#imagine if andrew had been able to understand this

[corner-collects-rocks]

au where kevin taught the foxes french but just didnt fill neil in on that little tidbit bit of information so any time he dropped lore about himself in french all the foxes would have to pretend they didnt understand what neil was saying. (looking at you specifically that one scene in chapter 5) imagine how different the book wouldve been. just a silly little thought

[flutterbyoz]

A year ago today, what I can easily say is my favourite TWD episode ever, aired.

'What We' has been widely praised by fans and critics alike and rightly so. Danai Gurira did a phenomenal job writing this episode, her understanding of these characters, her love for them both as well as their relationship and her dedication to telling not only a brilliant story but a story that handles the trauma and PTSD Rick is suffering from in a sensitive and accurate way is easy to see. She put everything into this.

Andrew Lincoln was also amazing, his emotions, inner turmoil, the way you could see he was fighting with himself, between what he wanted and what he thought he should want, is incredible.

The biggest reveal happened in this episode, one that so many fans have been wanting to see and hear for years and though it may not have been how many people had imagined I thought it was so well done. You could see the break in Rick's well constructed mask when he found out about RJ, the son he never knew existed. That inner turmoil must have exploded at that second but still the effects of the CRM still had such a strong hold on him.

So many emotions were felt, frustration, heartbreak, joy, love, even a little humor and everything in-between, this is without a doubt one of the best episodes in this franchise and my personal favourite.

We got to see quite a different side to Richonne, a side we haven't really seen before, the tension was palpable, the frustration, the anger, the sadness, both Andy and Danai played this perfectly. And though they were at odds, quite understandably, for part for the episode, the love between them is always evident. The fact they are still so deeply in love just makes it ever harder, but wow, were they both amazing!

Some of their very best performances were seen in this episode.

We the enjoyed the most beautiful coming together of these two lovers, the reconnecting, the love making, the tenderness, the sexiness, the happiness it was all perfect. And though we got the heartbreak of realising what was really going on inside Rick, the fact he felt he had lost Carl and then lost Michonne and in order to keep living he had to mentally die, was both hard to watch and impossible not to.

Michonne knew exactly what her man needed, she knew he needed to get it all out in order to be able to move forward and she gave him that safe space to do just that. As she admits earlier in the episode, she only feels safe when she's with him and here she was his safe space, his sanctuary, his oasis from the darkness that had enveloped him for the past 8 years, just like she's always been. Michonne is his guiding light and shelter from the storm, they protect each other.

By the end of this episode, Richonne were back to being the in sync power couple we all know them to be. They fight their way out of that collapsing apartment building, working together, in sync and in tune and of course making out any chance they get. They couldn't keep their hands off each other and you know as soon as they were far enough away they were getting busy in that yellow truck!

I've lost count the amount of times I've watched this episode but to me it is perfect and just like every other episode in this series/season, I can watch it over and over ❤️

And should we get Rick and Michonne back, please can Danai write again because she knows these characters and their relationship better than many of the writers and she showcased that without fault in 'What We'.

A 10/10 episode for me!!

[uniiiquehecrt]

I'm thinking in terms of actual real life experiences I've had when I say this, but I'd imagine part of what makes being a Thor enjoyer so frustrating in 2024/MCU's phase 4+ era is that... you're effectively not allowed to enjoy your favorite superhero.

I once had a conversation with a close friend of mine during a casual outing, and without going into very many details, this particular person is an enjoyer of Ragnarok, and enjoys Tailka's work overall. Now, I should say right off the bat: there is nothing wrong with these opinions. Everyone is entitled to like what they like and enjoy the work of creators just the same as other people are allowed to dislike them. For this particular post, I'm not here to get into fandom wars or "reasons why taika waititi is a terrible director" beef. I have other posts in line for that. But what I will say is that I already knew this about my friend, so it never surprised me when the topic of Thor came up that it would be a point of disagreement.

The issue I've found that continues to circle in the general space of "being a Thor fan" came when I expressed that I don't like Ragnarok, I do think Thor was funnier (and just better overall) before Ragnarok and therefore Taika's involvement, and quite frankly Taika had very little business taking on the mantle of director of a superhero franchise he has never liked or understood in his life just because he had mouths to feed. (There are other opportunities to fulfill that. And filmmakers know going into this industry that it's all gig-based and - if they're smart anyways - work around that.) I hadn't even gotten a chance to go through all of the reasons WHY I feel that way, of which I have had before compiled an organized list of about 16 talking points off the top of my head, so as far as that particular discussion goes... it didn't go anywhere. We were busy at the time.

But namely what I want to talk about is this:

The response I was given, in summary, was something along the lines of "well I think Thor was boring, and he wasn't my cup of tea, so I'm glad he changed."

But, you see, there's just ONE small issue with that: Thor isn't meant for everyone.

In fact, no character is meant for everyone. So why is it that Thor needs to change to be "for everyone" and be the MCU normies' "cup of tea" when no other character has to? Why does he need to lose his core identity (both as a character, as a franchise, you name it, it's been done) just because people like my friend don't understand him as well as Tony Stark or Spider-Man? And why should Thor fans have tow watch their favorite superhero get stripped down and turned into something completely divorced from the character, world and cast we were first involved with from the beginning?

Nobody at any point has been able to answer me that besides "well just because I didn't like Thor personally."

Iron Man won't appeal to everyone. Neither does Captain America, neither does Spider-Man, beloved as even Spidey is. They have their own quirks, their own villains, their own storylines... Every superhero has a core to them that their stories revolve around. He's from DC, but Superman, for instance, has the core of: love, justice and the American Way. Therefore, his stories revolve around challenging that core, and making Superman prove it. Steve Rogers/Captain America has a similar core. Justice, freedom and the American Way, is what I'd mostly boil his core down to. Thor's is "love" all around. I've written about that '(here)' in my post about his 2011 themes. Maybe it's different for other fans, but for me personally? I adore that about Thor. It's one of the many reasons I'm drawn to him over any other marvel Super besides Spider-Man. (not you tom holland ... yes you andrew garfield...)

