thank you,” she peeped before he continued on.

“Also, I heard that part when you said you liked me a lot,” she could hear the smirk in his voice, making her cheeks inexplicably hotter. “And I like you a lot too.”

The pair stood in that hold long enough for them to lose track of time, just resting against each other in silence, listening to the other’s breathing. The silence that enveloped them was comforting, but Harry eventually spoke again, inexplicably soft and gentle in tone.

“Y/N, I really want to try to make us work.”

“So do I, Harry.”

The pair stood together in their stillness and peaceful quiet, until she let out a small yawn.

Harry released her from his grasp and began walking around the room, opening wardrobes and dressers searching for something. He breathed a small triumphant noise when he opened a drawer, spinning around with a light pink and baby blue nightgown in his hands.

“Do you need any help getting out of your dress? Would I be allowed to help?” His face was so thoughtful, carefully navigating the boundaries she had made him aware of but not set in stone yet.

She took the nightgown from his hands and slipped it over her head, the silk dress beneath it. “I just need help untying the bow.” Her voice was still low, a quiet and delicate murmur.

His hands carefully untied the bow, turning around for modesty’s sake, only turning back around when he heard the silk hit the floor.

She had begun carefully removing the bobby pins that still held her bun together, causing them both to giggle when her hair was finally released into a giant poof of curls and hair spray.

She looked so sweet to him. This was the first time he had seen her relaxed like this, no longer in a fancy dress, heels, and her hair and makeup done to perfection. She looked like a real person to him, not a princess who would soon become queen.

He moved gingerly towards the door of her room, but not before pressing one more soft kiss to her lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, wifey.”

“Can’t wait, my husband,” she called from under the covers, watching him close the door behind him.

***

The two were sitting on a hot beach, baking in the sun when the call came.

It was day four of their honeymoon and a week after their wedding, spending their time alone together on a small island in the sun neither of them could remember the name to. It was a paradise straight out of a movie, and she swore nothing could ruin it.

They spent their days learning each other well, often joking that they should make up trivia quizzes for each other to see who knew the other best. She had learned that Harry’s eyes lit up like a child when he saw any type of animal, especially the small lizards that would run across the deck hanging off the back of their small beach house. It was also a surprise when she found out he loved to cook, whipping up a meal that could rival some of the chefs at the palace for dinner one night.

But her favorite thing she had learned about him by far, was how he sang in the shower. He had a low and melodic voice that he didn’t know traveled into the house from the outdoor shower. She would sit by the window closest to him, often pretending to write in the pink notebook he had given her in the garden, close her eyes and appreciate the man’s voice. She swore if he wasn’t a prince, he would be a singer.

In the time since their nuptials, the pair had become lovers. Always attached at the hip and sneaking kisses; they were blissfully and unstoppably becoming increasingly obsessed with the other. The word ‘love’ often played at Y/N’s lips, seeming to always be only a drink away from letting it slip out towards him.

Every day, they would walk down a short path from their house to a pristine white sand beach, picnic basket in hand, and sit. Sometimes they would sit in silence, just staring at the clear blue ocean, and other times they would talk about everything and anything that came to mind, or they would read silently next to each other. But they were always holding onto each other; sometimes it was a hand placed gently on the other’s thigh, or fingers intertwined between them.

The shrill ring of Y/N’s phone broke their fantasy while sitting on the beach on the fourth afternoon. Her heart dropped as soon as she heard it, knowing that the palace had agreed not to bother them unless the worst case scenario was happening.

She closed her eyes and braced herself, tears already threatening to breach her eyes, as she answered the phone with shaky hands. “Hello?” she choked out.

“Your highness, you need to come home.” She immediately recognized the panicked voice of her mother’s secretary on the other end. “It’s happening.”

“Okay,” she said, trying to remain as composed as possible. “We’re leaving now.”

Harry’s face held a furrowed brow and concerned eyes as she spoke. He immediately began rubbing his thumb back and forth over the back of her palm like he had done on their wedding day, but today, it did nothing to soothe her pain and anxiety.

She hung up the phone before letting out a heart wrenching cry. “We have to go home,” she sobbed. “She is dying.”

The entire journey home was silent after Y/N had composed herself on the beach.

She sat emotionless, staring straight ahead, flinching away every time Harry moved to touch her. She spoke only when absolutely necessary, but her voice brought no tone with it. She had become a shell of herself, losing the warmth behind her eyes that had begun to appear after the wedding.

She felt empty, like she had lost the ability to think, while simultaneously feeling so overwhelmed, by thoughts of her future as queen and the loss of her mother. She had become blank, inside and outside, the happiness she had begun to build for herself with Harry, melting away and leaving the hollowness of grief and dread.

It took them about twelve hours to reach the palace from the time she hung up the phone, but it wasn’t fast enough. The second she stepped out of the car, she saw the guards outside the palace dressed in their black uniforms that were reserved only for the passing of the sovereign. She closed her eyes silently, as if when she opened them up again their uniforms would turn back to their usual blue and maroon; but they didn’t, their clothing still black as night.

Her heels clicked the pavement, maintaining her immaculate posture and steely blank expression as she entered the palace, the loving man she had been excited to have a life with trailing mournfully behind her. She watched as if she was out of her body when she passed people, all now dressed in black, in the hall. They all acted the same.

First, they would give her the saddest look, silently extending their sympathies to the daughter who just lost her mother, and then bowing their heads in respect to the now reigning queen.

“I need to see my mother,” was all she said, before being led into her bedroom.

She hadn’t remembered when her father had died, too young to understand. All she could wrap her head around was that her Daddy had an accident and wasn’t coming home. But she remembered her mother’s cries, loud and earth shattering sobs that traveled up and down the hallways of the palace for all to hear.

She looked like she was just sleeping; arms peacefully crossed over her chest and eyes shut gently. But she was cold when Y/N reached for her hand. She tenderly brought her mothers hand to her lips, and pressed a final kiss to her hand, before walking blankly out of the room.

Her mother was gone. And the country fell onto her shoulders.

She heard Harry saying something as he followed close behind her. While she heard him, she didn’t process a thing he said. She stalked towards their bedroom which was unfortunately on the other side of the palace, locked in her daze. He trailed close behind her the entire way, trying to say anything that could break through to her, and stood dutifully outside the door of her side of the bedroom for an unknown amount of time after she had shut it in his face.

***

She didn’t speak, or show emotion, or allow anyone at all to touch her for three days. Only nodding or shaking her head in response to the rapid firing of questions she was asked about planning her mother’s funeral.  Harry only saw glimpses of his wife, or the shell of Y/N that she had become, usually while she shut the door to her bedroom between them.

He left his door open all day everyday.

When he awoke the morning of the funeral and found her bedroom door open, his heart jumped. He slowly walked inside to find her in a room full of black dresses. Dresses had been laid carefully over every surface for her to choose from; the dress she would wear to her mother’s funeral and her first public appearance as queen.

“Good morning,” was all he said, quiet and careful.

The person that looked back at him was someone he didn’t recognize. The light was gone from her eyes, and she wasn’t the woman he was head over heels in love with anymore. She looked like her, but emanated sadness and anxiety like nothing he had ever seen before. Dark blue bags held under her eyes from not sleeping, her hair was tied behind her head in a messy unkempt ponytail, and she was dressed in a giant and ill fitting nightgown, shoulders bent down in a fashion that made her look small. The only feature of the put together, confident, and commanding woman he was married to that remained was the bright emerald ring that sat on her ring finger.

“I can’t decide what to wear,” she said without expression, but the tears started to fall down her face before she could finish the sentence. Harry moved quickly across the room to her when he saw her knees began to shake, catching her just in time as they gave out and she fell into his arms, settling them both onto the soft carpeted ground. That was when her heaving sobs began. It was a bone rattling cry that consumed her wholly and her exhausted and hurting brain could only put together two thoughts: she missed her mom, and she didn’t want to take on all this responsibility alone.

She sobbed into his shirt, holding onto the soft and worn fabric of his t-shirt for dear life, and he held her close to his body, slowly rubbing her back and letting all of the emotion fall out of her. She cried for a long time, giving herself a pounding headache, and when the tears finally began to slow she connected her tearful ones with Harry’s ever vibrant green eyes and mumbled, “I just thought I had more time with her. And I thought we had more time to just be us.”

“I know you did, darling.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and reveled in being able to touch her again, as his heart broke a little every time she would pull away from his touch.

“I’m not ready, Harry. I can’t do this all alone. It’s too much.” She spoke softly, shaking her head from side to side, still choking back sobs as she tried to regain her composure.

“You’re not doing anything on your own. The second we were married, your problems and responsibilities became mine too,” he assured her. He moved to grab her left hand in his own and showed her the rings that sat on their hands. “Remember these?” he breathed with a light chuckle. “You’re stuck with me for life, whether you like it or not.”

He watched as she processed the realization that he was there to lighten the load. It was like a lightbulb had gone off for her, slowly nodding along with what he said. She let her eyes fall to the dresses that surrounded her, but he gently took her chin and directed her eyes back to his. “Y/N, we are a team. I am always here for you and I always will be.”

He took a deep long breath before continuing on, “I love you.”

She didn’t think when she pressed her lips to him, she just did, desperate to be close to him again. A coldness had swallowed her for days, and his words brought back the smallest feeling of warmth, a glimpse of hope she had been desperate to find.

She had known the passing of her mother was coming for years, her illness getting progressively worse over time. She had always believed it would bring more pressure, weighing down on her heavier than ever before. But looking at their rings and the man before her, she was hit by the fact that she never had to carry the weight of the country all by herself. She had Harry the whole time. He was her partner; in life and in power.

“I love you, too,” she said after breaking the kiss, salty from all her tears. She was quiet and her voice was still shaking and unsteady from her sobs, but he was there, holding her and keeping her safe.

He held her hand, slotting their fingers together as he picked them both up off the ground and helped her pick a dress. It was a black blazer dress that fell below her knees with three crystal buttons going down the left side. Harry carefully helped her into the dress, his warm and respectful hands sliding up her bare skin as he pulled it up over her shoulders. He then sat her on her bed, and began to carefully brush out her hair, doing his best to work through knots without hurting the girl who was already hurting enough. And he held one of her hands gently while she sat at her vanity and did her makeup with her free one. He refused to leave her side.

Harry stayed firmly planted by her side throughout the entire day, not daring to leave her while she needed him. He knew that photos of him holding her hand tight during the funeral would make the press, and the photos of him wiping away her tears as they left would make the front page, but he didn’t care. She might be the queen, but she was also his Y/N.

***

Their fingers were always locked together, Harry’s thumb passing back and forth over the back of her hand in the steady rhythm he always used when she was stressed. He was there whenever she needed him, gently taking hold, to remind her that he was there and they were a team.

He cradled her hand as she crushed his, gritting through the most excruciating pain she had ever experienced. It felt like her entire body was being ripped apart from the inside out, but Harry’s hand was the light at the end of the tunnel. She was screaming and crying in the small crowded room, feeling like a science experiment as all the doctors looked on at her pain.

But it all stopped when she heard the smallest little cry.

Then shouts of “It’s a girl!”

Exhausted and elated tears flowed freely from her eyes that were locked on the slimy little baby a nurse was burredly placing on her chest. She was so small, delicate and breakable, with strong lungs that screamed out to announce her entrance into the world. And when her eyes opened for the first time, they revealed the same bright sea glass green tone that matched her father, the green she had been falling in love with and swimming around in for years.

This baby was so much more than just a little girl, not only to them, but to their countries. She would forge a kingdom united in the future, a product of peace and partnership. She was a symbol of unity and a future of kindness between their countries. She was the future.

But for right now, the tiny baby was just theirs.

She felt him press a proud kiss to her head before she connected their lips together in a tear filled kiss before they both looked back to their new pride and joy who was still screaming for all the attention.

“She’s beautiful, darling,” he whispered quietly though tears next to her, hand still grasped tightly onto hers. “You did such a good job.”

“Literally couldn’t have done it without you,” she chuckled, still staring down, entranced by the little girl who looked like her daddy.

The pair stayed with their baby, quiet and just being, long after the doctors and nurses left the room. They learned she liked to scream and sleep, about as much as you could learn about someone only hours old. But she didn’t have a name. They had been debating for the last nine months over what the little princess would be called.

“I think she should be named after your mother,” Harry would say.

“But I think she should be named after your grandmother,” She would reply.

Their roundabout banter never left the pair, only changed; from malicious and teasing, to one of loving partnership.

“So neither?” he quipped with a small smirk while holding the little girl tight to his chest.

“I guess we have to compromise; diplomatically,” she said with a giggle, alluding to how they got to this position in the first place.

“I feel like a loving marriage and a new baby is pretty good for diplomatic relations.”

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! Please send feedback and reblog if you enjoyed it! 

[thunderheadfred]

❄️Todoroki HC's🔥

Aged-up pro hero Shouto. NSFW under the cut. Minors do not interact.

- - -

General

Might as well be tied with Bakugou for the #1 pro hero spot; they seem to pass the crown back and forth every other year. Everyone knows about their intense frenemies uber-rivalry. Well. Everyone but Shouto.

He's asked to speak at a lot of charity events. If he has time to prepare (and hire a speech writer) he is capable of stirring crowds to standing ovations. But if caught unawares... he gets cornered into hilarious on-the-spot interviews. He's been memed. Mercilessly.

He's an OP character, but unfortunately he rolled -500 in fashion sense. Eventually he wises up and hires a stylist. When he finally cuts his hair a slightly different and even more flattering way, it's a national event. People faint in the street.

Does god-awful sleight-of-hand magic tricks when he meets young fans, even though nobody asked him to. The second-hand embarrassment is palpable. But he keeps doing it. God, why does he keep doing it?

Has hovering arm syndrome in every fan photo.

Super into pop music. Not a fan of any particular group or artist, couldn't tell you the name of a single song. But every time he turns up the volume on the radio it's like... really? THIS? Probably pumps that shit through his hero agency to keep up morale. Has no idea what you mean when you tell him his music taste doesn't match his personality.

Similarly, he enjoys brainless romantic comedies and old silent movies. Doesn't laugh at jokes but loses it over physical comedy. Thinks Buster Keaton and Harold Lloyd are the funniest people who ever walked the earth.

He's long and limber. Runs practically a hundred miles every day just to "relax." Doesn't even get sweaty doing it. A filthy yoga addict. He'll probably live to be 200 years old.

He can regulate his body temperature for quirk use but in everyday life he's always half a degree outside the Goldilocks zone. It drives him quietly insane; he has an epic love-hate relationship with his thermostat.

Has a therapy animal pet. Doesn't matter if it's a dog or a cat or a bird or an iguana or a teeny tiny rodent. It's the best-behaved animal in the country and speaks more languages than you. It has its own room and an instagram account with millions of followers.

Lives in a traditional Japanese estate that doubles as a national treasure. Probably has government-appointed snipers at the gate, and he's just like, "don't worry about it." You are afraid to touch anything. Fuck, don't even look at anything, just to be safe.

Has an outstanding personal chef who only gets to cook five things unless (thank fuck!!) company comes over. Impossibly picky eater. He rotates between a few "safe" foods and suspiciously side-eyes everything else. If you cook something unfamiliar for him it will be the most awkward meal of your life, because he'd never tell you he doesn't like it. But oh lord, just look at his face.

This clashes directly with his love of traveling. Frequently uses his hero earnings to visit exotic foreign locales over long weekends... but rarely tries the food.

- - -

Dating

A grey-ace demisexual disaster. You could count the number of people he's been attracted to on one hand. He falls madly in love every time and always gets his heart smashed to pieces when his crush can't magically intuit the meaning of his frigid longing glances and generically courteous romantic gestures.

Which is stupid, because he gets propositioned constantly. He can't walk out the door without being flirted with. People keep slipping him their phone numbers and he always directs them to his agency like a moron. It's a good thing he will never understand how attractive he is because that's the only thing keeping him from total world domination.

Conventional attractiveness does not compute. Shouto doesn't have a type, doesn't care that he's an eleven whilst you are merely mortal. He will fall for your personality above all else.

Probably falls head over heels because your schedules overlap in a completely ordinary way and he witnesses you doing something endearing or brave or most likely: utterly mundane.

Pick a favorite, because you're his favorite coworker, or his favorite barista, or his favorite random bystander in line at the grocery store. You made him smile once; then he spent the next three months daydreaming about your future together before you accidentally stomped on his foot, initiating your first real conversation.

He's big on healthy communication. HUGE. He goes to therapy and it shows. Will talk through literally everything to the point of delirium. Sometimes his dedication to resolving every issue right away can get overwhelming; sometimes you just need some frickin time alone. But it pays off, because the two of you have practically never have a "real fight." There's just no way for bad vibes to fester.

STILL, his family wasn't exactly... erm... verbally or emotionally supportive, shall we say. For that reason, he might not give you all the compliments you deserve, because it simply doesn't occur to him to do so. He assumes you know how he feels. If you're self-conscious or insecure in the relationship, it might take him a while to notice. But when he figures it out (or even better, when you tell him directly) he will make it up to you with enthusiasm.

Will take you on lavish dates. Spoils you rotten without actually intending to. He's clueless about money. If you wanted a sugar daddy, you just hit the fucking jackpot. But if the word valet makes you uncomfortable, perhaps suggest some romantic picnics instead. He can still go all out with the food and five-star location without making you see cartoon dollar signs.

Chronic Insomniac. Stays up too late watching YouTube every night. His viewing history is an incomprehensible blur of k-pop music videos, serial killer icebergs, and super girly crafty ASMR channels. When he's watching a video, he is unreachable. Please call back later and try again.

He's disgustingly cute when he sleeps. Doesn't snore, but drools. Sometimes the drool freezes and leaves frost trails on his face in the morning. Still sleeps with the giant stuffed cat pillow that his mother gave him when he was like, zero. He'll inadvertently suffocate you with it, and you will welcome death with open arms because awwwwww!!!!!

The first time he tells you he loves you will be after your traditional Japanese shinto wedding. You won't hear it again until you start a family. Honestly, it's a good thing he doesn't say it often and is always holding you when it happens. It's a knee-buckler.

- - -

Icy-Hot

I don't even need to say it. Shouto is as old-fashioned as they come. You will never open another door or pull out another chair for yourself as long as you live. He will ask before he holds your hand. He will ask before he kisses you. He will stop and check in if you so much as breathe funny during sex.

If you don't orgasm at exactly the same time while staring into one another's eyes, he'll consider himself a failed lover. God forbid you want him to pound you into the futon... cause you are going to have to present that scenario to him in writing first.

Physical intimacy rarely leads to sex. He loves cuddling, craves physical affection. He'll sprawl all over you and turn into goo while you hold him close. He's an amazing, astounding, phenomenally good kisser. And that's... nice and all... but sometimes you have to grab his face and say, "Shouto, I'm horny," before he's like so that's why you're currently dry-humping me?