So when I go to Thor for entertainment, I'm going to him above the other superheros because I want a story that revolves around HIS core and how Thor goes about reckoning with his challenges. I also go to MCU Thor specifically for his quiet, kind, regal nature. I come to him for his gravitas, his passion, his relationships with his cast of companions.

I go to him for high-sci-fi action/adventure, or for the "what if we took norse mythology and made it an alien superhero" route they took him in for the MCU. I go to Thor because he IS different from the rest of the Avengers... and that's the point.

So when someone says to me: "Well Thor wasn't for me so I'm glad he changed", or "Well I really liked Ragnarok because Thor kind of become more in line with the other Avengers"... they're fundamentally missing the point of why Thor has a fanbase at all.

[sunshine-jesse]

I think you give too much weight to Ashley’s claim that eating people makes her stronger. There has been no evidence of that being the case in the way she insists upon. Even on the “good” route where Andy comes around on it after theorizing that the demons are actually ascended & amalgamated human souls, he points out that any metaphysical essence to be gained is fully in the soul, the bodies of their victims she’s been eating are just hollow inert meat. If you think otherwise, where is that strength on display? Her being convinced of the idea doesn’t make it true, and thus it is not a “good reason” for her to do it knowing it would start a fight with Andrew. If anything, it’s evidence in favor of Andrew seeing Ashley as too delusional/childishly imaginative/self-aggrandizing to ascribe meaningful agency.

We see her soul in Andrew's dream sequence and it's massive. My point is that I think Ashley intuitively understands that as a form of strength, and while we don't yet see how that strength manifests outside of it supposedly being able to summon stronger Entities, it's still part of a broader point that he doesn't take her intuition seriously.

Her intuitive understanding of the world is something she's been given credit for by Andrew and something that's shown to be broadly correct every time, with her problem being that she's misidentifying what the vibes she's picking up on actually mean. If you think I'm crazy for saying she's "broadly correct," I would like to point out that Julia and Renee are explicitly shown to have the same kind of intuition, too, and Ashley is just the one who's mentally ill enough to make it a problem for everyone.

I would like to emphasize that this is something Andrew explicitly says that he appreciated about the 'adult' version of Ashley that he's primarily attracted to:

"You once had moxie, charm, intuition, and perseverance."

Him being unable to do this is textually a reflection of his inability to think of her an adult. When I say "good reason" I mean at least giving her enough credit to assume that there's a method to her madness and to help her work through it.

Now should he be expected to do this? That's not my call to make. But when I make analysis like this I'm flatly stating what he could be doing to make things better and why he doesn't.

I mean, shit, if he wants to help her through the cannibalism stuff, he could start by explaining just why the strength she gains from it isn't (yet) directly relevant to their situation. But he's not willing (or able) to put that kind of thought into her actions in the route where it's relevant.

And it actually says A LOT that he's willing to do that in Cliffhanger.

[saintofsacrilege]

It’s me again I’m glad you like to yap thanks for always answering

So, since you said that you don’t have much knowledge of the EC, I want to discuss with you, when a fan asked Nora who were Kevin’s friends/BFFs she mentioned that Kevin didn’t know really how friendship works but post TKM him and Thea properly become friends. Nice.

Except, she also mentioned that post Riko’s funeral Kevin gets a lot of shit from the foxes for mourning the Seth overdose and Andrew r*pe arranger that Riko was. And that the foxes have a hard time sympathizing with that side of Kevin, except for Andrew and Neil.

Again. This all adds up weirdly. One of the biggest reasons cult members have a haced time leaving a cult is because they fear to be made accountable of their actions while they were in their bee hive minds. And with Nora’s answers it seems Kevin sought a fellow Raven to not face judgement. Very valid but the fact that he stays forever with her?

Kevin is criticized for mutinying Riko —> becomes closer with “loyal to the ravens till the end” “no harm no foul” Thea. And then Nora mentions how they had a daughter and were super pushy about ext with her.

ooh okay this is definitely a tough question.

i agree that kevthea becoming proper friends post-tkm makes complete sense, especially with kevin’s other friends (the foxes) not always being able to empathize or sympathize while he mourns riko. as a raven, thea will at least somewhat understand, even if she doesn’t know the details of why mourning riko is so complicated for kevin specifically. still, i can’t help wondering how much of her “sympathy” towards kevin’s grief is clouded by a lingering allegiance to riko. i fear that she may not really be looking out for kevin’s best interests here. even unintentionally, there’s clear potential for thea to enable kevin’s regression into old habits or beliefs related to riko and the ravens. i struggle to imagine her successfully helping him to move on (or him helping her, for that matter).

which, okay, maybe that’s the story nora wants to tell. but damn, i do not want that for kevin, especially when we’ve seen how far he’s come throughout the original aftg trilogy. i don’t want all his progress erased by riko’s death because then riko gets the last laugh.

what you said about kevthea being endgame and having a child in the ec basically confirms the suspicions i’ve had since jean and kevin’s interactions in tsc: a raven cannot heal from their trauma alongside another raven.

while i can’t say i’m surprised, i absolutely despise that kevthea pushes exy on their daughter. poor girl. i hope they at least go about it in a way that indulges a pre-existing interest she has, but that could very easily not be the case. to me, this seems like proof that the nest still has a rather strong hold on kevin and thea.

in all honesty, i think the healthiest non-platonic relationship kevin (or most ravens, including thea) could have would be with someone who is either: a) completely removed from exy or b) a casual exy enjoyer who hasn’t made stickball their whole world. i’d argue that ravens need a clear separation between exy and other parts of their lives to recover, which seems to be tsc’s messaging as well.

but i also know that's wildly idealistic.

i acknowledge that not being obsessed with exy isn’t realistic for kevin because of his past, present, and future. living and breathing exy has been instilled in kevin throughout his entire childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood. now, with riko gone, he’s in a position to start figuring out what exy means to him on a personal level (i’d argue this is part of what him learning to play ambidextrously symbolizes). to a certain degree, he can reclaim exy on his own terms. however, because of the deal neil worked out with ichirou, kevin continuing to stay alive literally depends on him going pro and making a lot of money to pay off the yakuza. so how much can playing exy ever really be on kevin’s terms when his survival’s at stake?

the day kevin’s passion for exy dims or changes to anything beyond striving to be the best is the day he runs out of use. more than that, it’s the day he risks getting killed. thea allows kevin to hold onto his old self just enough for him to stay alive. in some messed up way, kevin may need thea to keep him alive even if being with her simultaneously prevents him from living fully.

i adore kevin and it really hurts to see him resign himself to such a bleak existence, especially when other characters in similar situations don’t have to sacrifice themselves like that. neil is trapped in the same deal as kevin, but he has andrew as a support system both within AND beyond exy. moreover, andrew forces neil to have a life outside of exy because exy has never been andrew's top priority. tsc seems to be setting up the same dynamic for jerejean, too (ex: pottery class). considering that exy is the only thing that brought and continues to hold kevthea together, with both of them having exy as their first priorities… idk. it doesn’t bode well.

for what it’s worth, i could accept all of this as being a believable part of kevin’s journey if his and thea’s marriage ultimately ended in them getting divorced and learning to find themselves beyond being ravens. i think that’d feel bittersweet but necessary for both of them.

[ninyard]

HI this is NOT the codependency in the nest anon but shoutout to you and that anon for getting my wheels spinning on this. so. im kind of just imagining kevin spiraling to the point that he can’t even look at exy anymore. truly cannot even think about it bc thinking about the sport his mom made, the sport he played with riko, the sport that made him who he is, is all a bit too much.

also thinking about the absolute media circus that’s going to erupt specifically around kevin. not only with the whole skiing statement, but also surrounding the foxes win, and obviously also concerning riko’s death. and Literally All Of It just comes back to that grief — for his mom, for riko, for who he could have been had none of this ever happened. and his main method of coping (throwing himself into exy and not thinking about it, if you can call that coping) does not work here.

(i also think that he finds himself missing the number two tat just because that was familiar, at the very least, before he forcibly pulls himself away from that thought).

Kevin not being able to look at exy is such a valid point to make bc if he's hit with the overwhelming grief of his mom dying and Riko dying it's just like all of a sudden, the reasons behind why he played exy are just gone. his purpose!! his life!!!!!! everything he stayed alive for is just suddenly too painful to even think about

and then him going through all of this, mourning both his mom and Riko at the same time, all while every sports magazine and exy media wants him as their headline cover star. gossip magazines with paparazzi pics because back then nobody cared that a celebrity was hurting or mourning; it just made people want those pictures even more. he literally cannot escape it. if he stays inside, he thinks too much about it, but for once in his life he can't go to the court, he can't look at Andrew because as much as he knows he didn't kill Riko, it still hurts too much to think about the snapping of his arm and the sound of his screams. he can't talk to Neil, for a while, because he was there. Neil saw it happen and he didn't. is it jealousy? is it anger, or sadness? nobody understands completely what he's going through. he can't go out in public because people are just dying to talk to him and get the front page exclusive.

and then he covered up his tattoo <24hrs before Riko died. he covered up. his tattoo. and less than 24 hours later Riko was dead.

it's all just so painful and so isolating and so lonely for him. he blames himself, he's happy, he's sad, it's confusing. Jean might've been the only person who could've somewhat really truly got how he was feeling, but even then, the way Kevin felt was too personal and too unique to him and what he went through for Jean to fully understand it in the way Kevin needed someone to

[gaysparkler]

And yet I quickly might arrive / Where my extended soul is fixt

Early romance moment... Read on AO3 Title from Andrew Marvell's "The Definition of Love"

There was a small, shy knock at Pénthos’ door—and had they been doing anything other than staring mindlessly at the fish swimming on the other side of their window, they would have missed it. They didn’t doubt the magical nature of the Fade, but was their room somehow submerged underwater, or was this an illusion that would end and begin again, in a loop?

“Come in,” they replied eventually, not leaving their contemplation, hoping to catch the loop. Or—prove that the room was underwater. Somehow.

“Hello, neighbour,” Emmrich’s voice rang behind them. Pénthos couldn’t help but to turn around at the sound of it, a smile already on their lips.

“Emmrich!”

Pénthos stood from their couch to meet him halfway, though the nervous flutters of early romance kept them from reaching for him, so they left a small distance between them. Face flushed, they turned their attention back to the large window.

“You’re the Fade expert,” they said, bumping into Emmrich’s shoulder as they walked back to the couch. “Do you think we’re actually underwater?”

They sat down next to each other, legs almost touching. Emmrich brushed imaginary dust from his thighs as he settled; Pénthos crossed theirs.

“I would not discredit it entirely—the Fade works in mysterious ways, to be cliché about it. I suppose we’d need to test it, somehow. However,” he chuckled, “I would not recommend it.”

They smiled. “And that’s your professional opinion?”

“As professional as it will get.” Then it was Emmrich’s turn to lean on them playfully. “Which possibility would you prefer?”

Pénthos blinked up at him. “Preference doesn’t seem very scientific.”

“Not everything has to be. The Lighthouse is a marvellously impossible place. Science need not apply. Maybe this room was even shaped by what lies in your heart.”

Emmrich’s smile was warm and kind. Eager. Pénthos ducked their head forward and bit their bottom lip as they felt their heart skip a beat.

“I think…I’d like to believe we’re truly underwater. And…the light reminds me of the green flames of the Necropolis,” Pénthos said quietly. “I hadn’t been back until we met.”

Emmrich leaned ever closer to them. “Do you miss it?”

“You said you envied me for my travels, but…Emmrich, I miss it terribly. There’s something…comforting, simple, about a Watcher’s purpose. When I left the Necropolis, I felt like I arrived in a world that didn’t understand the very being that I was.”