Even if he isn't technically a virgin the first time (or the millionth time) you sleep together, you won't know the difference. He's a blushing violet. Every. Fucking. Time. This doesn't mean he's a bad lay, oh no. But there's always ten minutes of confused bumbling before he hits his stride and remembers oh yeah, I DO know how to fuck good.

Absolutely silent during sex. Focused. Intense. Sometimes you have to push him a little to make any kind of noise at all, just so you know you're pleasing him (oh don't worry, you are).

His cock is Just Right. Not to big or too small. Perfectly proportioned and symmetrical. Somehow pretty. Like a fucking factory prototype. It truly is not fair.

Gets handsy and restless at night, even if you both have work the next day. Seems to crave sex at three in the morning. You've given him more than one exhausted handjob.

Gets offended if you don't cum. Will go down on you for hours. Of course he uses his quirk to tease you. He doesn't typically use it during actual intercourse, but he's all about foreplay, and he'll use every tool in his arsenal.

His sex drive is completely fucking unpredictable. Sometimes he's all over you, other times he's an icy slab. His line of work leaves him busy and stressed on a near-constant basis, so you can't entirely blame his personality for this one. Just give him some time and help him take care of his basic needs. He'll come back around soon enough.

[pure-kirarin]

The rose left unwatered (Law x f!reader)

Heyo guys ! this is my first multi part fanfiction and I hope that you will all like it =w=.  No TW for now apart for coming smut in next chapters~  This was originally a request by @soul-stealer-reaper​ . Thanks for requesting :) originally you asked for a scenario with rough NSFW where Law has a crush on a girl that the government is afraid of and that has high bounty. As this will have some parts, everything you asked for will come in the next chapters so no worries :’) ! I won’t hide that wrote quite freely tho, I hope that it’s fine.  Synopsis : You have felt unwanted for so long that you forgot the last time you felt like you belonged. Quite paradoxical, when you are one of the most wanted “criminals” in the new world. You cross paths with Law after joining the strawhats at Fishman Island to “kill some time” and you both feel a weird connection from the moment your eyes met, curiosity, hatred or desire, did it really matter as long as feelings were involved ? ---------------------------

A rose left unwatered will wither, A heart left unloved will rot, A sweet dream left untouched will go bitter,  A love left unspoken will be forgot. Nemo -  Murder in Venice

The first time that Law saw you, he found you extremely annoying. He remembered that he saw your wanted poster somewhere, with one of the highest bounties that he has ever seen. Seeing such a high bounty made him raise an eyebrow at first, what could you have done to have the whole world on your back ? The second thought that came to his mind was that of detachement, then he flinched at that thought.

The first time that Law saw you in person was after his Allience with the strawhats. You stayed at the ship the whole time, you didn't even bother to follow others to punk Hazard or to help them with their plans. He thought that you were an extremely selfish person and you reminded him of the person that he hated most. That way you had of doing what you wanted without caring about others, the smirk you had on your lips at all times, never submitting, always acting so sure of yourself, it irritated him.

How could someone get such a strong reaction out of him ? He didn't even know, he always eyed you from afar and it was enough to know that you prfoundly, passionately got on his nerves.

You joined the strawhats in the Fishmen Island, finding your way to them and just asking to join. Luffy's simplistic demeanor meant that he accepted right away, not caring about who you were and not flinching at your high bounty.

You made it clear that you were just staying to be entertained, in fact, you didn't want to fight, you didn't want to help anyone, your curiosity was just peaked by Luffy, by that man that defied the world government, by that man that defied everyone at Marineford. You weren't impressed, but you just felt sympathy towards him and wanted to find some company.

You found what you were looking for, in fact, life with the strawhats was enjoyable, you didn't get along with Usopp or Nami. The former thought that you were « too scary » and would kill them in their sleep, the latter hated how little you were willing to cooperate.

You had your own reason, but nobody on that ship was able to grasp your personnality, you just had your own way of thinking, your own internal logic that nobody seemed to get. Who were you ? Why were you there and why was the whole world on your back ? All these questions were provoking Law, teasing him endlessly. His curiosity was growing day after day and you were always there, on a lounge chair enjoying the burn of the sun on your skin, not caring about anything else, not caring about him, not that he cared...did he ? You got on his nerves just by being there, he felt obseverd yet, he wasn't the kind of people to get flustered but your gaze was so intense, feline.

It was a soft night on the sunny, a few days before getting to Dressrosa.  On this night, the strawhats decided to gather around after dinner like always. They enjoyed socializing and spending time together, telling stories and playing silly games.  It was quite late so Momo was already sleeping. Everyone was on the deck enjoying some drinks and you were on the crow's nest, peaceful.

« Y/N-chaaawn~ » Screamed Sanji, making you look down. « Come have some fun with us, don't stay there on your own ! »

« - Yeah Y/N ! We're all having fun here. »  Said Luffy.

You jumped gracefully from the crow's nest just like a cat. You then looked around circularly before taking place between Law and Robin as she silently made some space for you. The atmosphere was light and everyone was enjoying themselves. Zoro was drinking bottle after bottle as Sanji was screaming at him. Usopp was telling you all for the tenth time about how he took down a sea king with his little finger and Luffy and Chopper were captivated by how cool that was.

You were just silently enjoying that sense of peace till Nami asked you out of nowhere

« Oh true Y/N, I actually never asked but I am curious, why is your bounty so high ? What have you done ? »

For a second your expression changed and everyone's eyes were on you. You just decided to tell them some kind of lie and you said that you killed a celestial dragon. Everyone looked at you in awe, killing a celestial dragon means that you had to escape from admirals. You excused yourself then saying you were tired, therefore going to sleep.

After hours of partying Strawhats went to sleep. You got out of the girl's quarter wearing only a night gown. Your thoughts were waltzing since earlier's events and you were looking melancolically at the ocean. The sound of the waves was so calming, you got close to the board of the sunny, placing your elbows on the wooden surface. You didn't notice it when Law came your way, he wasn't sleeping either, his sleeping schedule was always herractic. He was still intrigued by the lie you told earlier and by your overall attitude, something about you drew him towards you like a magnet.

-(Y/N)-ya...You didn't kill a celestial dragon, did you?

His voice was low and hoarse, stealing a murmur out of your lips. Your eyes met his, gray, icy. It was the first time he said your name outloud, actually, you briefly ever interacted since he got on this ship.

-Trafalgar ?..

You were wondering why did he bring this up, he never ever showed interest in you and you in him. In fact, now that you looked at him more in detail, you could say that he was an exceptionally handsome male with soft dark hair and a gloomy but all the more seductive cast of demeanor.

He could obtain any female he wanted at a snap of his fingers. You looked away and added :

-I thought that you disliked me. Why do you even ask ?

He raised an eyebrow, but got back to his stoic expression almost immediatly. He didn't know that it showed. However, you were wrong, he was starting to get intrigued by you, by your high bounty, by the detached way you acted. He was usually the one to observe and analyse people, but something about you...He couldn't put a finger on.

-I don't like lies.

-I have my own reasons...I'm sure there are a lot of things that you want to keep secret.

You hesitated then looked his side. He seemed calm still and just shrugged, ready to go back to his spot but then you added ;

-I lied because I didn't want to involve anyone in this...When I was just a child, I was a part of a dozen kids that were selected to take part into a « government experiment »...I don't want to go into details but...you clenched your fist, eyes fixed on an imaginary point in front of you I am the only survivor of that experiment...Therefore I'm being tracked... We were given power...To this day I don't know its extent...But I know that with just a blow of my fingers I could...you gasped How could a child be granted such a power ? Why did they have to choose for me ? I didn't want any of this....I never wanted to fight, I don't want to fight. I just wanted to be normal, to have a family, to feel wanted...haha...your laugh was bitter I mean, I know that I am the most wanted person you probably met, but I didn't mean it in that way. I hope that this satisfies your curiosity, Trafalgar Law.

Your eyes met, he looked in them, deep, searching for traces of honesty. You were telling the truth, there wasn't a doubt. He liked the way his name sounded out of your lips, it was the first time that he heard these three letters murmured by you. It's as if his first name sounded different, you had that way of saying it, almost like a whisper. You looked so vulnerable in your nightgown, so fragile despite your usual arrogant carapace. The fiery tigress looked like a sweet kitten and he was surprised by the way he just wanted to reassure you. He brushed that thought quickly and added, stoic ;

-I see, why did you tell me ?  

-You just asked me to, no ? I just felt like we were a bit alike...Ah. Also, quit asking me questions....This is starting to feel like a doctor examination...Now it's my turn to ask. Why do you even care ? I didn't think that the surgeon of death was such a curious person.

He scratched his chin, hesitating for a second, but then he just said bluntly ;

-The first time I saw you, I thought that you were extremely annoying.

- Ah ? you looked at him with a straight face, but still a bit offended If we're playing first impressions then...

-But I get it now.

He wasn't annoyed, in fact, he was just fascinated. It wasn't animosity that he felt but desire to know more about you. It wasn't that he was making sure that you're not endangering anyone, he wanted to look at you, it was just excuses upon excuses, rationalization for a case of irrational fascination. Now that the diagnostic was there, he could understand his emotions more clearly.

-You are talking in riddles but well...Whatever...Why did you form an alliance with Luffy by the way ? I wonder how you're able to handle all of his energy if you can't even stand mine haha.

-Let me correct you ; I don't hate you. He stops for a moment then he adds. There is a man that I would like to kill.

You turn now, back against the wooden border of the ship. You had an amused look on your face, wondering who was that man that he wanted to take down ;

-Now that's interesting ! Let me guess, who is it ?

-You are quite curious yourself, (Y/N)-ya...

He thought it was only fair, you opened up to him, he opened up to you, but telling you the details wasn't for now.

-So you are using the strawhats ?

-I am not sure who is using who. And what is your reason for joing the strawhats ?

-Luffy, you said with dreamy eyes, it's the D in his name...I have been drawn to people with this letter in their names like a magnet...I don't know...I just believe it's fate...

He was startled by your answer, so you knew about the « D » letter ? He also had this letter in his name...He just added then, with a face that didn't betray his surprise ;

-Oh , a girl like you believes in such romantic stories ?

-And what is a girl like me like ? You added, amused. I mean, apart from annoying.

-...Quit it already.

His tone was stable as always. He didn't show it but he thought that it was cute of you, how you insisted and played along. You faced him, your eyes looking right into his and you weren't one to look down, oh no. Irisis into his irisis, looking for him and digging something into him. He didn't even know what you meant by such a look, once again, feline.

The salty smell of the ocean's water mixed with the odor of your fruity perfume made that moment a bit more enjoyable and he wasn't even the type of person to enjoy chatting.

Check mate, you made up for that horrible first impression. You added then ;

-You avoided my question by the way, why wouldn't I believe in « such romantic stories » ? What do you think you know about « a girl like me » ?

You got a bit closer, amused, and he thought that it was getting a bit dangerous. You had a fake woeful look in your eyes. His limbs were filled to the brim with that ocean perfume of yours mixed with that sweet taste, and for a second it was as if that odor operated some kind of spell over him, because a surprising thought occured to his mind ; what would your lips taste like ? Certainly salty like the ocean and a tad like peaches.

Unsettled and unfocused he said ;

-Shouldn't you be sleeping ?

In reality, he didn't want these thoughts to make a nest out of his head and decided to cut the conversation quite abruptly. Your rocked your body back, almost like a child and rose your eyebrows in a semi-sarcastic semi-dramatic way.

-I'm a bit too old for a bed time don't you think, Trafalgar ?

-Just Law.

-Yes yes ! L-a-w...See you tomorrow ! You're not as uptight as I thought.

-(Y/N)-ya.

He just said your name in a strict way, probably indicating that you needed to go. His tone was firm, stop teasing already.

You looked at him with a diminishing smile, pronouncing every single letter so slowly, stretching his name on your lips so that these three tiny letters seemed endless. You tossed your hair, and something about the whole situation, about your feminine charm, something about the breeze of the night made the both of you feel unbearable tension. The type of tension that happens between a man and a woman at three in the morning, that tension that makes every little detail, every look in the eyes, every brush of the fingers feel indecent.

The eyes of a woman can't lie, his ego was stroked as he thought he had a glimpse of your hidden desire.You turned to go back to the girl's quarters, his eyes still hanged on your silhouette. ----------- I hope that you liked this first part. Please tell me what you think. It is a great motivator to know that I’m writing and being read. <3 I wish you all a nice day !

[viltrumitesuperboy]

Babysitting Job (Peter Parker x Natasha’s Brother Reader)

Sorry for any errors within the plot. I wrote this over the course of two weeks. Reader’s powers not mentioned much.

Requested by: anon Could I possibly request a Peter Parker x Male Reader, where the reader is Black Widow's younger brother and has trained in martial arts and gymnastics and the like, but also has the ability of animal shape-shifting? Maybe all the avengers meet him for the first time when Black Widow finally gets him to live with her and Peter gains a pretty big crush on him?

Word count: 3352

You trained under your older adoptive sister for years. Natasha found out that you had been born with the ability to shift into animals. She brought you to her workplace where you would be treated as a person and not as a weapon like she had. You never stayed with her after you'd trained for a few years, leaving America to take other jobs. Every once in a while she'd check up on you, asking if you needed anything or if you could help her find some information. Even miles away, she still acted like your older sister and was just as protective.

Eventually you decided to finish your education in America, staying with Natasha at the Avengers Tower. She had an entire floor to herself, but rarely used most of it. She was a minimalist to an extent. She made sure you were settled before going to her briefing late, assuring you that she wouldn't get in trouble. If anything, you were sure that she'd scold them for starting without her.

You spent the first few nights extremely uncomfortable in the new place. You had never needed to stay somewhere for a long time, and even if it had only been a few days, you knew you'd be there for a while.

After a week, you were roaming about the R&D floors and bumped into someone.

"Oh, you," Tony Stark said.

"Who do you think I am?" you asked warily.

"Natasha's kid brother, right? With the powers? Listen, I have something for you."

"Uh..."

"Here. Have you seen this?"

He pulled out his StarkPad. You watched the video he pulled up, not wanting to interrupt someone who seemed like he was always in a rush. It was a boy with a lean figure, dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants along with a mask covering his entire head. You silently applauded him for being a beginner vigilante who wore something practical considering he probably couldn't afford body armour.

"This is Spider-kid. Well, Spider-Man. But he's young, and I want to keep an eye on him. You mind helping me out? Of course, I wouldn't tell you his identity without his consent, but he agreed that he'd be fine with me giving him protection after..." he trailed off, gesturing vaguely with his hand as if you knew what he was talking about. "Anyway, you feel up to going to high school? You're young. You'll probably fit right in."

"Mr. Stark, I have no social skills. I assure you, putting me in a high school considering my powers and training is likely a danger to my mental stability and their physical well-being. I'm not going to babysit someone for you."

Tony's features seemed to soften a bit. He looked less like he was in a rush as much as he normally did. It was something he reserved for the people he cared most about.

"Look, I get it. People are hard to talk to. And I'm not saying this as Tony Stark, owner of a large company. I'm saying this as the reason I'm Iron Man. You've seen all that through files from Nat, right?" He awaited your confirmation, and you nodded. "Good. All you need to do is just be with Peter. And I'm sure you qualify to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. This can just be a mission and they'd be glad to know that my- uh, the kid is being managed by someone they can trust because at least they know Nat. It doesn't have to be anything else, not even a favour for me. Just a job."

You thought about it for a moment, then asked to see more of the videos. Stark held out the device for both of you to see and swiping through a few. You both stood there in the sunlit hallway for a while. He was barely trained and relied a lot on his powers. Maybe you could help him.

"I'll speak to Natasha today. I think I'll help you out, but talk to him first," you said finally.

"Great. By the way, I think he'd be a lot more comfortable if he knew that you were working with me," Stark said, just about to walk away. "He knows that someone will be sent to watch him, but he doesn't know who and he doesn't trust easily. He'd appreciate if you told him who you were right off the bat. Be careful."

"For him or for me?"

"Personally? For him. I think you can handle yourself."

He walked away, the device tucked under his arm as he made his way to one of the labs. It was obvious Stark cared for the boy, and you respected Stark for his efforts to make the world safer after what he'd gone through. If this was a job, this was one you'd take very seriously.

———

Your powers meant you could shift into animals, but you could also just take the attributes of any animal you knew to exist. It was much easier than turning into a large wildcat in the middle of a city street. You'd taken the climbing abilities of a gecko, leaping from another building to climb up the tower. There was a bandana covering the lower half of your face, just so you couldn't be recognised by cameras. You had just started to open the window when a reflection on the window blocked the lights inside.

"Hey, uh, what are you up to?" Spider-Man asked.

You turned to look at him, adjusting your bandana.

"Nothing, just going home," you replied, opening the window.

"Oh! Do you live here?" he piped up.

"No, but it'll be my home once I break in."

"Uh..."

"I'm just kidding. You can come in if you want. I know Stark has a soft spot for you."

"Mr. Stark? Really? I mean, I try to text Happy all the time cause I really want to tell Mr. Stark stuff sometimes but I didn't really think he actually-"

"Hey! Get inside!" your sister shouted from the kitchen.

You quickly slipped in, Spider-Man following and shutting the window behind you.

"What have I told you about coming in from there?" Natasha glared sternly.

"That there's an elevator and I should use it like a respectable person."

"Exactly. Go change and then help me out with lunch. Hi, Spider-Man. You know where to go."

"Yeah, sorry, Ms. Romanov. I didn't know you had a friend coming over."

"He's my brother. Now hurry up. Pepper will have your head if you're late."

The conversation trailed off, likely followed with goodbyes, as you went to your room. Lunch led to a very serious conversation about joining the secret government agency along with your first job: keeping Spider-Man in check.

———

The flash drive you received had the worst possible photo of Peter Parker you could imagine. It was as if they couldn't get an actual photo of him. Considering the fact that he was an official intern here, you figured that they might be able to get something that didn't look like an unfortunate accident from Picture Day. Because in person, he looked... not as stupid.

Going back to a public school was strange. You hadn't gone since you were a child, the rest of your education mixed in with the martial arts training you had to take. There were so many people, but at least they were ignoring you for the most part. The main problem was finding out where the hell B104 was.

"Um, are you lost?"

A girl with curly hair and a sketchbook to her side had a locker open next to you. You glanced at her putting books away and taking things out before responding.

"Yeah, I don't know where this is?"

She looked at your schedule, nodding as she shut her locker.

"Yeah. That's the basement. There's one science class down there," she explained. "I'll go with you; I have something there, too."

You thanked her as you both walked through the crowded hallways. She occasionally nudged people aside, giving absolutely no shits to the people standing in the way. Natasha would like her. When you accidentally mentioned it in a quiet mumble, she laughed. She claimed that if she ever met Black Widow, "it'll be over for all you bitches." You didn't doubt it. You both went down a floor and she led you to the room.

"I have to go a bit further down, but..." she quickly pulled out a pen and wrote down your room numbers on her wrist. "I have some classes close to these, so I can bring you there for the first half of the day before lunch. I'll see you after class?"