Pénthos would never be able to get a number of things out of their mind from their travels, but what haunted them was the way so many people looked at his facial tattoos and pointed ears, the constant and literal demonization of spirits, the misunderstanding of their gender expression. The world outside the Necropolis felt so…hostile and determined to reject what it did not understand.

Emmrich sought out their hand; Pénthos laced their fingers together.

“I cannot imagine what that must be like,” he said, compassion written across his features. Pénthos gave him a small, defeated smile, and a shrug of their shoulders. After a moment, they looked back to him through the curtain of their hair partially hiding their face, spying the fond look in his eyes. They straightened up and cleared their throat.

“You’ve only seen the window—can I give you a tour? You were kind enough to show me around the lab.”

He softly gasped, “I would love to!”

Their hands still linked, Pénthos walked Emmrich around the room and pointed out their scant personal items strewn here and there: the Ever-Turning Orb, their final project made during their magical training, still perfectly tuned though it had been created over a decade ago, the (probably counterfeit) elven scroll a peddler rewarded them with after saving his caravan—when Emmrich asked about provenance, what was written across the parchment, Pénthos had no answer, which only served to confirm its false nature, but they were attached to it at this point—the mirror Varric had given them what felt like ages ago, and—

Pénthos did not doubt that Emmrich was interested in everything they had been showing him, but the urn of Baron von Markham did get more of a reaction than anything else.

“The leader of the undead rebellion?” he exclaimed. “You have his urn?”

They feigned nonchalance, though they knew how rare it was for remains to ever make it out of Nevarra. Kind of like Watchers, they figured.

“I suppose Myrna thought it would be a good reminder. To not act so…rashly.”

“Oh, I do believe the reaction was disproportionate. What disorganization this uprising would have caused! And to think of the paperwork…”

They couldn’t help but laugh—of course that’s what Emmrich would be worried about; not the destruction of the undead, not the possibility of corpses invading Nevarra, but paperwork. Ever the pragmatic.

“An ungodly amount, to be sure. I hesitate to even imagine,” Pénthos chuckled, before concluding the tour with a sweeping motion of their free arm: “And here we are! You’ve seen it all.”

“You don’t have a bed?”

They indicated at the green couch in front of the meditation altar while Emmrich settled his hands on their waist.

“This is enough,” they replied. Not like they got a lot of sleep lately, anyway.

“Well, it’s not quite—”

“Emmrich.” Pénthos tapped against Emmrich’s chest, right under his skull collar pin. “The only thing I’ve seen in your laboratory is a slab for bodies.”

Emmrich made the face characteristic of every time Pénthos had flirted with him: raised eyebrows, a slight widening of the eyes—though the teasing smile was new since their talk by the balcony.

“You make a compelling argument.”

Pénthos shuffled closer until they were squarely in Emmrich’s arm, a proper embrace. Partly because they relinquished that closeness, and partly to hide the blush creeping on their face due to the praise.

“Thank you for visiting,” they said, still hidden. “I was—getting in my head. No good usually comes from that.”

Emmrich hummed, “I rather like your thoughts, my dear.”

He leaned back slightly to grasp Pénthos’ chin, his gold bangles clinking delicately with his movement, and angled their head up so their eyes would meet. They could feel their cheeks still warm and their heart fluttering, but did not dare fight Emmrich’s gentle direction, not when they saw the smitten smile on his face.

“You’ll come back?” they asked, hopeful.

“As long as you’ll have me,” Emmrich replied, and Pénthos dived right back in the embrace.

[pascaloverx]

To Begin Again

TWELVE

Summary: You're a new teacher at a large and influential school. It's a risky step for you, as you've been running from your ex for almost two years. But when Dumbledore asks you to take on a class at the renowned Hogwarts, you can't refuse. However, your life as a newly arrived teacher won't be easy. Especially when the other teachers don't seem eager to make friends. Or rather, two teachers in particular: Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

Author's Note: Welcome, dear readers. Please leave your comments if you enjoy fanfiction. This fanfic takes place almost in the real world (with the addition of werewolves) and is not a wizarding fanfic. There will be some differences and changes in things from the Harry Potter story or other fanfics in the HP universe, but I promise to do my best writing this fanfic. There will be a love triangle coming in this fanfic. So, dear readers, just as in this fanfic it's meant to imagine Remus Lupin as being Andrew Garfield and Sirius Black as being Ben Barnes, now I present to you the fancast of Severus Snape as being actor Enzo Vogrincic. Imagine him as Snape if you can.

ELEVEN THIRTEEN

A week later, things haven't improved. You managed to convince McGonagall that it would be best to change rooms, at least. The current issue is your emotional connection with Lupin. He feels too much, always intensely. For a man who barely expresses his feelings, he feels too much. And even by avoiding him physically, his feelings seem to have an absurd strength in reaching you.

"Are you sure this box isn't too heavy?" You ask Bellatrix, who as your new bathroom mate, is helping you with the move. McGonagall decided to switch you and Peter Pettigrew's rooms. So Sirius will have Peter as his next-door neighbor, and you'll have Bellatrix. It's better than having to avoid Mr. Black every day.

"I'm stronger than I look, sweetheart. I believe this is the last box. I said it would be quicker if I carried the boxes and you organized the room, right?" Bellatrix responds proudly, pleased to have been right. Thanks to her, you'll soon be able to go teach without worrying about organizing anything when you return to your room.

"Pay me back by coming over for a glass of wine tonight. They say it's good to have company for a nice wine on cold nights. What do you think?" Bellatrix says with a mischievous smile, and you can only think that drinking might help you forget your troubles.

"I think it's a perfect idea. I'll stop by your room later for wine," you say, kissing Bellatrix on the cheek. Strangely, she purrs when your face gets close to hers. She immediately kisses the corner of your mouth and leaves with a victorious smile. Unfortunately, you don't even have time to process what's happening in your life because you have to teach your students. So you rush towards the classroom.