"Uh, sure?"

"My name's Michelle."

"I'm (Y/N)."

She stuck her hand out in a way that you became extremely uncomfortable with, not used to shaking hands. She seemed to notice your hesitation then held it up for a high five. You gave a small smile of gratitude and gave her one.

"I'm sorry, that's so awkward. Um, if you stick with me, I'll teach you the secrets of this school. Okay, there aren't really any, but you really look like more of a loner than I do."

You nodded awkwardly in response and turned to walk into your class without another word.

Michelle had about three of her classes with you, and you shared 4 with Peter Parker, two of which were before lunch. She walked you to the table she usually sat at, a relaxed gait to talk to you comfortably.

"Everyone kind of adopts their own spot in the cafeteria at some point. Those tables are usually empty, and that's where I sit. I have a feeling you're going to be spending your time there too."

You spotted Peter, who waved at you. Confused, you waved back, then Michelle voiced an excited greeting. You put your hand down after pretending to scratch your head.

"This is Peter and Ned. They're in some of your classes."

"Oh, you're the kid who broke one of the beakers today, right? Man, that's so weird. How did you manage that?" Ned recalled.

You weren't about to tell him that you hadn't broken it at all. It was sitting on one of the heating plates and you were trying to put it away, but it fell as you'd tried to catch it with your sticky gecko hands. It didn't work.

"I have super strength," you deadpanned.

The three laughed, somehow. You hadn't interacted with such a close friend group like this ever. Peter was an awkward teen just like the others, and you wondered how difficult it must have been for him to adjust to his powers in the middle of his schooling. If anyone noticed you staring at him, they didn't mention it.

———

You did not tell Peter that he was just your job.

He was completely oblivious to your role in his life and laughably terrible at hiding his secret. You once caught him pick up an entire row of lockers with one hand in between classes. He picked up a bottle that looked like it held arsenic and placed the lockers back down. The sunlight streaming in from a nearby classroom's glass window made you realise that this boy had no regard for his surroundings. He was incredibly stupid. You really had to tell him soon.

He'd visited the tower a few more times, and you'd sometimes see him practice with your sister. She'd look up at you in the doorway of the training room and glare at you, as if telling you that she was doing your job. You walked away before he saw you every time. Instead, you followed him around when he was Spider-Man, choosing when you wanted him to know you were there and when you didn't. You'd learned that from Natasha. He'd tried to get your attention a few times, knowing you were there, but you slipped out of sight every time.

Michelle started to ask you to call her MJ. Ned showed you pictures of the Death Star he and Peter built together. It suffered destruction twice in the past, but it was perfect now and sitting on display in Ned's home. Peter offhandedly mentioned that Tony Stark wanted to display it at the tower. Ned was all for it, and you wanted to hit your head on a wall. Peter consistently confirmed his parent-child relationship with Stark without realising it. It was a bit infuriating for everyone else who could see it.

Peter had started to become more awkward around you. He'd been more comfortable over time, but one day he just started to get fidgety and stammered a lot. It only happened when he spoke to you. You were aware that you were probably one of the very few people that he felt any romantic attraction to, and he probably felt like you were his only option. Unsurprisingly, you felt the same way. It sucked having only a few friends.

At some point the secret had to come out. You were just standing in the kitchen, opening the fridge for the second time like it would suddenly become interesting, and jumped once you closed it.

"Oh my god, Peter," you huffed.

"(Y/N)? What are you doing here?"

Your eyes darted to Natasha for help. Peter followed your line of sight to her. She shrugged and hauled her duffel bag further up her shoulders.

"I have a mission. I'll only be gone less than a week. Get groceries."

The elevator arrived in seconds and she went up, likely to the helipad. You both stood there in silence for a moment.

"That's my sister," you admitted.

"Hold on, so you're telling me the person I met sticking to a window was you? The new, awkward kid at my high school?"

"You're awkward too."

Peter began too look a bit uncomfortable just standing in front of you in plain view, like he was suddenly aware of how open he was.

"You were the one following me around the city too. When I'm Spider-Man."

You nodded, gesturing to the living room so you could both take a seat. He was quiet as you went to your room, coming back out with the flash drive you had on him.

"Stark wanted someone to watch you, and he doesn't have many younger options. Then Nick Fury apparently wanted to keep an eye on you, so it all worked out. Natasha talked to him about having me join, and you were supposed to be my mission."

"Then why didn't you tell me? Are we... friends?"

"Yes!"

Peter looked away from you and looked out the window, the same one you both climbed into a while ago. He looked down at the flash drive, his teeth biting his bottom lip. You slowly sat down next to him, being sure to keep some distance away.

"I just didn't know how to tell you. Stark said that I would have been fine if you didn't know who exactly was watching you. I didn't expect to become your friend."

He put the flash drive in between the two of you, sliding it back over. You looked at it, your stomach doing turns knowing that you never would have hurt him if you said something earlier.

"My sister's been training you because I couldn't. I've learned a lot from her, but I've traveled more than she has. And I can adjust my powers to be more like yours. If you'd still want me around, I can teach you more."

Peter stood up, holding his hand out like he was going to shake your hand. You followed suit, holding your hand up for a high five. You both switched your hand positions, then settled for a fist bump that wasn't quite coordinated.

"I know we're both a bit awkward and we don't know how to talk to people normally, but I don't think I'd ever give you up. I'd like to be more than a mission to you."

"Like a friend?"

"Whatever you want."

———

It was easier to be with Peter in the tower. You realised how little you actually know about the building, and the next few days were spent with the both of you walking to the subway together and taking it to where you lived. He always brought you up to Stark's personal floor, to both his and Stark's labs, then to the R&D floors that you stopped exploring ever since your interaction with Tony Stark. He showed you what people were working on if they allowed you both in, and you'd watch him work on projects when he figured he'd procrastinated long enough. Sometimes MJ and Ned would tag along because apparently both you and Peter vouching for them was enough for security to let them through. Of course you had MJ meet your sister. It was a terrifying experience.

You spent weeks training Peter, watching him crawl up walls and do flips with more grace than you ever could and learning from him, but also taking him down much faster than he could ever take down anyone else. He was resilient but needed the training that both you and your sister provided. And even if your sister had been doing this longer than you had, you had abilities she didn't that could match and counter Spider-Man's.

Somehow Peter got even more awkward. He was clumsy, and was only lucky he didn't break things (or his own body parts) because of his powers. You didn't really want to tell him that you knew why. If you didn't have your own response to how he felt about you, he'd think that you were rejecting him. Though conflicted, MJ decided to make that decision for you.

"Ned, wanna come with me to see Ms. Romanov while she's training?" MJ asked, slinging her sweater over her shoulder.

"Uh, I don't really-"

"We have lovebirds to leave alone. Come on."

Ned looked a little torn, considering he had either the option of staying and not letting his two friends talk alone for once or leaving and being constantly terrified of a woman and a teenage girl for hours. You felt he made the worse choice, as he followed MJ. Fool.

"Did you just call Ned a fool?" Peter laughed.

You put your hand over your mouth, but laughed with him anyway. You were both sitting on the same sofa that led to Peter finding out that he was a part of your job. His hand reached yours, putting it on top of where they rested on your lap. He pulled it towards him and held it like romantic couples usually do, with fingers crossed together. It took some struggle because you both moved your hands the same way. Once again, you shared a laugh, though this one was more strained and uncomfortable.

"You like me, Peter," you said, not an ounce of doubt in your words. "I've known behaviour long enough to know. And I like you too, but I'm scared that it's because you're the first friend I've had that wasn't my sister."

"I was supposed to say it first," he pouted. "I had those two leave on purpose!"

You laughed and lightly squeezed his hand.

"I mean, what's life if we're not going to take risks?" he continued. "You decided to go to public school after years of not making friends, and I went on a school trip, got bitten by a spider, and decided not to tell anyone. If it doesn't work out, we can still be friends, right?"

"Nat would force me to stick around you as part of the job. Keeping you around as a friend is just a plus."

"Well, don't think that I'm letting you off the hook for telling me how you feel first. I'm holding you to this." Peter pointed a finger menacingly at you, which you pushed away.

"Sorry for stealing your thunder. And speaking of thunder, Thor's coming in a few hours. You wanna hide his food and blame it on Barton?"

"Hell yeah."

[remuswriting]

What I’ve Learned In My Creative Writing Class: Character

Disclaimer: I may sound aggressive and people may think I’m “calling them out” but I’m not.  When looking at things to address, I just scrolled through Tumblr to see what the most requested things were.  Nothing against anyone.

Here is a mixture of things I learned from my professor and have learned over creating characters the last 11 years.  In writing, character is probably the most important thing.  If you write a character that doesn’t keep the reader entertained or become attached to them, then your character isn’t doing their job. It’s similar to if we know someone super boring, typically we try to avoid them (I could just be a bad person though).  In x reader writing, Y/N is a character.  Characters need more than just a name and description but a backstory, personality, insecurities, and identity.

Backstory

I kind of blend backstory and personality in this but I think it flows together??

Y/N needs a backstory just like canon characters do.  They need a family, friend group, interests, childhood memories, and more.  The reader doesn’t have to know all these things but the author does.  How do you know what your character would do if you don’t even know your character? I’ll repeat this; Y/N is a character. We may not know how you picture them physically and can come up with that ourselves, but that’s all we can do. We can’t create a personality for Y/N because that’s your job.  I may get controversial in this.

You’re requested to write flirty reader.  Why is Y/N flirty?  How is Y/N flirty?  Are they trying to gain something from acting like that?  Are they just flirty on accident?  Have they always been flirty?  Did something happen that now they act like that?  You can tell when there is no depth to a character when you don’t have any of these questions answered.  I become more interested when a character mentions that Y/N hasn’t always been flirty like they are now and I’m curious as to why because it could answer one of the questions listed above.  I’m aware that requests like that are meant for quick fluff but I’m never satisfied with fluff.  There’s never enough substance to a character for me to really like it.  Before I point out other commonly seen things that could be enhanced, let me explain what I mean by the things I explain with one of my own pieces.

In Kisses, a Hinata fluff drabble I wrote, I pictured Y/N’s whole day as well as friends, relations to people, his college major, and why he shares government with Tsukishima before I started writing and only wrote 634 words.  I hinted at those things because it was important to in order to get the whole effect of what I’m trying to portray.

Y/N says his day is okay and his government class was boring, even with Tsukishima next to him. He hates his government class, which either means his professor sucks or it’s hot his strong suit academically. In this context, it’s the first one. He and Tsukishima share the same major: Paleontology.  He’s how Y/N and Hinata met each other and is decently close to Y/N.  They’ve matched up schedules because of this.  I didn’t write all of this because I doubt the reader wanted me to go on a tangent about it but I wanted there to be a justified reason of why Y/N mentioned Tsukishima so casually.  It also just adds more to me as a writer when writing because there’s more to work off of.

Y/N is close to Hinata’s teammates, which means they’ve been dating for a while.  He knows how Osamu owns an onigiri store and knows Atsumu well enough that he doesn’t particularly like him because of his personality. He’s nice to him though and tries to make him feel included because Y/N’s friends made him feel like the third wheel when Hinata wasn’t there.  It shows that there’s a kindness to him and makes you wonder if that’s why Hinata fell for him.

I thought of all of this before I started writing.  It adds more personality and depth to the character, even if minimal, if you know their backstory.  You don’t have to have an entire childhood backstory (unless needed) but it helps to know more about your character beyond the fact that they’re flirty.

Focus

Don’t focus a character around one thing.

The flirty character thing is part of a personality and can be woven into different things when done right. A tall reader shouldn’t be just about how scared everyone is of them because their height.  How does Y/N feel about their height?  Are they self-conscious?  Do they even care?  Also, for the love the god, stop requesting seven foot readers.  I have received four of those in the past and it’s unrealistic and annoying. So, Y/N is tall.  What else do they have about them?  Let’s say they are insecure of how tall they are, what do they do to hide that insecurity?  A fun example of what I’m trying to say is in “Roy Spivey” by Miranda July.  In the first three to four paragraphs, she mentions her height and what she does to go against it in a way.

For this reason, I always let men see me asleep early on in a relationship. It makes them realize that even though I am five feet eleven I am fragile and need to be taken care of. A man who can see the weakness of a giant knows that he is a man indeed.

This may not exactly scream “I am insecure of my height” by any means but she is aware of her height. Instead of sleeping, what does your character do to distract from their height if they’re self-conscious over it? Or do they love the fact they’re tall? If so, then what to do they do to show it off?  Being tall is something but how someone reacts to it is another thing.

This applies to more than just tall readers but also readers who blush all the time (Touma Kikuchi from Ao Haru Ride), short readers, etc.  You can use your characters so much better if you know they feel about the things you’re focused on.

Accuracy

If you’ve followed me long enough, then you know I have a thing about accuracy.  I do a lot of research for everything I write, even if I think I am extraordinarily knowledgeable about the subject.  This part is pretty optional depending on who you are as writer.  I like things to feel real and be accurate but there are people who don’t care about that. Neither side is wrong.  I do this a lot because of research I’ve done for novels I’ve written before and it makes me feel content.  For Haikyuu, I just know the timeline near exact to where I don’t have to check to see what month certain things happened in.  This is a me thing because I think it helps.  It may not, writing is all opinion based anyways.

Volleyball player/manager Y/N is a common thing I see and I have written for both of them.  I know literally nothing about volleyball, not counting what is taught in Haikyuu as well as the couple of matches my brother and I watched on YouTube, so I researched things.  Sports are one of those things that it is hard to be 100% accurate unless you know the sport.  I try not to write out game scenes because I don’t know how to explain what each move is but I can do a recap after the match of a character thinking it over. They’re thinking about how maybe the blockers blocked a spike or they fucked up a receive or how angry someone was when something happened.  If you write in third person, this creates a more first person like atmosphere and makes the reader closer to the character.

Accuracy with characters can do a lot to make them well-rounded and realistic.  This can go into other things besides sports like choir, band, cheer, soccer, basketball, etc. (I am actually decent at writing soccer because it’s the best sport ever.)

For me, realism and accuracy makes the story more enjoyable.  In my class, we discussed how flat character who are doing something incorrectly make us put a story down faster than anything else.  You have to see Y/N as a character in order to be able to use them to your full ability.  You can’t do half-assed anything with them because they are essentially more important than a canon character because it’s focused on them.  Basically, put the same effort into everyone you write but the focal character (usually Y/N) should be focused on more and should be the character you know the best.

Surroundings

Everyone is influenced by their surroundings. This typically affects their decisions and view but maybe not their personality.  I’ve discussed this before on Japan and LGBT, but I’ll do it again.

Let’s say that even though Y/N is the gayest person to ever exist, they aren’t likely to be open about it in Japan.  In my previously mentioned post, I talked about how gay relationships are still seen as taboo (it is decreasing slowly though) and usually fetishized.  Trans individuals are even more likely to not be open about it.  Wandering Son by Takako Shimura is one of my favorite mangas that talks about LGBT things but sadly it does make trans men feel slightly like a joke.  It shows the language and shame forcing trans people to stay in the closet.  From numerous articles I’ve read, the shame is decreasing but that doesn’t mean the struggle isn’t as bad as it has been.  I believe the youngest person to have sterilization surgery (what must be completed to be seen as your gender to the Japanese government) was 20 years old. Also, there are very few places they can go to receive hormone replacement and gender therapy.

I’m focusing on Japan for this because it’s where anime takes place.  I write male reader and I take this into account while writing.  It affects how they interact with others and their thought process.  Are they struggling with their identity?  What is their family like?  Even if their parents are accepting, are going to be open about it?  How far are they willing to go to hide it?

Understanding the surroundings of your character affects who they are and how they respond to things. This also takes part in their internal struggles and maybe what the conflict of the story could be if focused on their identity.

Internal Struggle

Everyone has at least one internal struggle.  Usually people have a lot more but in fiction you try to focus on one because real life doesn’t always transfer over in that regard.  Struggles make your decisions though because you’re trying to deal with it. Characters are meant to feel like real people.  My professor said that the goal is to write your character to where people will talk about them as if they’re a real person.

This can be difficult to do with Y/N but that doesn’t mean you can’t try.  I always try to think of what is a struggle Y/N is going through that is either easily seen or never addressed.  If I went through all of my one-shots, then I can tell you and explain why I did that.  Does having a struggle mean that people see them as real people?  No but at least there’s a chance they could.  I really tried to make Y/N in my ficlet First Words more realistic but I don’t think I did the best job.  It’s okay to not be perfect at it because it’s really hard to nail down original characters but reader characters are even harder.

It doesn’t matter how hard it is to make a character realistic because they do still need a struggle. There is character driven story and plot driven story; people prefer the first.  An example would be Harry Potter or there’s also Forest Gump.  We’re not focused so much on each plot point but what the character is doing during it.  We love the character more than we love the story.

[ijustwant2write]

Just Next Door-Sam Wilson x Reader

(GIF credit to @marveladdicts​)

Tags: @amirahiddleston @bloodorangemoonlight

Summary: Sam moves to new apartment filled with the usual neighbours, always armed with brief conversations; including the girl next door (Y/N). He doesn't know much about her, until something triggers a panic attack, revealing that they have more in common than they thought.

Characters: Sam Wilson x Reader

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Panic attacks, mentions of war, fighting and death

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sam hadn't been all too happy when he had to leave his home because of the aftermath of the whole 'civil war' situation. There wasn't really any plan put in place as to what they would do now, seeing as they were still under watch by the government. Steve had said to lay low, separate themselves to a certain distance, but not too much that they were out of reach. So here he was, having lived in a normal apartment building for three months, lying around, waiting for something to happen.

Looking at the positives, it was quite nice to go back to the normal part of life. This is what it would have been like if Captain America hadn't come along; except it would be back in his own home, not this small apartment. Still, after all the shit they had been through, why waste time looking on the negatives?

When there was a knock on the door, Sam was cautious, you never knew what was on the other side, or who could be coming after him. After stealthily checking the peephole, he relaxed when he saw it was his neighbour, (Y/N). A kind smile was on his face as he opened the door.

She was also grinning, one hand in her blazer pockets and the other holding onto the straps of her handbag."Hi, just letting you know that they're finally looking into the plumbing for the whole place. Saw some guys come in through the entrance."

"Thank god. I was only just getting used to having hot water for thirty seconds."

"Tell me about it."

"Busy day at the office?"

"Average, but no one pissed me off today, so that's good, I guess. What about you?"

"You know the drill. Staying in hiding till Cap needs me."

It was impossible not to know who Sam was. The news had covered as much as they could, the stories were practically selling themselves. However he was fortunate that most people living here didn't interact all that often. He had been wary of (Y/N) at the beginning, wondering if she was some sort of spy sent out to keep an eye on him; but he was able to figure her out, she was just your typical neighbour, a friendly greeting here and there, small conversations.

(Y/N) sighed."You've been here for so long though."