The classroom has a distinct atmosphere. Ron and Hermione are sitting apart from Harry. Draco is relatively close to Harry. Pansy is sitting next to Luna. It seems different but not so bad. You had an idea of how your class would be. However, seeing your students like this, you thought of a more unique artistic dynamic.

"Today, we will work on ourselves. Before anything else, know that art resides within the artist. So everything you produce in this class will be a piece of yourselves. The main task is to create a painting that captures your essence. But before you worry about that, understand that the painting itself will be a project that will take several classes to complete. Today, we will focus on yourselves. I want everyone to think about something you like and something you dislike about yourself. One thing you admire about yourselves and another you despise. Does anyone want to start?" You ask the class of students in front of you, hoping someone will raise their hand and spare you from the awkwardness.

"I like being dedicated. Knowing more than most because I'm capable of it. What I don't like is how that can come across as arrogant or overly ambitious. I hate overthinking things." Not surprising anyone and saving you, Hermione Granger responds first. You look at her with pride, nodding as if to reassure your student that her account is important.

"I like how easily I can become attached to someone. Just give me a bit of affection and I can latch onto you. But unfortunately, I tend to develop expectations, and when those expectations are shattered, I become a mess," Ron Weasley opens his heart while holding Hermione's hand, as if she's supporting him, and looking towards Harry.

"I like being fearless. I enjoy adventuring, especially with my friends. And I don't like being aggressive, having a short fuse," Harry says, looking at both Draco and Ron, as if justifying his attempt to be less aggressive towards Malfoy. And so almost all the students went on pointing out what they liked and didn't like about themselves, until only Draco Malfoy was left.

"I like being better than most people I know. But I don't like the fact that it bothers me that feeling superior doesn't actually make me better," Draco admits reluctantly. You're pleased that he managed to share this. You speak to your students, observing them carefully as the school bell signals the end of your class. Everyone seems at least to be trying to take you seriously. As your students file out of the classroom for break, you begin packing up your things when you hear a knock on the door. Turning to look, you find Snape and Sirius standing side by side. Snape looks like a lost puppy who just found its owner, while Sirius appears genuinely furious.

"He wanted to speak with you, the one who helped him the day he lost his memory. Conveniently, now he has no idea what happened," Sirius replies sharply and straightforwardly, clearly in a bad mood. You understand that Snape is a risk for him, but the truth is, the Snape before you seems clueless about what transpired.

"I actually wanted to thank you. I have no idea how I ended up here or why I was in that forest, but I have a feeling you were the angel who saved my life. Right now, I'm going back to the United States to reclaim some of my life, and I wanted to say goodbye with my gratitude. Thank you so much, beautiful lady. If I ever come back here, you'll be the first person I visit." Snape speaks so passionately that it seems he has developed an extra fondness for you. Perhaps his heart holds more memories than his head. He catches you off guard by gently holding your face and kissing your cheek. Then he pauses in front of you for a few moments, gazing at you kindly. Before he can try to kiss you, Sirius pulls him back.

"I'm sure your brain hasn't forgotten basic manners. You don't just kiss someone like that, especially if you don't know if they're single. Can you imagine if you made the mistake of kissing her without her consent in front of her boyfriend? I think it's better if you show your gratitude by leaving." Sirius speaks impatiently and defensively, as if he were your boyfriend or something. Snape apologizes again, looking frightened, and quickly runs off. Clearly, he has lost his memory. Sirius would never scare him off like that if he were the Snape with memories intact.

"Expecting me to thank you for this is a waste of our time. Nice performance—it almost seemed like you were jealous, by the way," you say as you walk, followed by Sirius, who from your peripheral vision doesn't seem pleased at all.

"Were you going to let that repugnant man put his hands on you?" Sirius questions angrily, as if you were about to allow something horrible to happen.

"We both know what he did, but he doesn't. I wasn't going to let him touch or kiss me inappropriately. But that's hardly any of your damn business, Sirius. Go take care of your love life and personal affairs and leave mine alone." You turn, looking directly into Black's eyes, who huffs at your words. He's furious, but you don't care. You warned him that you wanted to stay away from him and Lupin.

"My love, it's hard to believe what comes out of your mouth when your eyes say you want me. I'm flattered that you want to play cat and mouse with me and Lupin. He might obey you, but I won't. Do you know why? Because I know there's a flame inside you that burns for me. And as long as I can, I won't let that damn flame go out." Sirius says, coming so close to you that you feel he could easily become a part of you. He seems angry but determined. You look at him for a moment, then place your hand on his chest for no apparent reason and lean in.

"You're going to end up hurting yourself by doing this. Because I can guarantee that even if I become a blazing inferno of pure desire for you, I will never let you get close to me in the way you imagine. Do us both a favor and give up." You speak so fiercely that, in the back of your mind, there is even a desire to bite Sirius's face. You particularly think this is the werewolf part of you speaking. You turn like a storm and head to your room, leaving behind an aroused and disappointed Sirius.

When you get to your room, all you can think about is how much you'd like to lie down on the bed and sleep. But soon you'll have to go drink wine with Bellatrix. So, you spend some time finishing tidying up your room and taking a good bath. When you get out of the bath and put on your robe, you hear someone knocking on the door. You find it strange because you're almost certain Bellatrix is supposed to be giving a lesson right now. But after tying your robe, you open the door. Remus Lupin stands in front of you, wearing only jeans and a shirt. You think he looks sexy, and unfortunately, from the little smile he gives, he knows you think that.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, leaning against the door and watching Lupin continue to stare at you as if you were a statue to be admired.

"I need you to let me in." That's all he says, while his feelings are too jumbled for you to understand. Something must be wrong. You move your head pointing into the room and let him enter.

"Your feelings are a complete mess. It feels like you can't focus on anything." You say looking at him after closing the door. He looks at you like he's in conflict with himself. That's when you realize you need to make him focus on something. Going against your own words, you do an impulsive act after waiting for him to organize his feelings. You approach Remus and kiss him. It should be a peck on his lips and you should walk away. But something pulls you closer, making you give Lupin another kiss. He leans you against the door, holding your waist, while he supports you against the door. There is a lot of excitement being felt. You know that every second the kiss intensifies, you want more and so does he. And then you throw Remus onto your bed.

"I'm being sabotaged. I had this theory since I transformed on a night that wasn't a full moon. But now it's concrete. The night you arrived here, someone let me out of the safe place where I should have been locked up near the cabin. Sirius and I thought it might be in our heads. A few nights later, I transform outside of the full moon. And now, I discovered that the lock on my little private prison was broken from the outside." Lupin speaks eloquently, and you're glad the kiss served some purpose. It seems crazy to think he might be sabotaged by someone, but it makes sense.

"Do you have any idea who it could be?" you ask, approaching Lupin, who looks distraught. You crouch in front of him, running your hand through his hair. Then the memory of the last time you saw someone crouched in front of him, looking at him the same way and with the same care as now, hits you. Instinctively, you fall back onto the floor, feeling embarrassed.

"You saw me and Sirius the other night. That's why you feel like we don't belong to you, isn't it? That's why you're running from us as if we were a disease? You're afraid of being left out," Remus questions with such confidence that it feels like he can understand you completely. You look at him, confused, while still on the floor, wearing only your robe. Lupin extends his hand to you to help you up. You take his hand and stand up. The two of you stare at each other while he waits for a response.

"If you want verbal confirmation, yes. I saw you two, I witnessed your love and how devoted you are to each other. You can't expect me to get in the middle of an already built relationship." You still speak very close to Lupin. He smirks, as if he finds what you just said adorable.

"If he and I are accepting you in the relationship, you're not getting in the middle of the relationship. Can't you see that we both want you?" Remus says and you put your finger on his mouth to make him shut up.

"You came here to talk about someone sabotaging you. Focus on what's important." You talk changing the subject. While you doesn't want to do romantic things right now, you are intrigued.

"My main suspicion is Bellatrix." Remus Lupin speaks, catching you off guard. You never thought Bellatrix could do anything to Lupin. However, you don't know their story well, and personally, you're a newcomer here. At that moment, someone knocks on your door a few times, distracting you.

"Who is it?" You speak loud enough for the person to hear, while also placing your hand over Lupin's mouth to prevent any misunderstanding.

"Hey, it's me, Bellatrix, your next-door neighbor. Just letting you know I've finished my last class of the day. I'm heading back to my room to take a shower, and then I'll be ready for your company. Sound good?" Bellatrix speaks loudly, and as you deal with Lupin's disapproving look, you begin to consider how to respond.

"Agreed. I'll be in your room as soon as I get ready here," you reply. After hearing Bellatrix enter her room, you remove your hand from Lupin's mouth.

"Are you really going to meet her?" Lupin asks, judging you while also appearing concerned. You look at him slightly uncomfortable.

"I know you believe she might be messing with you now. But to find out for sure, you'll need someone close to her to gather information. Unless you want Sirius to seduce her, I think I'm a good option," you say, being rational. Besides, playing detective could be fun.

"I feel uneasy about both possibilities. And you know that," Remus says, sounding like an overprotective boyfriend. You nod in response, assuring him that you'll be careful despite his concerns.

"Let's find out who's messing with you. Together," you say, a bit awkwardly. Remus gives you one last once-over and quietly leaves. You can't help but think that the hunt for the saboteur is officially on.

[just-your-average-tangerine]

Song of the day: September 17 2024

Small Red Boy by AJJ

About AJJ:

AJJ is an American folk punk band from Phoenix, Arizona, originally formed in 2004 as Andrew Jackson Jihad. Their lyrics handle themes of shyness, poverty, humanity, religion, addiction, existentialism, and politics. Singer/guitarist Sean Bonnette and bassist Ben Gallaty co-founded the band, and have remained its only constant members throughout. The band has released eight studio albums to date, with their most recent, Disposable Everything, having been released on 26 May 2023.

(Via Wikipedia)

About Small Red Boy:

In this moving song, Sean Bonnette imagines himself having a symbiotic encounter with his child self — whom he has compared to the figure of Cody in the album’s opening track. He fantasises giving himself a fulfilling, loving, perfect childhood. While he says he “[doesn’t] think [he] had a particularly super, super awful childhood,” putting himself in the situation of the child-rearer is a way for him to understand and make peace with the parental mistakes that might have hurt him during his real childhood.

"Allow yourself to empathize with the people of your past—when you become the age that they were, it helps let go of a lot. […] When I’m trying to figure out the things holding me back in my life these days, looking back is a good place to start." — Bonnette to Paste Magazine, August 2016

Thanks to this approach, Bonnette becomes able to fully embrace his present and future, to deal with his neuroses and his trauma, and to transform himself into the positive and driving force that he needs to get through life as he bridges 30 years old.

“The imagery in the song is the devil coming out of yourself", he says later in the interview. Here, for Bonnette, learning to understand the demons that shaped you is an essential step to fully loving yourself.

(Via genius.com)

[denimbex1986]

'Fleabag’s hot priest is about to take on his most liberating role yet: a one-man show of Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya in which he will play all nine roles, male and female. He loves taking risks, he says. It seems to be paying off…

I last saw Andrew Scott in the flesh eight years ago. I was sitting in the gloom at the top of what used to be St Martin’s School of Art in the Charing Cross Road – a tiny, temporary theatre had sprung up there – and he was three feet away from me, surrounded by great piles of stuff: newspapers, books, chairs, cupboards… a piano. The occasion was Richard Greenberg’s play The Dazzle, about two compulsive hoarders, the Collyer brothers, and his performance as one of them was mesmerising: in truth, almost too mesmerising. My mind went into overdrive. All that paper and mahogany. What if something toppled, and he was crushed – as the real Langley Collyer was – beneath a chest of drawers?