"Life of a hero isn't all that glamorous."

"No, suppose not. Well, I'm gonna grab dinner, I'll see you later."

"Uh (Y/N)," Sam held the door slightly open,"I've actually filled my time with cooking, and I definitely have enough for the both of us, if you want?"

"Oh, uh..."

"Not like, in a date way or anything, as friends."

Her voice was enthusiastic as she spoke."Yeah actually! I have a bottle of wine in the fridge, I'll go grab it."

They smiled at each other before she left, Sam closing the door but keeping it unlocked. He really didn't expect anything out of this. All he wanted was some company, just a friend to talk to, someone down to Earth. (Y/N) had only asked questions about his alter ego once, and then was when they first met. After that, she was the only one who looked at him like a normal person.

The meal together was full of laughter and some deep talks. Sam didn't let too much out, he still had to be careful. (Y/N) spoke of her childhood (as had he), what she had always dreamed of doing and fun anecdotes from work. However, Sam realised she had mission a portion of her life out, she had mentioned she had an 'old job' but never stated what it was (in fact, she had never even implied where she worked). Sam had tried to direct the conversation back that way, though (Y/N) was able to steer it right back, completely avoiding it. He decided it was unimportant at this stage of the friendship, he didn't want to pry. Though, she did tense up slightly when he mentioned his time in the military.

Sam felt refreshed the next day. Talking with (Y/N) had given him a break from the silence, or the yapping from the TV and radio. Well, he was at peace until he looked at his laundry basket. Another annoying thing about the apartment was that the washing had to be done in a communal laundry room. He had always found it strange how people came together in one room to do their laundry.

Effortlessly carrying the basket downstairs, he saw his neighbour also headed to the same place. (Y/N) had sensed someone behind her, relieved when it was Sam.

"Thank god it's you," she had sighed,"I wouldn't be able to deal with Jim at this time in the morning."

They walked down the rest of the stairs together, easing into conversation again. Sam noticed that her basket was just as big and full as his, yet she had no trouble with it; her office uniform hid her muscular arms, as if she had been lifting weights all her life. Still, Sam only saw snippets of (Y/N), perhaps she was a gym junky.

Their talking continued as they began loading their laundry into the machines. Sam had his back to (Y/N), until he heard a bang on the floor. His instincts caused him to whip around, calming when he saw that (Y/N) had knocked her basket over. She was knelt down, hair falling in front of her face as she scooped everything back in.

"Here, I'll help you." Sam offered, kneeling down opposite her.

It was only when he was level with (Y/N) that he saw the true state she was in. Her body was shaking, hunched over, breathing rapid. He recognised the signs of a panic attack, but what had brought it on? He noticed that she was clutching onto something in her hands; it was a military hat, green camouflage, the army. Whether it be hers or someone she knew, Sam had to do something to help her. The machines around him were creating loud, banging noises, so he quickly went round and turned them all off (hopefully no one walked in and made a complaint, now wasn't the time) before going back to (Y/N).

"(Y/N), it's OK, you're safe. You're safe with me, in the apartment building. We're in the laundry room, yeah?" Sam calmly said, kneeling in front of her. He repeated these words, slowly and gently reaching out for her.

Her hands were still gripping onto the hat, eyes in a trance like state until Sam finally started getting through to her. The shaking stopped, tears began to dry, and she practiced her breathing with Sam. Soon, she was back to a somewhat normal state.

"You OK?" Sam whispered after a few more minutes of breathing.

She nodded before she spoke."Yeah...sorry, I'm so sorry you had to witness that-"

"Hey, it's alright, these things happen." Sam reassured her as she began crying again."You were in the army."

"Mhm. Years ago."

"It's a tough world."

"You can say that again. I saw too many horrible things. Thought I could get through it, wanted to serve my country but... But it was just too much."

"It gets too much for everyone, it's normal."

Sam decided to reveal another part of his life, knowing that if he connected with her, she might feel more comfortable.

He sat down next to her both of them leaning against the machines."I lost a friend actually, a very close one. It was a tragic accident."

Surprisingly, she opened up straight away."So did I. I think too many of us did. I keep in touch with a few of my comrades, we try to talk about it, but it's hard."

"You know, I actually ran meetings before I met Cap, about PTSD, aftermath of coming out of the forces, anything really. So, if you need to talk, I'll be happy to listen. As a mentor or a friend. But there's no pressure, it's always in your own time."

"Thank you Sam." Megan looked down at her cap, holding it more caringly."I thought I had packed this away with my uniform somewhere, must have slipped in the basket somehow. Just... I wasn't expecting to see it."

"Of course not. Has this happened before?"

"I used to have nightmares sometimes. The worst thing was this slamming door downstairs, I always asked a neighbour to get it sorted, they never did. It just reminded me of the guns and bombs, especially when it came out of nowhere; they didn't have a particular schedule, so I couldn't even expect the noise. One day I went down to ask one last time before complaining to the manager of the place, but it slammed and I broke down in the hallway. I just can't seem to control it, someone always finds me crumpled up on the floor."

"I can give you techniques to help with that, if you want them."

"Please, that would actually help."

"Course. For now, shall we get on with our laundry?"

They both chuckled, the mood lightening. He helped her off the floor, going back around and turning the other machines on again, once (Y/N) had agreed. Small talk was made as they carried on like nothing happened, but (Y/N) hadn't let go of her hat. Sam saw, though made no comment, not right now.

"You sure you're gonna be alright?" Sam checked as they stood outside their doors.

"I think so. It's strange isn't it? How something like a piece of clothing can bring back so many memories."

"The human brain is complex. Everyone has has the same feeling, whether in the forces or not."

"Yeah, I guess so. Thank you Sam, I'll use those techniques you told me about." she started to unlock her door.

"If you ever need me, at anytime as well, just knock, yeah?"

"I will." before she closed the door, she caught his attention again."Sam?"

"Hm?"

"It's comforting to have someone who's been through the same thing. Thank you for helping me today."

“Well, you know I’m just next door. I'll always be right here."

[risingmoonyue]

Batman/P5 Crossover

-Sometime before Akechi but after Futaba or Haru

-Damian is sent to Tokyo to check it out for whatever reason (maybe they had a fight, or he’s going stir crazy, or he’s just the only one they can send at the time and didn't bother with all that "you're not old enough" business)

-Dami is younger than Futaba by a year or three or four

-He is baby

-He is transferred to Shujin as a child prodigy where he also immediately joins the "outcast" community because of his attitude and intelligence

-Talia goes too, manages to cut off all his communications with the Batfam, and is planning to take him home in a month whether he likes it or not

-For whatever reason, Batfam doesn't realize this??? (Like, either she's faking reports or they're too busy (think fight or chaos in Gotham scenario maybe???))

-Anyways, obviously Dami doesn't want this

-Somehow the Phantom Thieves hear about the situation

-Maybe he was assigned to shadow Makoto for a while, and they managed to overhear a phone conversation either to Talia or Dami trying to get in touch with the Batfam and nothing really working

-And eventually they outright see him fighting with his mother with him at some point (either in person or over a phone call) mentioning that she already disowned him, he's happy with his Father's family, and that he will head her family business over his dead body—and oh would you look at that, you already managed that, care to try again Mother?

-The PT's are understandably alarmed

-And learn her name from Damian (from Makoto maybe or someone else he bonded a little with) (MORGANA) (THEY GAVE HIM MONA FOR A DAY AND NOW THEY KNOW EVERYTHING FROM HIS MANY PETS TO HIS LEAST TO MOST FAVORITE SIBLINGS STARTING FROM TIM TO DICK TO HIS FAVORITE FOODS TO EVERYONE IN HIS FAMILY’S NAMES TO HOW STUPID HE FINDS EVERYONE AND WHY THEY'RE STUPID TO HIS FAVORITE MUSIC TO WHY ANIMALS ARE SUPERIOR TO HUMANS AND MONA’S LIKE OMG TMI BUT LOVED IT THERE BECAUSE HE WAS PAMPERED LIKE NO TOMORROW GOT ONLY THE BEST FOOD AND THE BEST BEDS AND TOYS THAT HE GOT TO TAKE WITH HIM BACK TO LEBLANC AND NOW AKIRA AND SOJIRO ARE LIKE DUDE WHY AND MONA’S LIKE IM KEEPING HIM THIS HUMAN IS GOOD SORRY AKIRA YOU’RE DEMOTED)

-The palace is basically a fortress full of assasin ninjas and clones

-Dunno what her keywords are tho

-Or her what her palace actually is

-Help?????????

-Cognitive Bruce, Ra's, Damian, Dami clones, and Jason (maybe rest of batfam??? Idk)

-Long story short, the traps are so assassin-y that they need someone who knows the actual Talia because egads, this is the closest they have all come to actually dying

-And they didn't really want to do it and were just gonna power through

-But Dami manages to find out and get in and of course uses his background to help out whether they like it or not

(-he's slightly off put by Joker's name, but then decides to just solely call Gotham!Joker "The Clown")

-At some point they are captured by the Shadow Talia who is decked out in super fancy traditional Arab clothing and probably every conceivable hidden weapon known to man

-Talia says Damian won't and can't ever change from who he "is meant to be", referring to him as her Alexander and basically brutally addresses all of his insecurities concerning the batfam and people and society in general

-And all this is kinda killing him cause he still loves Talia despite the fact that she killed him and had a violent citywide custody battle with Batman but he also loves the batfam too even if he would absolutely never admit it (except to maybe Grayson)

-Joker does his emotional kick-start thing and/or Dami is like Makoto and just gets so mad he triggers it himself, but either way, lo and behold, Damian is now a persona user, usurping Futaba's place as the baby of the team

-The outfit is kinda inspired by his future adult league outfit with the top and bottom and gold jewelry, but has a raggedy cloak with dull gold edges, a Robin mask and gauntlets, and his main weapons are batarang-sword hybrids

---acknowledging his past and moving on with his present

-Persona: Aladdin, Tsun Zu, Ali Baba, somone else???? Need ideas plz help

-Probably the fastest member of the group

-His small body makes his hits not as strong, but hoo boy can that kid move around

-Hits a lot and dodges most

-Most of his Persona abilities are physical and have high crit and/or are status affects

-Downside is he has not a lot of SP (compared to the rest of the group)

-And he has pretty good HP

-Those good ol' “superior genetics” have to be good for something after all

-Anyways they escape to find the treasure another day

-And Dami is all smug because HA you definitely can't stop me now

-And the PTs are just resigned to keeping an eye on the extremely competent snotty assassin/vigilante child

-They do like him though so it's not too bad (comes with learning all his darkest secrets via his mother and thought processes that tends to accompany watching someone at their lowest get a persona)

(-They do manage to temper him a bit and help him adjust better to actual society too that's nice)

-As such, they also know about Batman and Robin and his whoooole family. Both sides.

-Damian decided not to tell batfam because he does agree with the whole "most adults suck" mentality that the Phantom Thieves have; despite his deep, deep respect for his father and mother and Grayson, they all do kinda suck

-And he’s rather not get pulled out as he surely would if he told them

(-On a side note, he likes Sojiro

-The man gives him coffee, curry, and leaves him mostly to his own devices

-Instant win)

-He is dubbed "Mockingbird" apon return to the metaverse because of his freaky talented vocal skills in mimicking anyone and everyone's voice

-Eventually, they beat Talia

-She doesn't publicly confess to all her sins unlike everyone else

-PTs don't realize it worked until Damian came into school with a genuine smile on his face, and more relaxed than he'd been since he got there

-PTs are confused until Damian's like, this works out because hey, don't want to have several people assassinated and draw the entire freaking league to Tokyo

(-Which was probably why Talia didn't)

-They agree

-But she does break down to tears in Dami's arms and promise to ACTUALLY TALK CIVILLY with Bruce to try and make up for everything and try to fix up the league

-He stays for the rest of p5

-But steers all his reports very much away from the Phantom Thieves

-If anything, he downplays absolutely everything, and makes it seem like it's nothing super big but he's gonna stay a while to keep and eye out because y'alls are busy and I like it here and I haven't gotten expelled so there

-The PTs like to add funny stuff on there just to see if they’ll notice

-Like, Akira likes to have Dami describe his day in excruciating detail. Like, recounting the entirety of his nine or so months to Sae during police interrogation, excruciating

-Mona is pushing for the shiny stuff

-Yusuke just likes to put in bursts of randomness (Dami once mentioned that an acquaintance made another acquaintance T-pose in a church for art lol)

-Ann loves to rant about food

-Haru is always insisting on about feelings

-Ryuji likes to complain about everything and puts in ridiculous requests

-Futaba is just putting in every gen-z thing ever

-Makoto is actually responsible and tries to get him to talk about his progress in school and his social life

-And Akechi is absolutely nowhere near any of this and doesn’t know it exists

-When they have the Tokyo/Japan-wide calling card, Batfam sees it too because let's face it, that's totally the sorta thing that they would keep an eye out for even if he didn't look at the news in the entirety of the time Dami was in Tokyo

-And they send a message to Damian (the first actual communication they've had since before Talia) saying "WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON OVER THERE????"

-And with the entirety of the Phantom Thieves looking over his shoulder, Damian's just like "Chill dudes, everything's fiiiiiiiiiine"

-And they're like "UH WHAT PART OF THIS IS FINE????" because they've dug around a bit and found every news report, and oh hey, this isn't anywhere near as calm as Damian described and he’s being super OOC and what’s going on?!?!?!?!?!

-And Damian, being egged on by the most of the PTs, just sends a winky face

-Just

-😉

-And he's smug, because it's still chaos over there so they can't actually come get him and try to pull him out because he's being super ooc

-Which means he's free to do what he wants/needs in the meantime

-Cue the end of the game

-And Dami is going with them on their summer road trip and cackling because the batfam is scrambling to find him in Tokyo but lol nope he's in a van the Japanese government tried and fail to follow

-And he found all the trackers like, a year ago

-Every

-Single

-One

-They eventually track him down to Akira's house where they're calmly eating dinner (and they've been expecting this for the past week so Mona was keeping watch just so they could pull this off) and talking about how uneventful the school year was

-Cue mass confusion in the batfam

-As the PTs enjoy just confusing them so much

-By talking to Mona

-Talking normal then crazy then normal again

-And just generally being their normal selves lol

-They explain absolutely nothing beyond gushing about how much progress socially and academically he’s made (gotta embarrass the baby of the group somehow) and making sure that if Dami absolutely has to go home that he's able to stay in touch

(-Later, Damian forms his own hero persona outside of Batman and Robin)

(-He names it Mockingbird)

(-Batfam proceeds to have a brain aneurysm while the PTs dab their happy proud tears out of their eyes on their regularly scheduled tea time at the Wayne Manor)

(-Damian sends a private plane every week or two lol)

(Bonus: ARTTTTTTT)

(Psst if you guys have ideas for art, outfits, interactions or scenarios, let me know)

[tekkai]

🅿 Here's your official pass to gush about headcanons for CP-9 (ft. your insert as well if you want)! Go wild!

Thank you Anon I love you for asking. I wasn’t able to go in depth for everyone so I focussed on the few my S/I is closest with. ;^; 

Lucci 

Lucci is an impossibly light sleeper and grows irritable due to his disrupted sleep schedule. He’s seldom able to sleep soundly through the night and attempts to recover by napping throughout the day. 

With the extremely specific and conscious exception of chicken, he is offended if you try to serve him any kind of fowl/poultry. He has a strong preference towards ‘red’ meats such as beef, lamb, and even game such as venison.

Obsession by Calvin Klein, or the closest in-universe alternative. In addition to bathing in Civetone, he carries the scent of brandy and sawdust. 

Hattori is more than a mascot, he is Lucci’s service animal. Most of his task serve to mitigate Lucci’s psychological needs. Among other tasks, ventriloquism is part of his work, as it allows Lucci to interact with new people in a roundabout way. Hattori can also ‘sweep’ rooms, alerting him to be certain a space is empty and easing his hypervigilance. Disrupting night terrors and providing sensory stimuli when his feeling overloaded. 

In canon we know they’ve been a team for at least 24 years. I would like to believe they’ve been together longer, prior to his arrival. I’ve thought a lot about a possible backstory for him, but we’ve been given so little in canon for me to work with it’s purely speculation. 

His father had been a no-name pirate. He left shortly after conception and the two never had any kind of relationship save for their genetics. Ironically he’d be killed by his son later in life. 

His mother was a lesser noble with a daughter from a previous marriage. As a baby he was close to his-sister,but he was so young when they died their memories are distorted. He blames the death of his family on the cowdarce of their appointed guard when their city was besieged. This is the root of his philosophy. 

Racing pigeons were an important culturally and Hattori is a descendant from his mother’s line of birds. 

Lucci is nearly legally blind. He is completely dependent on his contacts to get through the day. Caught without them however, not many people would be able to tell how much he struggles. He’s practiced in hiding his vulnerabilities and can get by without assistance by leveraging his other instincts, but he does struggle. The fact that his eye color changes significantly every time he appears is due to his colored lenses.  

Lucci was given the epithet of Massacre Weapon and conditioned to see himself as a tool. He holds himself to an impossible standard and values his worth based solely on his objective usefulness. 

He would never admit it to anyone, but he identifies with the local stray cats. Wherever he locates he makes a point to feed and look after the ferals in the area. He’s absolutely blown his cover once or twice confronting anyone stupid enough to harass a colony he’d been overlooking. 

Lucci honestly believes he’s working towards a more peaceful world. He does have a ravenous bloodlust, but if that was his only need, he’s strong enough to go rogue.  Lucci does not need his license to kill. The only reason he’s remained complaint to the WG’s needs is because they align with his own vision. 

Kaku

Kaku and Usopp both originated in the East Blue, have a natural affinity for working ships and are canonically mistaken for one another. I’m not about to claim a direct relation but I don’t think distant cousins would be out of the question or improbable. Kaku was an orphan taken in by WG and underwent intense programing to model him into the agent he is today. It would be reasonable to assume any record of his life before the government got a hold of him would be purged. I don’t think it’ll ever be a plot point but I just like this theory. 

Kaku may be the next young prodigy of the group, but he is also the designated baby/baby brother. As an unit it’s just universally accepted that he get’s a ‘pass’, especially in regards to Lucci. 

Ussop was able to antagonize Lucci twice after the the Leopard Man had brutalized others for less. It’s a subconscious reaction adn Lucci probably doesn’t even realize why his first instinct wasn’t to kill this pirate the moment he drew his weapon. 

He’s an effective agent but he get’s emotionally attached to places and people. Unlike Lucci who finds ideological satisfaction in his work, Kaku is loyal to CP9 due to his relationship with his colleagues. For this reason he’s a more efficient spy. 

Kaku has an aversion to alcohol. He’ll drink socially but only if it’s pushed on him.

An avid outdoorsmen. Kaku would spend everyday in the wilderness if he could get away with it. He has a secret cabin he escapes to and uses to decompress after an excessively stressful mision. 