He wasn’t crushed, of course. But what’s striking and slightly odd is that today I’m seeing Scott in the flesh for the second time, and we’re again at the top of an old building – in this case, a public library – in rooms that feel a bit dilapidated, if not exactly derelict. People imagine the actor’s life to be a glamorous one, particularly if the actor in question has been in a Bond film – and of course it has its enchantments. But then there are the hours spent in spaces like this: long days of sandwiches, bottled water and elusive lines. When we came up in the ancient lift together, I couldn’t decide which of us was the more anxious. He was, I would guess. “MY TWELVE HOURS TRAPPED WITH FLEABAG STAR” ran the ticker tape in my mind as the mechanism creaked and groaned, and we each did our best not to meet the other’s eye.

Scott has spent the past three weeks here, deep in rehearsals for Vanya, a new version by Simon Stephens of Anton Chekhov’s great tragicomedy Uncle Vanya. But there’s new, and then there is… new. This adaptation gives the play, among other things, a contemporary setting. However, when the production opens in the West End, its chief novelty – and its chief draw, given Scott’s huge following – will be the fact that it is a one-man show. He will be playing all nine parts: male and female, young and old, beautiful and not-so-beautiful. It must be hard to learn so many lines, I say, once he’s (semi) comfortable on a battered leather sofa, his old, white T-shirt giving him a slight look of Marlon Brando. Doesn’t he feel like he’s going mad, with all these voices in his head? He laughs – a high-pitched, wicked laugh. “Yeah. I do, and it’s really hard [to learn]. Usually, when you can’t remember a line, another actor will say, ‘What time is it?’ or something, and then it comes to you. But now I’ve no one to cue me.” Alone on stage, he has had to change his mindset completely: “I’ve come to understand that I’m sort of looking after all these characters.”

The idea for a one-man production came about by accident. Scott, Stephens, and Sam Yates, who is directing the play, were workshopping it together (Scott has worked with Stephens twice before, most notably in Birdland at the Royal Court, in which he played a rock star who has made a Faustian pact with fame). “We miscalculated the parts, and I ended up having to act with myself, and it was kind of interesting. It gave birth to the idea that, as much as these characters say they’re different from each other, actually, some of them are very similar. I’m more interested now in those similarities than in, you know, doing a funny voice [for each one]. The production seems to me to be about what the act of creation is. I love the idea that you might be able to represent what a writer experiences on stage, all these characters in his head.”

But how on earth will the audience work out what’s going on? I understand about the funny voices, but won’t Scott have to change his a little bit when he’s acting the part of a woman? He smiles, teasingly. “I don’t think I should tell you that… But you don’t need to worry too much. I feel so liberated! I hope people will start to look at what’s within the performer so that something happens that can only really take place in a theatre – which is that you’re seeing one thing, but imagining something else.” This sounds like reading a novel, visualising scenes and characters for yourself, filling the gaps between words. He nods. “Look, I definitely don’t want to shy away from the ridiculousness of this project, and yeah, I’m nervous, but I’m loving the process. I think it’s a really sexy play. You know, Chekhov was a doctor, and he saw death so much, and I think he was able to understand human beings like no other writer.”

The argument that actors should only play who they are – that a gay character, for instance, may be played only by a gay actor – is made more and more often lately. But this production seems (to me, at least) subtly to resist the notion of identity politics in the theatre; to suggest that such rigidity may sometimes be a cul-de-sac. “It can be a cul-de-sac, certainly,” Scott says. “Of course those arguments have to be heard. The world isn’t a level playing field. But I think transformation is as important as representation. Our first understanding of storytelling happens when we’re young. Our mother or father is pretending to be a wolf. We know we’re safe, but we’re scared, too. Our parent can be a wolf! Human beings can create worlds within themselves. I don’t think we can just slice that out of ourselves.”

He knows some will heartily dislike this Vanya, but the thought seems, if anything, to excite him. “It could go wrong,” he says. “But we need a bit more of people not liking things.” He’s ambivalent, to put it mildly, about standing ovations, which seem to happen in the theatre most evenings nowadays. “My concern is that everything becomes meaningless. I think it’s unfortunate that if someone decides not to stand up, it’s perceived that they hated it. That’s not necessarily true. Maybe I thought it was very good, but I didn’t feel like rising to my feet. My producers are going to hate me for saying this, but I strongly believe that if people don’t feel like standing up, they shouldn’t. People feel lonely, having to stand when they don’t want to. Equally, it’s kind of moving when most people are not standing up, and three people are.”

Does he blame the internet for this? Is it just another form of “liking” something? “I do blame the internet, yes.” But perhaps, too, it has to do with cost. “I was recently on Broadway, and tickets there are astronomically expensive, and I thought: well, these people have to stand up because they’ve spent $390, so it’s got to have been one of the best nights of their lives.” Either way, he doesn’t understand it: the firmness and immediacy of people’s responses. “When you’ve just seen a play, it’s a really sensitive time. It’s weird when people start talking straight away about their new conservatory.” All this may explain why he feels there is more value for him in doing experimental work. “Some people will like it, some people won’t, and that’s great. I feel ferocious about wanting to take risks.”

In the coming months, Scott will be everywhere: a trick of scheduling, rather than by design. Vanya will be followed in January by the release of All of Us Strangers, a film in which he stars with Paul Mescal and Claire Foy (he plays a depressed screenwriter who goes to visit his childhood home, only to find that his parents, far from having died in a car crash when he was 12, are alive and well – though much of the coverage of the movie so far has focused on the fact that his character and Mescal’s are lovers). “It’s a beautiful film,” he says, dreamily. And then there’s Ripley, a Netflix series (its release is expected at the end of this year), based on Patricia Highsmith’s novel The Talented Mr Ripley, written and directed by Steven Zaillian, the screenwriter of Schindler’s List and Hannibal.