Horses love him. Every since he was a child he’s been a natural with horses and no one can figure out why. They just instinctively adore him.

Jabra

Incredibly sensitive to chemical scents. He refuses to enter the laboratory for this very reason. 

I’ve touched on Zoan’s influencing their users in regards to Lucci before, and Jabra is no exception. Unlike Lucci however he’s happy to lean into his instincts and takes great pride in being a wolf. 

Makes really terrible dog puns. 

He prideful and arrogantly confident, but once his audience has left he’s painfully lonely. He craves a ‘pack’ and is hopeless romantic at heart. Has bounced from one failed relationship to another near constantly. 

He cares deeply about his fellow agents and views them as a kind of family.

He’s the first to throw insult or a playful jab, but the moment something is wrong he can tell. Jabra can be a jerk but he’s the best person to talk to if someone needs to vent or be comforted by. 

Claims it’s nonsense but he’s extremely superstitious. If Kalifa makes a comment about the stars aligning he makes note. 

Angel’s self proclaimed older brother.

He’s competitive to a fault. It doesn’t matter what the challenge is he needs to be the best. 

Found his Rooster as an abandoned chick and has been raising it ever since. He’s a proud father and carries photos of the bird when it can’t accompany him specifically so he can show his son off. This tactic has never once worked while he was trying to flirt with someone. 

Kalifa

She’s mildly allergic to animal fur. It’s nothing significant but she’s forced to carry allergy pills when she’s working with her Zoan colleagues. Her new abilities, however, have been a godsend in keeping the annoying fur at bay.  

More so than any of the other agents she struggles with feeling ‘good enough’. Having been born into her role she feels an immense pressure to live up to the expectation that were set for her.

Her mother was also a government agent at one point.

Collects ‘lamb’ themed objects. She doesn’t love having to be around actual farm animals (and despises Jabra’s rooster) but she finds the artistic representations of lambs aesthetically pleasing. 

Is secretly really into astrology. She’s complied full birth charts on her co-workers using what little information is available and reasonable estimating the unknowns. 

She is extensively musical trained and is by far the most talented agent in that regard. 

Angel

Not a Ciphor Pol agent. Not a government agent. Not even a marine. But since you were kind enough to include her, she’ll get a guest feature.

Angel was blessed with a powerful fruit but cursed with the lack of willpower to use it properly.

She can be friendly but it takes a long time before she can fully trust someone. 

Used the name Lucifer before settling down and trying to start a new life for herself.

She descended from the upper vearths and is confused when people down here talk about religion. To her “God” is an epithet you can earn and a position of power in the sky islands. She’d interacted with Enel and caught wind that he’d ascended and is thoroughly confused every time someone makes an offhand religious comment or sees an act of devotion, ‘cause god is kind of prick?’. She’s never commented on her confusion. When her wedding was planned to take place in a chapel she was horrified for reasons that weren’t clear to anyone else present.

Since that was the only part she had an objection to the planner in charge caved and re-scheduled the event to an outdoor venue.  

Terribly pyrophobic. Ironically the devil is not okay around an open flame. 

[justjessame]

The Deal Chapter 19

After the Governor’s defeat, our community at the prison grew and thrived. Dad and Hershel made plans to use the fertile land surrounding us for farming. Carl worked hard to go back to being “normal”. Beth found love. Daryl and Glenn managed to find peace between them, and worked together on runs and keeping up our numbers and morale.

During one run, they find a man named Bob Stookey. And another member is added to our population. Hershel, Dad, Carl, and Beth prep the land for crops as I keep Judith occupied on a blanket nearby, enjoying the sun and laughing at my brother’s attempts to become a farmer. It feels like we might have finally found IT. That elusive place that my dad kept promising.

With the aid of our new members, with the ingenuity of Hershel’s experience, and with the aid of the prison library we keep adding conveniences. Running water being the one I most enjoy. Everyone has a part to play. With my decision to make sure Judith is raised without the cloud of terror hanging over her innocent head, Dad decides the other children will be added to my self-imposed burden. I become the head of our daycare. Keeping the kids, none as young as Judith, occupied while their parents perform their own jobs.

I’m not their teacher, nor do I want to be. Instead, I am their caretaker between the classes that other adults teach. I’m in charge of their fun, reading them books, taking them on walks so they can enjoy the world that isn’t overrun by biters, and watching as they act out plays that children their age can perform. Carol takes storytime almost daily, even with my own version, and it’s then that I take Judith and rest. Classes aren’t long in the prison, but my days feel full. And I take all the pleasure I can in seeing my baby sister grow and my baby brother find himself outside of the blood and gore that was overtaking his existence.

Michonne and Daryl keep Carl in comic books, every run seemingly adds to his growing collection. And Daryl keeps me in small tokens of luxury that he knows will make me smile. A bottle of sweet smelling shampoo he found in some pharmacy or lotion for myself, instead of the baby scented bottles we keep for Judith and the other children. He offers each tiny gift with that smile that I’ve grown to love so much. And then, late at night, after each member of our community has closed the curtains and blankets that we call doors, he and I slip away to our own spot. Far away from the others, in a section that actually has a real door, we can take our time with one another. Even nights that have no moon to shine through the tiny window of the area we’ve made our home, in darkness we can find one another. Because at night, Dad takes over the care of Judith, and Daryl takes care of me.

Every time a new person or group appears to seek refuge with our group, my dad asks three questions. The answers are important, but more so the inflection that these newcomers answer each becomes tantamount to our safety. “How many walkers have you killed? How many people? Why?” I rarely witness these interactions. Keeping Judith away from anyone who hasn’t been vetted, who hasn’t been deemed safe, is my sole responsibility. Even if Carol has taken her to play or if Beth has her as an audience for one of her solo performances. I find my baby sister, and I keep her hidden away. Sometimes, I have to hide for longer than I’d care to, forced to neglect my duties to the other children, as Daryl, Dad, Hershel, and our other leaders take their time to decide on these newly arrived people. In the end, it’s worth it. Keeping her safe, away from eyes that would see her as a weakness or a target keeps me busy. And once the decision is made, my routine returns to normal, until the next influx.

Carol found comfort in a new relationship. A man with two daughters, Lizzie and Mika, and who has to be locked in his cell nightly because of sleepwalking. Ryan Samuels, a nice man who seems to treat his daughters and Carol well. I’m happy for her. She takes up the job of head chef and seems to enjoy the storytime she started, which she’s earned. The peace, the quiet, and the comfort. After Ed, and then the loss of Sofia, Carol deserves any happiness she finds.

I watch these new people, their ways and their actions, making sure that no one got past Dad’s questions by accident. While Dad is governing with help, I am staying clear of any role that would hand me more responsibility. I have more than enough, I think, as I watch Dad and Carl become more at ease with one another. While I watch Carl’s harsh edges start to smooth a bit, and Daryl learns to pick up more leadership than I think he’d ever considered for himself.

I laugh more now, than I have for some time. Seeing Beth fall for a boy named Zach and seeing Zach try so desperately to make himself useful. Most of my laughter comes from his insistence in trying to guess Daryl’s past life job. He tries so hard to get me to give him hints, but I shrug and chuckle. Daryl’s past doesn’t matter to me, as mine doesn’t even seem real to me now. Carol still teases my love every chance she gets, calling him “Pookie” or reminding him of his sweetness, in full view of all the people who have a trace of hero worship for my sweet man.

He’s gone back to hunting, without me since I've become a full-time parent to my sister. And Daryl’s aim is forever true, bringing back a big game that half our community had never enjoyed, not even in the before that most of us know better than to mention. I find myself laughing at the people who rush to thank him, that want to shake his hand, because the look on Daryl’s face, a mixture of awkwardness and incredulousness will forever make me laugh. He doesn’t see himself the way they do, he can’t even seem to see himself the way I do.

After Michonne comes back from a supply run alone, with nothing more than comic books for Carl’s growing collection, I know that a real run will need planning. And, as soon as that thought flashes, I know that Daryl will go. He always does. And now, after going through all that we have so far, he doesn’t fight me on the goodbyes I have to say. On the closeness I need to feel before he leaves me. Because, seeing Merle die at his hands, he knows as clearly as I do, that it doesn’t always end the way we want it to.

Maggie is scheduled for the next run, but I watch as Glenn takes her spot, and feel like I should find her. Make sure she’s alright, that she isn’t sick or- The thought rushes through me and I close my eyes. I have time, before Daryl leaves and before I have to get to work, so I run to Maggie and Glenn’s “room”. “Hey?” I offer Judith bouncing on my hip. Maggie smiles up at me from her seat on the bed. “I saw that Glenn’s taking your spot, wanted to be sure you’re ok.”

I can see the blush burn on her cheeks and bite my lip. “I’m fine.” Her accent is thicker when she’s embarrassed or any of her emotions are higher. “He’s a worrywart.”

She slides over so I can sit, and she reaches for Judith letting my arms have a break. “Does he have reason to be a worrywart?” I ask, since we’ve settled in the prison, Maggie and I have become closer. We’re basically the same age, and she was there when Lori-

I watch her studying my baby sister, taking her time to answer. “Not yet.” Her answer is quiet, and I understood. Those extra condoms that I’d overhead them bantering about at the farm were long gone. And they’re married now. It’s just a matter of time.

“Are you-” I stop, wondering if it’s my place to even feel curious. Would I, if we weren’t surrounded by the hellscape we were in, be asking the same thing of a friend? Feeling sure I would, I go on. “Are y’all trying?”

She squints at Judith’s button nose, considering my question. “We aren’t NOT trying.” And I have to giggle, which makes her own slip out. “I don’t know, Jessi, I see this little one and I think why not? But then I remember-”

Covering her hand with mine, I nod. We’ll both always remember how Judith came into this world as Lori went out. “Just let me know, when you are, trying, I mean.” I wink at her and stand. Holding out my arms so she can hand Judith over. “I have to go say goodbye, see Daryl off.” Kissing Judith’s soft head absently. “Come find me if you need company. All those kids need more distracting than I can come up with.”

My day, after kissing Daryl with more passion than I think his run mates cared to witness and forcing out the familiar promises on both sides, went along the well worn routine that I’d begun when routines became real again. I kept the kids occupied between classes, and felt so much pressure off my shoulders when Carol relieves me for storytime. Taking Judith for a long nap, for both of us, I woke up to Carl looking like he was ready to throw up, standing in the cell that I used during the day.

“What’s going on?” I ask, fear creeping in. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Judith was awake too, sitting in her crib playing with the toys that kept being found during runs.

Looking around us, he asked if we could take Judith for a walk. And I knew, whatever he was about to tell me was bad news. Carl took Judith in his arms and we walked out of the building and down to the fence, away from prying ears. And there, rocking Judith in his arms, getting as much calm from her sweetness as I did, he told me that Carol’s storytime wasn’t exactly what Dad and the others thought it was. That Carol, the consummate mother and quiet one, was teaching the kids how to weld and use knives. Closing my eyes, letting Carl tell me that she was fucking TRAINING children in the art of killing, I felt that fear that I thought I’d over come come creeping back in harder, with longer tentacles and that it was wrapping around me once again.

And here, away from the crowds of our population, away from the pig family that Dad and Carl had built a pen for, away from the walkers that were crowding around one part of the fence, I knew without a doubt that our world wasn’t nearly as safe as we wanted it to be. And, a snide part of my brain reminded me, it never would be.

[floralguccistyles]

one: live long and prosper

The tech crew at Outset Studios now had a drinking game. Every time I was asked about Harry Styles, they took a shot.

It wasn’t a very uncommon thing for them to stumble out of the building at three in the morning, very very drunk.

At the beginning of my career, this hadn’t happened much. I started Alien Crossing, my uni podcast, in a tiny little studio that London Metropolitan University had in their theater’s basement. I had about five downloads a week, and most of my listeners assumed that I had been born and raised in London. I let them believe it. It wasn’t that I was lying to them, per say, but I had no desire to be connected to Holmes Chapel. The only thing back home that I liked were my parents, and they had already made peace with the fact that if they wanted to see me, they should come visit me in London because I refused to step foot back in Cheshire. 

Five downloads turned into twenty, twenty turned into ninety, ninety turned into two hundred and fourteen, and my numbers continued to grow. With the growth of my downloads also came the growth of background knowledge of my person. Including my middle name, my birthday, my parents’ names, and where I was born and raised. 

The questions about growing up in the same town as one-fifth of the biggest boyband in the world started to come in around that time. And their number only grew when I graduated from university and my podcast was picked up by Outset Studios, which had a significantly larger number of listeners than London Metropolitan University did. 

The tech crew who now took shots whenever Harry was mentioned had once been impressed with the knowledge that I knew Harry Styles. It didn’t last long. Whenever he was mentioned, Jeremiah that worked sound rolled his eyes and whispered something to Veronica, his assistant. I could never hear his whispers, but I knew they at least weren’t directed at me. He always gave me apologetic smiles when Harry was brought up. Veronica had once nearly squealed every time the One Direction member was mentioned, but now she just let out an annoyed breath and gulped down coffee to keep from screaming at whoever sent in emails about him.

They had traded in coffee for something stronger when my podcasts hit two thousand downloads.

I watched them now, pouring what looked like whiskey into shot glasses before clinking them together and pouring them down the hatch, so to speak. I wished they at least had the decency to pour me a shot as well. I hated getting asked about Harry just as much as they did. 

Technically, the questions about Harry were partially my fault. On Alien Crossing, I was a big advocate of talking to the guest in question as well as answering fan emails. Jeremiah liked to tell me AC was more of a radio show-slash-podcast, but I really just liked interacting with my fellow nerds. The emails I used to receive were actual questions about whatever topic I was blabbering about that week, but since people had found out that I was born in Holmes Chapel, I got questions such as “what was it like growing up with Harry Styles?”

Which was precisely why Jeremiah and Veronica were drinking now.

Karris Vincent, my guest of the week who had been discussing the importance of sci-fi novels and her upcoming book Among Us, saw the look on my face and wrinkled her nose at me in solidarity, as if to apologize for the email glaring from the computer screen in front of me. I saw her eyeing the bottle of whiskey Veronica and Jeremiah were drinking with incredulity, but Jeremiah made a gesture to convey that he would explain the reason behind it later.

“Karris, do you have anyone famous from the town you grew up in?” I asked, purposefully avoiding the question for as long as I could. I had a scheduled fifteen minutes left of AC and I would spend the next fourteen minutes and forty-five seconds not discussing Harry Styles.

“Yes, actually, Lena Headey,” Karris supplied helpfully. My eyes went wide at the mention of the Game of Thrones star and Karris nodded excitedly. “I actually ran into her once when I was younger. It was when 300 was super popular.” The look on my face must have conveyed my jealousy, for Karris let out a soft laugh. “I can see the heart eyes you’re making right now.”

“It’s because Petra’s a nerd at heart,” Jeremiah supplied helpfully, his voice coming through on the headphones. 

There was once a time where being called a nerd would have offended me, but it didn’t anymore. Mostly because I knew Jeremiah’s jab was done in kindness and friendship, but also because I’d long since stopped caring what people thought of me. I loved what I loved and I wasn’t going to be ashamed for it. Besides, with the popularity of Alien Crossing, nerds all around the world were listening to me nerding out and actually enjoying it.

“Lena Headey is just the perfect specimen, really,” I added, shrugging my shoulders though my listeners wouldn’t be able to see it. “I’m a huge fan of both Game of Thrones and 300. It’s my brand.”

We chatted for a few more minutes about Karris and her experience with celebrities when I caught Veronica’s gaze. It was an expression that let me know it was time to answer the question about Harry Styles. Bile didn’t physically rise in my throat, but in my mind it did.

“Getting back on topic, I never really interacted with Harry when we were in school. We had our different friend groups. But it’s always nice to see some rep from Holmes Chapel.” Lies, lies, and more lies. If I were to tell the truth about what growing up with Harry Styles was like, I’d have teenage girls all around the world clutching their metaphorical pearls. “Karris, thank you so much for coming to nerd out with us.”

She laughed in that airy tone I’d been listening to for the past hour. It wasn’t annoying by any means, but I’d wondered more than once for the past sixty minutes if it was a real laugh. “Thanks for allowing me to nerd out with you guys.”

“Keep a look out for Among Us if you like aliens, romance, and government conspiracies. This is Petra Gallego signing off. Live long and prosper, my young padawans.”

That had become my official sign off. In my first ever episode of AC at Outset Studios, I had been so nervous that I had jumbled the two phrases together. I slammed my head on the desk afterwards. But people seemed to enjoy it. They liked quirky things like that. Jeremiah and Veronica rolled their eyes every time I said it, but they had advised me to keep it simply because it was like a signature now.

Karris carefully peeled the headphones off the side of her pretty brunette hair, done up in a fancy braid that would have taken me hours to complete. “That was really fun, Petra. Thanks for having me.”

“Of course! My only payment is a signed copy of Among Us.”

She blushed, waving me off. “Oh, I’m sure you don’t want it.”

“No, she absolutely does. Aliens and romance? That’s like a nerdgasm for Petra,” Veronica called out from the sound booth, offering me a glass of whatever whiskey they had been drinking. I quickly shot it back, ignoring the burning sensation and instead focusing on the fact that I didn’t have to think about Harry Styles for at least the next week.

“Oh yeah, I meant to ask. What’s with the whiskey?” Karris asked.

“It’s a drinking game we have. Whenever Petra is asked about Harry Styles, we take a shot. Want one?” Jeremiah offered, holding out an empty shot glass. I wondered briefly how many glasses they kept in the sound booth. 

“I’m good, thanks though. I noticed you looked a little off when he was brought up. Did you guys date when you were younger or something?”

I snorted. Definitely or something. The idea that Harry Styles would actually willingly date me was laughable. Considering the last words he’d ever said to me before he’d fucked off to X-Factor were “get your head out of your ass and grow up, Gallego” when his friend had taken my copy of Lord of the Rings and thrown it on the wet ground. The words were in response to my reaction, which was to promptly burst into tears.

Still, I had to give credit where credit was due. He’d never done something as vicious as throwing my book into a puddle, so he wasn’t a complete monster. It was a compilation of different things that made Harry Styles public enemy number one. Sure, he’d never been physical with his distaste towards me, but words affected me more than actions. Words seemed sneaky and fake. At least his friend who had ruined my book left no room for interpretation. 

It was also because he was famous and I had to hear about him. All. The. Time.

Selfishly, I had hoped that when One Direction took their break, I could escape him. For a while I did. He was rarely sighted out (which I learned later was because he was working on his solo album) and my emails had dwindled until only interest in my podcast remained. And then his solo record had come out and everyone and their mother wanted it and wanted to know what I thought about it. 

And yeah, okay, the music wasn’t bad. But even his name left a sour taste in my mouth.

“Or something,” I answered Karris, shrugging my shoulders. I took a look at the watch on my wrist and winced. “Shit, Karris, sorry. I know you’ve got an early flight to catch.”

The one drawback of Alien Crossing was the time in which we recorded it. Outset didn’t have a studio available until one in the morning, which was the slot I’d been given. By the time the guest and I got settled and actually recorded the podcast, it was about three in the morning. I was used to it, simply because I’d been doing it for so long now; I was even prone to coming to the studio in my pajamas. I knew Karris probably wasn’t used to the late nights.

“Don’t apologize. It’s another platform for me to advertise the book. And you warned me about the time, so it isn’t your fault.” She cracked her neck to the side in a move that made me incredibly jealous. I wish I could do that. “Plus, I’ve got a great neck pillow and a ten hour flight ahead of me.”

The idea of going to bed sounded heavenly. However, I knew I needed to stay behind to help Jeremiah with some editing. There usually wasn’t much, but we listened through the full podcast to make sure the sound wasn’t weird in some places, or that the conversation flowed. “That sounds great,” I mumbled, unable to keep the jealousy out of my voice.

She laughed another light, airy laugh. 

“I went ahead and called you an Uber, Karris,” Veronica said, giving the pretty brunette a smile. If I hadn’t known her well, I would have thought she was flirting. Veronica had a naturally sultry face, with pouty lips and hooded eyes. I also knew she was in a serious, monogamous, nearly five-year relationship with her biology lab partner from her first year at uni. I had only met Veronica’s girlfriend once, but it was obvious they were very much in love.

“Thanks. Can I take a water bottle for the road?”

After Karris was situated and the 2003 silver Toyota Camry had picked her up, Veronica gave Jeremiah and me a sleepy goodbye with a promise to text the both of us when she got home safely. Then the two of us made our way back into Outset.

“Sorry about another Harry question,” Jeremiah stated as he held the door open for me. I shrugged him off, beelining a route to the comfy chair in the soundroom. It was old, worn leather, the kind you just sunk right into. I wanted to get a similar one for the studio, but since I didn’t actually own the place where we recorded, I figured that would be a little inappropriate.

“It won’t matter in about fifteen seconds when you offer me another shot of whiskey.” He gave me a wry smile but nevertheless poured me another glass. I tilted my head back and let the liquid slide down my throat. 

“You know, you never told me what happened between you two anyway,” he mentioned, sitting in a chair across from me. 

“Not much to tell.”

He snorted. “I don’t believe that for a minute, but I won’t push it if you don’t want to talk about it.”

That’s why I liked Jeremiah and Veronica. My parents, though I loved them, wanted to know every detail of everything going on in my life. When I was getting bullied in secondary school, they had wanted to know what my bullies had said to me, verbatim. That’s how I could think of a solution, they used to say, as if it was my responsibility that my schoolmates were pricks. Jeremiah and Veronica didn’t push anything if they could tell I didn’t want to discuss it.

“I shouldn’t let the emails about him get to me as much as they do, but…” I trailed off. I knew exactly why they got to me. It wasn’t because he had made my life miserable or because I hated him. It was because, deep down past my new life motto of self-love, I was still protective of what I loved as if someone were going to ridicule me. I wanted emails from fellow nerds about the four hour extended version of The Fellowship of the Ring or comic book aficionados who were subscribed to Marvel’s website like I was. I didn’t want emails about Harry Styles because I wanted what I loved to matter.

“But they do,” Jeremiah continued, nodding his head. “I get it. You built up AC by yourself. You don’t want the focus to be on someone you grew up with.”

“Exactly.” I was glad Jeremiah could put words to my jumbled mix of thoughts. He was good at stuff like that. Many a time he had been my unofficial therapist, especially on the weeks when appointments with my real therapist had to be cancelled. 

“We could always stop doing the email bit, Pet. As a podcast, you know you aren’t required to.”

I had thought of this on many occasions, whenever my inbox was filled with questions like what toothpaste Harry Styles used. But for every ten emails about Harry, there was one email gushing over how they binged all of Star Trek and wanted my opinion on certain plot points. And for me, that one email was worth it. If I could give validation to a fellow nerd, that was what I was going to do.

“I know, but did you hear the email about the girl who visited Roswell? She was so excited to see the site of the UFO crash. If I stop doing emails, we won’t get good content like that. I can’t connect to people listening with just guests.”

“Pet, they debunked the Roswell UFO crash in the seventies.”

“I know, but it’s still interesting to hear conspiracy theories.”

Jeremiah sighed the sigh of a babysitter putting up with an energetic child. The analogy described our relationship pretty well. He was prone to bursts of childish ideas, but for the most part he was the level headed one out of the two of us. Veronica was the most responsible of the three of us, but that was because by the time she made it into the studio she was half asleep and couldn’t form speech. 

“Whatever,” he dismissed, waving his hand in the air, “let’s get to editing.”

It took about forty minutes since the podcast we had just recorded had gone fairly smoothly. There was a weird pause when I read the email about growing up with Harry, but Jeremiah cut the weird silence with the press of a button. After we were done, we both took another shot of whiskey despite knowing we’d both probably wake up with headaches. 

“You’re not driving home, right?” he asked, grabbing his coat. He was dressed like a normal adult person would be, in jeans and a graphic shirt. I, on the other hand, was in pajama pants depicting pandas at the beach and a long grey thermal shirt. I had taken off my slippers before Karris had come into the studio, but they were resting by my main setup. 

“Nah, I’ll probably Uber it. Zach getting you?”

Zach was Jeremiah’s younger brother. He was in his first year at uni and in exchange for using Jeremiah’s car whenever he wanted, he had to pick up Jeremiah from the studio whenever Jeremiah had too much to drink. Which was pretty often. Overall, I didn’t envy Zach his responsibilities. 

Jeremiah nodded. “I texted him a bit ago. Should be on his way. Text me when you get home, yeah?”

“I will. I might stay here for a couple more minutes and jot down some ideas for future episodes. We’ve only got until June scheduled.”

His inky black brows rose. “Yeah, Pet, because it’s January. I think you’ll be fine if you took the night off from planning.”

“You say that, but June will be here before we know it and then you’ll be forced to come up with ideas and guests and you don’t need that kind of responsibility.”

He glared before shrugging. “All else fails, I’ll just ask Harry Styles to be a guest.” He had only a second to dodge the pen I sent flying at his head as a deep cackle left his mouth. “Only kidding. I’d prefer to keep all my limbs and appendages.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

Plopping a sleepy and quick kiss to the top of my head, he waved me off. “See you next week, Pet. Don’t stay here too late, yeah?”

“I won’t. Say hi to Zach to me.”

I heard the door close behind him and through the glass of the sound booth watched him walk out of the studio. I curled my knees up to my chest and balanced my notebook on the knee, debating on who I could get in the studio next. We had some pretty cool guests scheduled, including a science fiction professor that traveled and taught some classes at different universities. My dream was to get Peter Jackson in the studio eventually, but I knew that it was impossible— and I would probably have a heart attack if I was in the vicinity of Peter Jackson.

I jotted down a couple of ideas before I seriously considered Jeremiah’s words. Every so often I debated on swallowing my pride and reaching out to Harry to ask if he would ever be interested in being on Alien Crossing. From what I had seen in interviews over the years, he seemed to have changed for the better. But whenever I started planning out how I would possibly ask him, I remembered that it didn’t matter if he had changed for the better. He had made my life miserable. And I didn’t know if I wanted him in my sacred place. Besides, interviews weren’t always candid and unfiltered. He probably had coaching on what to say to not ruin his image. Who knew if his kindness and maturity was real?

My phone pinged with a notification as I ran my hands through my hair. I lifted it briefly, seeing Jeremiah’s name across the screen.

Got home safely. If you’re still at the studio, I’m gonna kill you. Zach says hi.

I smiled to myself. Jeremiah was a rare diamond in the rough. When I had started at Outset, I had been terrified. Sure, people listened to my podcast at uni because there was a big population of arts and humanities students. They liked reading and watching films. At Outset, I was surrounded by radio shows and mainstream ideas. I was worried that no one would care about things like how it was a shame Firefly only got one season. 

Then Jeremiah had come, like a guardian angel sent directly for me. I had been wearing a Harry Potter shirt and he had asked what house I was in. The nonchalant and non-judgemental way he had casually asked the question nearly made me cry. Then, when I had answered that I had been sorted Ravenclaw on Pottermore but was a self-identified Hufflepuff, he had lamented over the fact that he so clearly belonged in Slytherin but had gotten Gryffindor. 

Veronica and I had gotten off to a rockier start simply because she wasn’t into any of the same stuff I was into. She liked current pop culture and shopped at Harrods. She owned perfume by Yves Saint Laurent. She was the opposite of me in every way. But she had gotten used to my random fits of nerdiness and had been kind, kinder than anyone had been in a long time. And then, when my first Outset Studios Christmas rolled around, she had gotten me a box set of The Hobbit movies (I already owned them, but it was very sweet of her) and a Harry Potter sock advent calendar. And when we had come back from the holiday, she offhandedly mentioned that she caught the first two Harry Potter films on their annual Christmastime marathon and wanted to watch the rest of them. She had even let Jeremiah and I sign her up for a Pottermore account to sort her. 

She was a Hufflepuff. Naturally.

I’m calling an Uber now, Dad, I responded. Which wasn’t exactly a lie, since I opened the Uber app and was prepared to get a car when I remembered the question about Harry Styles. Followed by a remembrance that there was still half a bottle of whiskey and I had a perfectly empty shot glass.

Get your head out of your ass and grow up, Gallego.

Contrary to popular belief, I didn’t think of Harry much. I didn’t want to focus on him. I prided myself on being a fairly positive person. Usually, I could brush off the emails about him. But something was stirring in my stomach tonight, and the taunts and jokes at my expense came rushing back like a flood. 

Knowing I was going to have a killer headache in the morning but finding that I didn’t much care, I took another shot.

And then I ordered a 2017 white Nissan Sentra driven by a woman named Clarissa for the ride home, forcing all thoughts of Harry Styles out of my head until next week, when I would inevitably be asked about him again.

~

My therapist, a lovely woman named Doctor Thorne, suggested that I relieve stress through physical activity. We had tried simple touches at first, lightly running one or two fingers over my lips to spread parasympathetic fibers to my nervous system. Then, we had tried simple breathing techniques. But I didn’t have the attention span to keep my breathing even. So, we had come to the conclusion that yoga might be beneficial.

Usually it was. Except for when I was stuck in a position I couldn’t get out of.

“Petra, your pigeon pose is atrocious,” Melody mentioned from beside me. Her pigeon pose, naturally, was flawless. 

“My body wasn’t meant to bend this way,” I whispered angrily. And it truly wasn’t. My legs were too short to reach my arms properly in the position I was supposed to be in. Melody had the long, gangly limbs needed for this particular pose.

“Shh,” someone hissed from in front of us. Melody and I immediately exchanged a look and tried to keep from laughing.

If Jeremiah and Veronica were my work best friends, Melody was my best friend in every other aspect. We had met at Dr. Thorne’s office when she was coming out of the office and Dr. Thorne had asked me if she could run to the bathroom before our session started. Melody was an impulsive sharer, which was how five minutes later I had her entire life story and her phone number in my phone, in case I “ever wanted to chat.” 

We had met for coffee a week later.

Since then, Melody and I had latched onto one another. She didn’t have many friends and hated her roommates because they always left their flat messy. I didn’t have many friends and lived in a one bedroom that was barely big enough for me but the rent was low. It was a pretty beneficial relationship for the both of us, since we had a convenient friend to invite places and she crashed on my couch when her roommates were being especially shitty.

“Slowly come out of the pigeon pose,” our yoga instructor commanded from the front of the room. Melody and I always strategically grabbed a place in the back because we got away with talking. Sometimes. By the glare on the woman’s face in front of us, we weren’t getting away with it at the current moment. “And then let the top half of your body lower to the mat to transition into the cobra pose.”

This pose was one I could do at least. But I was stuck in the pigeon pose. Melody reached over and pressed up on my back to get me the momentum I needed to lean forward. I sent her a grateful grin.

Since Dr. Thorne had recommended yoga four months ago, I had tried to get to a class at least once a week. Melody wasn’t seeking stress relief, but she didn’t mind yoga as a form of exercise considering she hated going to the gym. Soon enough, weekly yoga became our thing. We tried to do it twice a week, once in an actual studio and then once at home, but our home yoga sessions usually turned into us drinking wine and watching the telly.

“Great. I can’t do this pose,” Melody grumbled under her breath. Since the cobra pose involved pushing out the chest and tilting the head back, I understood why she had trouble with it. Melody had back problems because her tits were massive. Whenever I lamented the fact that I wasn’t blessed in the chest region, she was quick to put me in my place. And considering she was only twenty-four with the back problems of a seventy-year-old woman, there was some truth to her scoldings.

“Don’t do it if you’re going to hurt yourself,” I stated in a hushed tone. I knew she wouldn’t listen. Melody, along with being an over-sharer and having massive tits, was also incredibly stubborn.

“Fuck you, I’m fine,” she whispered back, grunting in annoyance when her back let out a loud crack.

“Shh!” 

“You want to try doing this pose with these tits, lady?” Melody was quick to reply, narrowing her eyes. The woman in front of us looked slightly offended and shocked, like she couldn’t believe how vulgar Melody was being. I didn’t think it was one of the most vulgar things that had left Melody’s mouth, but I was probably just desensitized. 

Still, it was effective. The woman didn’t shush us for the rest of the yoga class.

“Every time we come here I hate myself more than I did before,” Melody mentioned as we made our way to the women’s room. I usually liked to wait to get home to take my showers, but since Melody’s roommates were notorious for taking showers that were two hours long, her shower at home was more than likely occupied. So I sat on the bench in the ladies room while Melody took a quick shower.

I didn’t mind yoga. Sure, I wish I could relieve stress by sitting on the couch and doing nothing, but it was better than cardio. If Dr. Thorne had suggested cardio for my stress, I might have had to find a new therapist. “It isn’t so bad,” I called out, a little louder than normal since I knew firsthand how loud the showers at the gym were.

“Yeah, because you don’t have boobs the size of a small country.” A sudden waft of the body wash I knew Melody used hit me in the face like a fist. She always used too much. “We heading back to your place after this?”

“If you want. I’ve got to sort through some emails for AC and contact a couple of guests to confirm, but then afterwards we can get some food and watch the telly.”

Melody and I didn’t like the same shows. At all. But we were selfless with one another because our friendship was important to the both of us, and so we took turns choosing what show we would watch. Last week had been my turn, so I knew I was bound to end up watching reruns of Gossip Girl tonight. I didn’t hate the shows Melody watched, but there was only so much gossip, money, and toxic relationships I could take before I begged her to turn it off.

“Oh yeah. Who’s in the studio next week?”

She was also very diligent with inquiring about how AC was going. She worked as a data analyst at The Associates Global. I still didn’t know exactly what her job entailed, but she was quick to offer information whenever I had questions. Melody thought my job was the coolest thing since sliced bread considering she didn’t know podcasts were a thing. She had been an avid audiobook listener before I converted her. Now, I couldn’t get her to stop listening to podcasts.

“Rick Baker. He’s an incredible special effects makeup artist. He did the makeup for An American Werewolf in London.” Melody emerged from the shower, clad in a tiny baby blue towel. She had a brow raised. I knew this meant that she had no idea what that movie was and was wondering if he’d done work in a movie she’d know. “He also did the makeup for Jim Carrey’s Grinch.”

“Oh how fun,” she mentioned excitedly. “If he has time and the two of you aren’t super tired, you should have him give you some pointers.”

Because I was me and my mind was an endless black hole of nerd questions and aspirations, I had dabbled previously in special effects makeup. I wasn’t terrible at it. I had made Melody look like a mermaid last Halloween, complete with bright pink and purple scales all over her body. I was nowhere near a professional though. 

“Maybe I will.” Melody quickly changed into a clean version of the outfit she’d gone to yoga in— leggings and a tank top. Since it was January, however, she also had thrown a cardigan on over her shoulders. No matter how hot yoga had made us, the second we stepped out into the London weather, we would regret not having on long sleeves. “But for now all I can think about is curling up on my couch and eating Chinese food until my stomach protests.”

“We’re awful yoga people. We should be getting green smoothies at a juice bar right now.”

I raised a brow. “Do you want to go get green smoothies at a juice bar?”

“God no.”

The gym where we did our yoga was in Croydon, so it was only a twenty-three minute bus ride to my flat back in Merton. Merton hadn’t been my first choice for a flat location in London, but Outset was a ten minute walk from the flat that I had found for a decent enough price. Melody usually ordered an Uber back to her place in Wimbledon or sometimes took the bus if she had time to deal with public transit. Since I didn’t have a car, she was stuck doing the bus with me if she wanted to go back to my place.

Luckily for me (because I was so lazy) my flat didn’t require me to climb up any stairs. I don’t know how’d I’d gotten lucky with that one, but when the landlady had told me, I jumped at the opportunity to move in. It was also perfect for days like today, when Melody and I had sweat our asses off at yoga and my legs felt like jelly. I didn’t think given my current state I could climb any stairs.

“Make yourself at home. I can’t do anything until I shower,” I announced when I let Melody and I into my flat. It was a tiny, pathetic little thing, but I didn’t mind. I didn’t need much. Most of the equipment I needed for AC was either kept at the studio or Jeremiah let me store it in his flat. Melody immediately flopped onto my couch and groaned.

“I’m not moving for the next hour and a half. Want me to order the Chinese?”

“You’re my savior.”

I heard Melody’s laugh as I made my way to my bathroom. My sweaty clothes were immediately thrown into my hamper, which was really just an extra cupboard that I hadn’t found a use for. I ended up shoving a laundry basket underneath it and deemed it to be my dirty clothes hamper. Ignoring the growing pile of clothes to sit in said hamper, I turned the shower on and let the water run for a minute. It took a little while for it to heat up to the scalding temperature I wanted. 

My parents had complained when I was younger about how hot my showers were. It hadn’t been a serious problem before, only mildly annoying when they tried to go into the bathroom afterwards and they were sweating by the time they had come out. It had only started worrying them when I once had the water up so hot that I had passed out. Granted, I hadn’t eaten that entire day either, so it was a combination of both. But since that moment they had limited the temperature of the water or the amount of time I spent in a scalding shower. When I moved to uni, the showers had shit water pressure and wouldn’t get to the burning temperature I wanted. These two facts meant that since I was in my own flat, I could burn my body to my heart’s content. Which was exactly what I did when I stepped under the stream.

I had minimal bath products in my shower. There was a generic face wash, vanilla scented body wash, and a shampoo/conditioner set I had picked up at the TK Maxx by the studio. It annoyed Melody, who was a firm believer in having seven products in her skin care routine, but the four products I owned had served me well so I wasn’t going to change them up for the heck of it. 

The hot water would have been enough to lure me into an hour long shower if it wasn’t for the growling of my stomach. I sighed, lamenting the warmth my shower offered when I cut off the stream and stepped onto my bath mat, wrapping myself in a bright red towel I was pretty sure I had gotten as a house-warming gift from my mother.

“We’re watching Gossip Girl!” Melody announced, probably hearing the bathroom door open when I stepped out.

I didn’t bother replying. She knew how I felt about the show. Instead I walked to my closet and changed into thick leggings and a jumper I’d owned since secondary school. In fact, I was pretty sure Harry had made fun of this exact jumper once long ago. It was a pretty pastel green, plastered with the words “gravity...always bringing me down.” It was one of my favorites, despite the fact that I had wanted to burn it when Harry and his friends had made fun of it one day. It had hung in my closet, forgotten and lonely, until a couple of months after he had left for the X-Factor and I had bravely worn it once more.

Padding out to the living room, Melody offered me the mug of tea she had made for me and I took it gratefully, even if it burned my fingers. My laptop was on my couch from last night, when I had gotten home from the studio and sent a couple of confirmation emails to guests that would be here for AC later this month. Setting my feet on the coffee table in front of me, I opened up the laptop and clicked around until I got to AC’s official email.

Most of them were encouraging. They were excited for upcoming guests and the hour-long podcast I had planned to discuss the Marvel Cinematic Universe thus far and how I thought Endgame would end. That week would be fun, considering I had a sketch artist that worked with Marvel on one of the Captain America comics. It was one I had yet to read, but I already had it in my list on Marvel Comics official website, which I paid for monthly. It was an edition of Captain America that had Sam Wilson as Cap, and I was excited to see how he did as America’s symbol.

Some of them were about Harry and for more information on what growing up with him was like, but I ignored those. Like I always did. I tried to reply back to emails that we didn’t get to read on the podcast, but the ones about Harry were always left opened and read, never to be brought up again. These particular emails were about the question I had been asked on the last episode of AC, which was whether Harry had many girlfriends in secondary school.

As I was scrolling and Melody was complaining about something playing out on the telly, I noticed an email from someone with a Harry email name. These weren’t uncommon. Usually Jeremiah and Veronica looked at them if they wanted to have a laugh. But this wasn’t from a normal gmail or yahoo account. 

To: aliencrossing@outsetstudio.com

From: hstyles@erskinerecords.com

Petra,

I caught your last episode of Alien Crossing and listened to it on a trip I took over the weekend. It was, for lack of a better term, amazing. I never knew how much work went into the production crew of a big sci-fi film. The lads and I had large crews when we filmed music videos, but it was nothing like your guest last week was describing. It was really interesting.

I’ll be in your area in two weeks. I don’t know if you’d want to, but I was wondering if you’d want to get together? Maybe get a bite to eat or something to drink? Haven’t seen you since secondary school and would like to catch up.

Hope to see you soon,

Harry

“Holy shit,” I mumbled under my breath, my eyes locked on the words on my screen. It could have been a joke. It probably was a joke. It was probably someone pretending to be Harry. Because the Harry I knew wouldn’t have been so courteous and kind in an email to me.

“I know, right! Can’t believe Chuck sold her for a fucking hotel!”

[goodbyecringe]

(Un)Natural Selection Chapter 6

Enjolras

There was no more avoiding it. Thirty-five girls from different backgrounds with different motives were living right below me. I had done everything I could to throw myself more into my work than usual. I had taken to meeting with the dignitaries and pouring over caste related civil disputes. Of course Father said that this was the worst way to spend a prince’s time because there were majors and soldiers to deal with those things. However, it would be impossible to abolish the caste system without knowing what the specific problems were.

“I can’t believe it,” a joyful voice said from the doorway, “I don’t think I know a single man that could work if there were thirty-five women getting makeovers in their basement.”

“Ferre, when have you ever known for me to let women interfere with my work?” I said, turning around in my chair to face him.

“Well in the sixteen years that we’ve been friends I’ve only known of your relationship with the great Patria. It’s unfortunate you couldn’t marry her,” he said, clicking his tongue.

“It’s unfortunate I have to marry at all. How am I supposed to change the governing system of Illeá when I have to worry about finding a wife? He did this on purpose of course, maybe I somehow tipped him off,” I said putting my head in my hands.

“The only thing that tipped off your father was the fact that you invited eight aspiring political figures that are all openly against the caste system. In all actuality it could be argued that he did you a favor. Imagine if we were all that the media focused on over the next few months? By the time you were made King every pro-caste politician would have been able to perfect their argument. Of course I’m sure your father is hoping that the Selection will distract you from your responsibilities and Les Amis.”

“Yes, I’ve already thought about that theory a thousand times over. But what’s stopping me from eliminating thirty tomorrow morning? He never made me commit to a formal timeline-”

“And I’m sure you’ve already thought of the associative repercussions for doing that Julien,” he said, cutting me off. “You already know that the media would have a field day. You would be marked as a heartless slab of marble. Remember, you need the people on your side during the revolution,” Ferre became serious as he sat on the edge of my desk.

“No matter who I choose, the castes will be divided. Anyone lower than a Four would be seen as a saint to the lower castes, however the lower castes already stand with our views. We need to secure the support of those who we are removing from power,” I sighed as I restated the facts.

“We’ve been through this at least a dozen times, Julien. Isn’t that the entire reason you decided to announce that this would be a caste-blind selection? You just need to take it one day at a time. And since there are thirty-five eligible bachelorettes in your home, you should at least give them the respect they deserve,” Combeferre said, standing.

“I’ve haven’t even met them yet Ferre, how have I already disrespected them?”

“You don’t know any of their names, you don’t know what they look like, you haven’t bothered to learn a thing about them. But I could guarantee you that everyone of those girls knows everything about you.”

“Are you referring to those presentations I put Les Amis in charge of? I swear, if Jean Prouvaire’s presentation takes over an hour I’ll leave and simply review the applications in my office… alone.”

Combeferre chuckled as we walked out of my office. The walk to the Men’s Room was more eventful then I had ever expected. Dozens of servants were making final adjustments to the decorations. There were fresh flowers around every corner, the drapes were open, letting sunlight shine through the halls. As the new butler, Grantaire, opened the door, I had to restrain myself from rolling my eyes. The beautiful library space that I used as my philosophical escape to discuss the future of Illeá had been turned upside down. Feuilly and Joly were hanging a large piece of white fabric over a large bookshelf, and Bahorel was closing all the drapes so the setting sun didn’t blind anyone. I grabbed a notepad and took a seat next to Courfeyrac in the front row.

“Your Royal Highness,” Bossuet called out from his place in front of the projector.

“Our fearless leader and marble statue,” Courfeyrac laughed from next to me.

“We, the Friends of the ABC, are proud to present your future wife, or at least the thirty-five possible candidates for the title of Queen Enjolras,” Jean Prouvaire announced as the lights began to dim.

From behind me, Grantaire was laughing with Bossuet while he turned down the lights. Les Amis began to seat themselves in front of the screen, all armed with several manilla folders which I assumed held the applications of the selected girls.

“First, we will give a brief presentation about each of the thirty-five contestants and then we will tune into the Report and Enjolras will get his first real look at the girls.”

I made a note that if a career in politics never worked out for Prouvaire, he could take Kyran Cervantes’ job. Suddenly, the screen lit up with the faces of thirty-five young women of various appearances, all of which I was sure would be changing drastically during their makeovers.

“We have decided to present in the order of east coast to west coast, so first up is the lovely province of Hansport! So please give a warm welcome to Miss Teresa Gilbert!” The screen centered on a girl with near white hair that was sharply stopped just below her cheek-bones.

“Teresa is nineteen years old and is proud to call Hansport the place of her humble roots. She has been acting in television shows and movies since she was three years old. Her favorite role was a princess during the apocalypse where she learned what it truly took to be a royal! She says that she will never be afraid of the media,” Prouvaire finished, now sounding confident in his game show host role.

There was a massive amount of applause from the boys around me. Looking down at my notepad I jotted down, Teresa Gilbert: movie star, 2. There was nothing more, nothing less about this girl. It was only too bad for her that I couldn’t care less about the television industry. Unfortunately, her status as a celebrity made it too easy to know her caste.

“Next up we have Adele Castro of Waverly,” a picture of a mousy looking girl with large green eyes appeared on the screen.

“At sixteen, Adele is our youngest selected girl, but don’t let that lead you astray because she’s already been quite successful…” Prouvaire continued to explain how she had spent her life volunteering in less developed countries.

Adele Castro: volunteer, 2 or 3.

“Now gentlemen, show some love for Miss Éponine Jondrette from Allens,” the face of a tan girl with a wild head of brown hair came over the screen. Despite the large state of her hair, her eyes appeared tired and her cheeks were hollow.

“Miss Éponine might give our fearless leader a run for his money! In her free time, Éponine enjoys reading about Political Science and learning about other cultures. She can speak English, Chinese, and French fluently,” I couldn’t help but think about how her appearance contradicted her description.

Éponine Jondrette: hungry wildcard, 5 or 3. By the time Prouvaire had finished I had made note of Lucy Frost: artistic, 5 and Harley Housten: average, 4 or 3. Everyone applauded as Jean bowed to take his seat. Joly walked forward and pulled a stack of index cards out of his suit jacket.

“Moving West we’ll start out in the province of Kent. Miss Cosette Fauchelevent recently returned to Illeá after spending about 5 years living in an Abbey in France. Cosette is an avid gardener and has a passion for animals,” Joly rushed as the room admired a pale girl with golden blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

Cosette Fauchelevent: lark, 2 or 3. At some point throughout the presentations all of the girls started to blur together. A few girls stood out, for example, Liberty Cook: paralyzed, 4. I couldn’t believe how delighted I was when Bossuet finally got to Angles.

“At the age of 20 our oldest contestant is Musichetta Simon. Miss Musichetta has recently begun a career in the prominent modeling agency in Angles. However, prior, she traveled throughout highly impoverished areas of Illeá to provide clean drinking water,” Bossuet said, failing to remove his eyes from her picture. The bright color of her red hair caused his bald head to reflect a pinkish color.

“Excellent job Bossuet,” Prouvaire said, clapping a hand on Bossuet’s back. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Grantaire was passing out refreshments before we settled down to watch the Report.

“I hope that everyone else is as excited for the next few months as I am,” Courfeyrac called out.

“Now remember my friends,” Combeferre stood, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “We are to remain out of sight out of mind. Unless Enjolras asks for our presence specifically, we are not to interact with the women of the selected. Everyone here is subject to the law,” he called out, staring directly at Courf.

“Thank you for all of your hard work my friends,” I said, standing next to Ferre. “I hope that you all feel more comfortable with the process of creating and executing presentations. Even though this may have sounded like a fun and frivolous exercise, it is important to find a way to improve yourself in any situation,” I could hear groans among the group. “However, I am very appreciative for the effort that you put in, and if any of you have any suggestions during this process, please feel free to know. I shall see all of you tomorrow evening for our regularly scheduled meeting.”

“Won’t you be staying to watch the Report, Enjolras?” Joly asked.

“I’m afraid I have a very important speech concerning several dignitaries of New Asia that I’ve been neglecting to revise,” I said, making my way towards the door. As Grantaire opened the door for me I could hear what seemed to be a stampede of high heeled shoes. I decided to wait until I could no longer hear them, so not to cause a scene since I wasn’t supposed to meet any of them until tomorrow morning. While looking across my shoulder at the crowd of girls I was taken aback when I felt something collide with me. In the second it took me to turn around, the person was already on the ground.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, looking around for her heels. “I should have been paying attention to wear I was going, but you see my shoe broke and I’ve been trying to keep up with the rest-”

I think she stopped breathing when she finally looked up at me.

“I am deeply sorry, Your Highness,” she went into a deep curtsey.

“The fault is entirely mine Lady... Éponine,” I paused, noting the silver name tag pinned to her green dress. “I should know to pay more attention to my surroundings.”

I extended my arm to help her up, which she accepted. I could see that the heels on one of her shoes had snapped in half, which must have been the cause for her falling behind.

“Would it be considered rude for a lady to run down the hall in her bare feet?” She asked in a brazen way.

“I believe that would be classified as a capital offense.” I smiled thinking of how the royal planner and etiquette instructor Claudia would throw a fit if she witnessed such an event.

“Well then maybe you can keep this a secret between just the two of us?” She suggested looking back and forth between me and the rest of the girls.

“Only if you promise to only wear shoes you can properly walk in.”

She gave a mischievous smirk before running towards the crowd of her competitors. There were several times that she had to stop and pick up her dress to avoid slipping, but she eventually caught up to the group as they entered the Women’s Room. I made a mental note to add the word cheeky next to her name in my notebook.

[homenum-revelio-hq]

Welcome (again) to the Order of the Phoenix, Iyla!

You have been accepted for the role of non-biography character MUNDUNGUS FLETCHER with the faceclaim of  Tom Payne! We’re so excited you’ve decided to apply for a second character, as Caradoc has brought so much to the game! We really enjoyed how you included the differences between Caradoc and Mundungus and how that will affect writing and plot. Also, the slang terms were just delightful! 

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME:: Ilya

AGE: 32

TIMEZONE: GMT+1

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I’m pretty much still in the same situation as before. I don’t have yet a set schedule, but lately I’m trying to be more consistent with the time I dedicated to replies. I still fully intend to aim for more than a post a week!

ANYTHING ELSE: No specific triggers or squicks!

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Mundungus Fletcher

AGE: 31 (June 17th, 1950)

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY:  Demi male. He/Him pronouns. Bisexual.

Mundungus doesn’t have a problem with the gender he was assigned at birth, but if he were to be perfectly honest he wasn’t sure it fitted him perfectly. He sees it more as a well-worn dress that while it won’t sit comfortably it is at least familiar.

As for sexual attraction, he noted from a young age that he was attracted to more than one gender and has never made a big secret out of it. But he knows when he needs to be discreet about it.

BLOOD STATUS: Halfblood

Officially, Mundungus is a halfblood. That’s what one would find written on his Ministry file, and that’s what he says when anyone asks. But he has Goblin blood on his mother’ side, making him a half-breed (¼ Goblin).

HOUSE ALUMNI: Slytherin

ANY CHANGES: Low Level member of the Order. Previously an Affiliate.

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

‘But when all is said and all is done / Jefferson has beliefs. Burr has none.’

Far from being Aaron Burr, nonetheless, this passage came to me when I first thought how to describe Mundungus’ personality and it stuck because of the simple fact that Mundungus is the opposite of Caradoc.

Where Caradoc has a strong sense of morality and personal responsibility, Mundungus has little to no morals. He is ultimately someone who has no care for society and its rules, be it laws or social conventions, and has a somewhat cynical view about life. 

Yet, he never lets this stop him from fully enjoying life. If anything, seeing the ugliness in the world makes him do everything he can to savour the good and beauty in it with a carefree attitude. In a way, he shrugs everything off because in the end he won’t let himself be tied down by things that are of no consequence for him. And thus makes interacting with him, when being on good terms, a fun experience, if somewhat chaotic.

Because of his lack of regard for social conventions and laws, he often acts antagonistic towards law enforcements and people that work for the government and in general showing a rebellious attitude when it comes to respecting authority.

He’s also far from being the crusader that Caradoc is. Fundamentally, he is  a coward, always looking to save his own skin. Looking for any way to avoid pain, imprisonment, impoverishment, no matter what he has to do for it. Even, say, rob the dead or sell light drugs to teenagers or jinx someone in the back.

On the other side of that coin is loyalty. While he would never stake his life for ideals, for a group of people like Muggleborns or Goblins, not even to avoid living in a world run by Death Eaters, he would for that one person he is loyal to. Bound to fealty, one could say loyalty gets in the way of his cowardice more than the other way around.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

A sound mistrust of wixen and the name he was stuck with was all that Dardanos Datchery, manager of young witches with talent and too much trust for their own good, contributed to his son’s life. Mundungus has never known his father aside from the tales he heard from others, and no matter how pink his mother’s glasses were with which she looked back on her past with the wizard, it was clear he was a piece of dragon dung and someone better not to have in his life.

His grandmother, Cleometra Fletcher, was his role model and teacher. She taught him all he knew about conning people and picking pockets, and the two were thick as thieves—pun intended. Despite being a witch herself, she also taught him to mistrust anyone and everyone and to rely solely on himself to live his life successfully.

While officially, she was an ‘artifact dealer’, everyone in the underworld, and a few figures in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement knew that many of the artifacts were stolen and part of the illegal deals. Still, she lived to be a free old witch, still pulling a smuggling stint now and then.

More than a decade ago, his mother, Calypso Fletcher, had been known in the Wizarding High Society and all those theatre-loving wix, as Kallisto Datchery. A stunning beauty and astonishing actress, London had fallen in love with her. Wixen desired her and when all their attempts were rewarded only by smiles and giggles, maybe the occasional cheeky kiss, then rumours started floating around that maybe it was all a trick. She had to be a Veela; that was everyone’s guess, incapable to accept she could be a common witch or better: that she was actually part Goblin. 

She had left that world behind, finding it too fake and her part in it a role too suffocating to carry without killing a part of herself, and exchanged it for an old rickety theatre that had seen all of his chairs empty and her family. She taught her son the love of theatre and being on its stages, but most importantly she taught him about courage and family when she chose to reconnect with her own mother and to be one to Mundungus. A mother who was there for him, always, and would teach him about life and its trick, even if it meant to leave behind her fame and the man she had loved for so many years. It was worth it, and she proved it to him—always making sure he felt loved and safe.

OCCUPATION:

Mundungus’ dream was to become an actor, and once he graduated from Hogwarts he was sure he’d make acting his career. Only, it didn’t turn out quite like that. He spent six months auditioning, both in the Wizarding and Muggle world, but each time he was passed over for someone else. When he tried improv and little open shows, he was booed out of the stage and ended up banned by the manager from ever going back because of how bad his acting was.

Still, not wanting to give up, he worked as crew in the theatre for a while before being thrown out for substituting a sick actor and causing the whole show to get what is considered the worst review on The Daily Prophet since its first publication.

After that, he found help in Aberforth Dumbledore that let him work at the Hog’s Head Inn as a bartender for a while. But that job, too, ended when Aberforth discovered that Mundungus sold alcohol and other illegal substances to Hogwarts students. He was fired and banned from ever entering the pub again, a ban still standing.

So, he made crime his primary job. From pickpocketing to little cons, from burglaries to elaborate con schemes. All while still trying to audition, sure that one day he’d get his break. Other jobs, bartending, shop keeping, all were part-time, just something to give to the Twiggies* and the Minnies** when they questioned him about some inquiry on criminal activities. “I ain’t anything to do with that, guv. I was doing me job.”

Since coming back from Paris, in the summer of ‘81, he’s back to holding just a part-time job. Right now he’s looking for a new one, someplace he can be helpful to the Order.

*Twiggies = slang term for Aurors. **Minnies = slang term for Ministry Employees.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

Low Level member. He used to be an Affiliate.

Albus Dumbledore started approaching him early on, before the Order was the proper organisation that it is today. Mundungus refused back then. How dare a pureblood wizard approach him for help, not even offering anything in return?

But Dumbledore tried again, after he ended up in trouble with Aberforth Dumbledore and got banned from the Hog’s Head Inn, only to be turned down once more. And then again and again and again, but each time the Order of the Phoenix was something that Mundungus wanted to have nothing to do with. What good could wizards do, anyway? So he would return any favour he owed Old D and then parted ways.

Then came 1971 and things truly got dire for Mundungus, Albus helped him once more.  This time, he didn’t know how to repay him if not by working for the old bag of socks steadily. Mundungus ‘joined’ the Order in an affiliate capacity, taking orders given directly by Old D and him alone—he wasn’t going to be ordered around by any other wizards, thank you very much.

As the years passed and the war escalated, Mundungus found a new motivation to be in the Order. 

In May 1981, he went to Paris and considered staying there, enjoying life away from the war. But he found that while his instincts told him to rebel against Old D’s rule—why should he take orders from him and do anything he said?—loyalty commanded him that he went back. So, when everything turned a mess in France, he rejoined the Order with his loyalty to Albus Dumbledore going hand-in-hand with the feeling that the war had now grown personal.

So he, begrudgingly, moved out from the shadows of being just an affiliate, to take a deeper and more meaningful step into the Order of the Phoenix, deciding that he’ll show them, he’ll show all of them—Death Eaters, Order and Ministry alike—who was better here.

His role is to gather information from the Wizarding underworld about Death Eaters and anything of interest. He also provides the Order with illegal items, or things they want to keep under the radar of the Death Eaters and the Ministry, much like his counterpart, Lucinda Talkalot, provides for the legal ones. 

He is also very skilled at undercover work, though, sadly, every time he tries to show someone he’s just rubbish at it. Yet, he still comes from tales he could have only heard or seen if he had been in the room where it happened.

SURVIVAL:

He is squatting at 133, High Holborn Street, London, the old building of the now abandoned British Museum Station of the London Underground. Having fitted the building with all the spells necessary to make sure no Muggles or passing-by Wixen could find him, Mundungus is the only person living inside. The only other tennant is the Egyptian ghost of Nefertiri, who resides in the old tunnels underneath but sometimes pops up just to scream at him when she feels particularly cross or happy or bored.

Mundungus Fletcher would be the last person one could see risking their own lives for something like the Order of the Phoenix, and this is because he hardly ever appears to stick his neck out for anyone but himself, often disapparating out of a situation at the first sign of danger. He is vocal about his lack of care for society at large, and he has never let his air of indifference break in public.

He also knows how to lay low and disappear when needed, along with knowing how to make oneself useful. When it comes to criminal enterprises, he doesn’t discriminate against clients. After all, making sure his hands are on multiple pies is how he gets the Order the information they need, and how he gets his cake and eats it too.

It helps that people underestimate him. He is notoriously such a terrible actor, banned from numerous stages, that no one would ever think the witch in the corner of the Leaky Cauldron, seated strategically close to hear a very important conversation, is actually Mundungus Fletcher.

RELATIONSHIPS:

For all Mundungus’ indifference and dislike of an entire group of people, when things get on a person-to-person level, he can grow quite attached to people without meaning to. Yet, this still doesn’t stop to sometimes take advantage of them or drag them into his own schemes, no matter how ill-advised that is. He is a mischief-maker, though he prefers to be backstage of his own tricks most of the time when it comes to pranks—all to avoid the possible ire of his victims.

Because he is never one to wallow on bad and sad things, he often tries to cheer people up, even if it’s just so he doesn’t have to be around misery, and tries to always find something to laugh about. He cares little to nothing if he is the focus of ridicule, since he has learned to let insults wash by him without having his pride or feelings hurt by them.

While in the past he kept his distance from the other members of the Order, now that he has committed to being a member, he doesn’t keep himself apart any longer. If anything, he’s compensating a bit, trying to get into people’ spaces so they know he’s not going anywhere.

Albus Dumbledore: Mundungus has mixed feelings about Old D. He’s grateful, of course, for the favours the old wizard has done for him in the past and especially the latest one, that allowed him back in the British Isles and back into the Order. But it’s a resentful kind of gratitude, even now. Still, even with the resentment, the distrust he still feels towards the man and being a coward himself, he is never going to betray the man. He can’t promise he’ll stop stealing his socks, though.

Lu Travers: It had all started with an “I owe you.” Lu got him out of a very sticky situation with the French and ever being one to stand this sort of debt, Mundungus found himself helping them get into the British Pureblood Society and passing for one of those old sacks of entitlement and perpetual stink under their noses. At first, he hated how that shiny world got another Muggle-born to fall for it, but then he found himself drawn into this way past what he had owed Lu. Truly, it was beyond him what they saw into that shiny world, especially because despite (and because of) the quarrels, jabs and insults, he was growing to like them. But a promise was a promise, and this might turn into his best con yet.

Other possible connections:

Adonis Carrow: It happened and still does, that from time to time, Mundungus comes in possession of some fine artifacts which he would much rather not have found on his person. The thing is, often he needs someone to tell him what they are and how much they are worth, and maybe even help him find someone that might be interested in buying them.

Alice Longbottom: One might say it’s a side effect of being in line of work that Mundungus and Alice are to ending up crossing each other paths. He was used to getting stopped, now and then, to make sure he wasn’t somewhere doing something that law said he shouldn’t be doing. Sometimes the person on the other side of the table was Alice Longbottom, and he was always amused to play the part of someone that didn’t know what this twiggie got up to when off the clock. Just as she had to pretend not to know what he did for the Order. Still, he really didn’t want to test her acting skills, if she ever were to catch him for one his personal missions

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: I don’t have any set ship. Like for Caradoc and as a general rule, I do prefer to ship chemistry. But I do want to point out that no matter how it can come off, I am categorically NOT shipping Mundungus and Dumbledore (either brother).

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

Since childhood, the whispers and rumors of what he was have followed him along with all the chosen insults that were hurled his way. Half-breed. Half wizard and half-anything they could imagine, anything that could be demeaning and hurtful.

His grandmother taught him to not to care much for those insults and to take revenge by making fools out of those wizards.

Because of those past experiences Mundungus has a lot of prejudices against wizardkind: they all think themselves better than any other kinds. The one exception that he makes are muggle-borns, which he sees more as fellow half-breeds. Until, of course, they also get corrupted by that same thinking. Just as some Squibs have been. 

He tends to use his own prejudices as reasoning and justification for his cons. If wizards are so much better than others, they ought to prove it, don’t they? How can they be better, though, if they keep falling for his cons?

These heavy prejudices are reinforced by the one privilege that Mundungus has in the Wizarding World: being able to pass as a halfblood wizard. His looks are not so distinct that they draw attention, and his Ministry file reports ‘halfblood’ in the field ‘blood status’. While, of course, some still think themselves better than Mundungus, it’s impossible not to notice how differently they behave with him when it’s halfblood instead of halfbreed.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

As I mentioned, I usually avoid Marauders Era RPs but Mundungus was my first love. Especially because I like to challenge people’s idea of who he is. Yes, he’s the amoral, cowardly thief we see in the books, but I also think that Mundungus is someone that has lost a lot. Lost friends and probably lost himself.

Watching the movies we tend to forget how young the marauders were when they met their demise, and how many of those that were in the Order died or disappeared. Who was left? Mundungus was, and I think surviving took its toll on him.

I look forward to playing him during the war with a destiny that is not set in stone. Maybe someone could teach him some morals, or give this Cowardly Lion a bit of courage. Who knows.

PLOT DROP IDEAS:

In terms of character-related plots, I’d love for Mundungus to start becoming loyal not just to Dumebledore but others within the Order. Seeing his cowardice tested time after time by this newfound loyalty, too.

Having Mundungus create a bit of ‘innocent’ chaos, by helping people with pranks and agree with any conspiracy theory it comes his way: the more absurd the better.

ANYTHING ELSE?

He’s a Gemini and a Slytherin: https://hp-aesthetic.tumblr.com/post/146954905907/gemini-slytherin-moodboard-slytherin-geminis

EXTRA FOR NON-BIO CHARACTERS:

PAST:

Growing up with his grandmother, a thief, Mundungus came to learn everything there was to know about surviving on the streets of the Wizarding Underworld, while his mother, a stunningly beautiful half-goblin actress, taught him to love the theatre. His dream was to become an actor, but alas every time he tried, he ended up botching the part so badly that even today, people are still recovering from the failure and second-hand embarrassment they’d felt that night. Yet, away from the limelight, Mundungus was a master of working under cover. He could transform himself completely and pass for a whole different person, conning people out of their money and any valuable information for future schemes. Unfortunately, because of the secretive nature of this particular stage, no one would ever know how great of an actor he truly was. Being, in fact, so good that, but for a few exceptions, no one ever even noticed they had been conned by Mundungus Fletcher. His face stayed a plain one, easily forgotten, and never associated with any of the many aliases he used. Never, until: Albus Dumbledore.

Flattered by the recognition but holding too much distrust of wixen, Mundungus turned down each of Albus’ offers to join the Order of the Phoenix and worked for the man only sporadically, when a favour was owed. The cause he believed in, why wouldn’t he want a fair and equal world? But because of his resentment against Dumbledore and those wixes pretending to care about the lives of halfbreeds, he only showed up to take his orders and carry them out—seemingly—reluctant. Nonetheless, whenever he succeeded in one of his missions, he couldn’t help feeling relieved and satisfied. Almost proud.

PRESENT:

After almost a decade working for Dumbledore, something big happened. Something that could cost him his freedom, perhaps life. Albus offered to help him—in return for a favour. A big one. Bigger than any other ever before. So it became clear to Mundungus that it was time to call it quits. Time to leave Britain, to take his mother away from all this violence and to give her the life she deserved. Paris seemed a much nicer place, despite the French, and it offered new opportunities. Yet, much like Leprechaun Gold—even though at first it had felt good to be out of the oppressive shadow of war—the world there felt lackluster. The novelty of conning French fools soon wore off, and Mundungus became sloppy with his work. For the first time in his life, he felt bored and nostalgic. And the Order and its cause simply wouldn’t leave his mind. The threat of Death Eaters and their vicious plans for the Wizarding World had not reached Paris at that time, it didn’t affect him, but still he couldn’t shake the memories of his time as an affiliate for the Order. Yet for a man with little pride, he had just enough to stop him from taking the first Portkey back. He couldn’t go back to Dumbledore and the Order, no matter how he missed them both. Hence, when a young Muggleborn needed his help to con the Pureblood Society of Britain, he gladly jumped on the opportunity to go back home. To his mother it was obvious that Mundungus had only waited for such an opportunity to arise, an excuse to finally accept Albus’ offer after all, but Mundungus insisted that he was being selfless, and solely doing this for the young Muggleborn in distress. Either way, he returned to Britain, let Albus wash his name white and in return paid his debt: he joined the Order of the Phoenix.

FC CHOICES: Tom Payne. Taron Egerton. Michael Socha.

I like how Tom’s face has this youthfulness about it despite his age. I like to think Mundungus’ face has this same quality of looking old and young at the same time, making it a little difficult to guess his age.

[doeeyeddarlingxo]

Myriad Misadventures - Chapter 17

The Myriad Misadventures of a Midgardian Queen-In-Training - Chapter 17

AO3 | Previous | Next

Word Count: 1573

Pairing: Loki/Reader

Rating: T

Myriad Misadventures - Chapter 17

You can’t deal with afternoon lessons today. It’s been nearly a week since the breakfast fiasco; you’ve tried to keep a low profile since then, with varying levels of success. Loki hasn’t spoken to you at all, hasn’t even eaten any meals in the dining hall since that day, but Lady Amara has been lecturing you every chance you get, and you can’t stand it. And now that the initial novelty of it all has worn off, now that you’re solidly enveloped in a daily routine of etiquette classes and Girl-World politics, you’re more homesick than ever. Never mind that skipping today will only get you in more trouble; you’re done. Really, truly done. 

Meg isn’t in your room. I mean, she has other stuff to do. I can’t expect her to be at my beck and call 24/7. And I’m not even supposed to be here right now. But it still saddens you. The other girls aren’t terrible, but they all seem to actually want to win the competition, and Meg is your only real friend who doesn’t have any stock in the crown. The other servants are too afraid to talk to you. You’d go looking for Albert - he was nice, at least - but you don’t have the first idea of where to find him.

As much as you want to avoid Lady Amara, you really, really don’t want to spend the afternoon in your room doing nothing. 

I mean...I am falling behind on my real-world studies. Lady Amara has to have gotten all those history and government theory books from somewhere. A castle this big has to have a library. You find a quiet serving girl who, after jumping when you address her, gives you directions in a tiny, squeaky voice. You tiptoe past the Ladies’ Parlor, where your absence has no doubt been noticed by now, and around the corner, and…

Wow.

It’s breathtaking. So many books, you don’t even know where to start. Just entering the cavernous room calms you; you pick a random volume up off a nearby desk and open it, relishing in the feel and smell. You can’t read a word of it, though. It’s written in some kind of symbol-language; runes, or something. There have got to be English books in here somewhere…

“Lady (Y/N)?”

You whirl around at the sound of your name, and find yourself no more than a few inches away from a very angry-looking Loki. 

Oh, gosh. 

Again, you haven’t interacted with him at all for days. And you had never exactly apologized for your defiance in defending Albert...

“Your Majesty! I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t realize you, um, came in.” Please, please don’t vaporize me.

“I could tell.” His face is completely deadpan, but you swear you can detect just the faintest hint of humor behind his words. 

You pretend not to notice. Just in case you’re wrong.

Quick, say something! “Any recommendations?” Gah, not that!

He lifts an eyebrow, perplexed. “What?”

“Books. I’m here for books - of course, it’s a library - and I didn’t know - I mean, like, I’m not familiar with what’s here. In the library. This library, I mean, all of the books from Asgard, I don’t - you know,” you finish lamely.

“Do I?”

“Maybe?” Your eyes dart around the room, before returning to his face. “I’m sorry, am I not allowed to be here, or something? I mean,” you interrupt yourself, wincing. “Argh. That came out wrong. I promise I’m not trying to be sassy or anything, I just - “

“Sassy?”

You rack your brain for an appropriate synonym. “Sarcastic. Dryly humorous. Backtalk.”

“I see.”

“So, um, if you don’t want me here, I’ll leave.” He doesn’t respond. “Okay.” 

“Wait.” He says it quietly, so much so that, for a moment, you're unsure of whether or not he actually spoke. Still, you turn back around. “What sort of books are you interested in?”

You shrug. “What have you got?”

“Everything.”

“All right.” You chew on your lip, considering. “What are your favorites?”

He appears surprised. “You want to - “

“Sure, why not?” Your eyes widen as you realize what you have just done. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have interrupted you.”

“No,you shouldn’t have.” You shrug, and he tilts his head ever so slightly to one side. “But you did.”

“Um.” You’re momentarily lost in his appearance. With his hair tucked behind his ears and his undereye circles erased by the soft, dusky glow of the candelabras, he looks different. Younger. No more sharp edges - save for his eyes, which are bright and piercing as ever, now scanning your face as intently as you were his mere seconds ago. 

He begins to walk towards you - just one step, but, tense as you are, you can’t help but start at the movement. He purses his lips, trying to refrain from laughing. “Lady (Y/N), after the way you reprimanded me at breakfast last week, I hardly think you’d be one to worry about speaking out of turn.”

You let out a short breath of air, trying to pull yourself together. “I was raised to be generally polite, Your Majesty. The only time I ignore that is when I feel someone is deserving of reprimand...ation.” Is that a word? You don’t think it’s a word. Oh, well.

He smirks - either at your bluntness or at the clunkiness of your speech, you’re not sure which. Probably the latter. “So I deserved it, then?”

“Yes.” You say it without thinking, nodding in earnest; as soon as you realize what just came out of your mouth, you feel your eyes widen, and the blood rise up in your cheeks. “I mean - ”

He holds up a hand. “I appreciate your candor.”

“Okay. Good.” You nod. Does this mean you’re off the hook? That was...easier than I’d expected. You’re quick to change the subject, before he has a chance to change his mind. "So. Books.” A thought occurs. “Do you have anything on Norse mythology?”

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

He helps you bring the stack of books to a table in the back corner, hidden by all the shelves. You’re surprised by the lack of tension - just like that, you’ve been forgiven. It’s a little scary, how quickly his mind can change, but in this case, you’re grateful.

He actually sits, and helps you to translate the beginning of the book you’d picked up earlier. You can’t help but feel you’re learning much more useful information than you would have if you’d actually gone to your afternoon lesson. “So the language magic doesn’t apply to books, then?”

“Not all books. Not all languages, either.” He runs his fingers back and forth across the runes. “This particular one died long ago. On Asgard, it’s commonly used in treaties and contracts, but never out loud.”

“I’ve always wondered how that happens.”

“How what happens?”

You put your elbows up on the table, ignoring all sense of propriety as you lean your cheek on your hand. “How do people just...stop speaking a language? I’m assuming it’s not a conscious decision, because that would require everyone who speaks it to stop all at once, and have a second option available. Does it evolve until it’s unrecognizable? Because then the language is still alive, just in a different skin. It’s fascinating.” You realize he’s staring at you. “Did I say something wrong? I ramble sometimes, I know, when I’m nervous, or - ”

“I make you nervous?”

“Are you surprised?”

“No, but…” He cocks his head to the left. “You’re very open about your feelings, Lady (Y/N).”

“I - yeah. I don’t mean to be. Teenager-itis, I guess, huh?” He doesn’t laugh, and you quickly look down at your hands, which are now folded neatly in your lap. “This is a completely different world than what I’m used to. The palace. Good, but different. Everybody is much more reserved in terms of what they say.” You shrug. “I guess I’m just not used to having that kind of filter.”

“I understand.”

You look up. “You do?”

“Nobody is born with an innate understanding of politics, Lady (Y/N),” he chuckles. You relax a little. “Which is why Lady Amara saw it fit to schedule daily lessons for the candidates. Every afternoon.”

Oops. You suppose you should have expected him to call you out on it eventually. “Right. About that…”

“I’ll make your excuses to Lady Amara.”

Your jaw nearly drops. “You can...well, of course you can, but you - ”

“I will,” he assures you. “Though I trust you’ll be present for all future sessions, beginning tomorrow?”

“Yes. Absolutely.” You don’t want to push your luck any further. You catch a glimpse of the clock on the other wall, and scramble to start getting the books in order. “Wow, it’s late. I should get ready for dinner, just in case…” He doesn’t respond, and you look back up to see him gone. Again. But, just as it was with the masquerade ball, he’s left you a note. 

Lady (Y/N),

Leave the books on the table. The librarians will come to sort them out before they lock the doors; if you would like, I can have them sent up to your room. 

My apologies for my abrupt departure. I must ready for dinner, and I suggest you do the same - I am sure, after missing Lady Amara’s afternoon lecture, you wouldn’t want to be late. 

Until then,

L.L.