“It’s a big, big thing,” he says, of his role as Tom Ripley, grifter and serial killer. And yet, Scott said he wouldn’t be doing any more crazed sociopaths, having played Moriarty in Sherlock (he was also a baddie in the Bond film Spectre). “I know, but what I find interesting about him is not the psycho-ness; it’s the otherness. To me, it’s about what it’s like never to be invited to the party. We all know people who don’t make it easy for themselves, who are maybe a bit strange. But if you’re constantly ignored, or sidelined, or don’t fit in, what happens? Is it that something dark emerges? I don’t mind saying that playing him was challenging. It was very lonely. We filmed during Covid, and the five-day isolation requirements that were in place both here and in Italy meant people couldn’t come and visit, and I couldn’t come home. It’s eight hours of television, and he’s a solitary figure in this version, so I was on my own a lot.”

Scott is 46, though you wouldn’t know it; his enthusiasm, like his fidgetiness, belong to a younger man. He grew up in Dublin, with his two sisters – his father worked at an employment agency; his mother was an art teacher – where he was educated at private Jesuit school, attending drama classes on Saturdays. Art was his first plan – painting is still his great love; he can’t wait for the forthcoming Hockney show at the National Portrait Gallery – and he won a bursary to art school at 17. But then he was cast in a film, Korea, about an Irish boy emigrating to America in the 1950s who’s enlisted to fight in the Korean war, so he turned the place down, and once the movie was done, went to Trinity College to study drama instead. After six months, bored by the course, he left to join Dublin’s Abbey theatre.

He seems hardly ever to have been out of work, and his CV is such a mixture: Gethin the tense gay Welshman in Matthew Warchus’s film Pride; eccentric Lord Merlin in the BBC adaptation of The Pursuit of Love; an acclaimed Hamlet in 2017 at the Almeida theatre. By this point, his mantlepiece – he has two, one in London, and one in Dublin – must be quite frantic with statuettes (his most recent win, in 2020, was a Laurence Olivier award for best actor for his performance as Garry Essendine in Noël Coward’s Present Laughter). Does he feel blessed? “Yes, and that’s a really nice way of putting it. I’m grateful.” But perhaps this sounds too… humble: “I’ve never understood why there’s some sort of shame associated with being an artist. I feel able to call myself one.”

His fame is at a level that means he can move around London unnoticed, and he’d like to keep it that way. “I’m suspicious of it. I’ve no real interest in the value of it. The idea of being followed by a photographer seems hellish to me.” Does it affect his relationships? He doesn’t believe that it does, though there are “creepy, unsavoury people” out there who might not “have my best interests at heart”. Is he single? “Yes, I am.” Would he like to meet someone? He would. Surely it’s easy in his world? So many lovely new people entering his orbit all the time – and with his looks… He laughs. “That’s a lot of projection, there,” he says, sounding suddenly more Irish.

I read somewhere that some women in Ireland will always think of him as the guy who turned up to their demonstrations in the run-up to the abortion referendum in 2018, even when it was raining (the vote overturned the ban on abortion in the country, and followed one of 2015, which allowed same sex couples to marry). Isn’t it amazing how much Ireland has changed? When he was 16, it was still illegal to be gay, as he is. “Yes, it’s immense for people of my generation to have been emancipated from the shame of the Catholic church. But it’s interesting. Privacy matters to me, but then I remember Sinéad O’Connor being on The Late, Late Show, talking about human rights, and how important that was. Her kindness… We’re only just finding out about it. She didn’t announce it to the world. Again, it brings us back to social media. Does kindness happen if you don’t tell everybody about it?”

Scott is no longer a practising Catholic. But he can’t be certain this means he won’t call for the priest at the end (this conversation has taken a morbid turn, and it’s my fault). Perhaps it’s in the marrow. “It’s the organisation that’s the problem, not the principles behind it, which are very beautiful for the most part. I remember when Simon and I were doing [the play] Sea Wall. One of the lines in it is: show me God, where is he? And then the next line is: well, show me love, where is that? You can’t get evidence for either of them really. They’re just strong feelings. I believe in the power of love. I feel it’s stronger than anything, because you can’t do anything about it. I’ve so much of it in my life, and one of the things I’m most proud of is how much I’m able, not only to receive it, but to give it – and if somebody thinks that’s sentimental or mawkish, well, to me it’s the opposite.” He talks for a while in this vein. “I want to try to be a good person; not just a nice person, but a good person,” he says, his voice racing on – and it makes me think of him as the Hot Priest in Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag, the role for which he may now be best known. If every pulpit came with an Andrew Scott, our churches would be bulging at the seams.

Soon after this, there’s a knock on the door. It’s time to begin rehearsal (in the hall outside, his director stands at a lectern, looking quite priestly himself). He has, he says, another three weeks to go before Vanya opens, and when it does, he’ll be looking out for me; I’d better be sitting down at the curtain call, he jokes. Well, perhaps I’ll have good reason to be sitting down, I joke back. But he’s ever serious: “I always remember what my mum used to say. She’s an art teacher, and she used to tell us that a good drawer never rubs out. So, you draw a line, and then you get it wrong, and then you start a new line. The fact that people can see your old line doesn’t make them appreciate your new line any less. It may even make them appreciate it more.” What he means, I think, is that he believes it’ll be all right on the night.'

[ifitmeanslosingyouthenno]

though i am bruised, face of contusions (know I’ll keep movin')

day 22 whumptober prompt: bleeding through bandages | reopening wounds | “oh, that’s not good” 

tw talks of rape / non con (non explicit)

it was dark by the time neil stumbled to the familiar parking lot of wymack's apartment building 

he wasn't ready to face andrew yet, and he couldn't deal with his teammates concern right now

back in may he hadn’t imagined he would be able to walk into a middle aged man's apartment willingly, a place he associated with safety

today had been rough enough he needed safety

wymack had proven so far that he wouldn’t hurt neil, neither physically nor... he wouldn't hurt neil

he hadn’t expected to take so long, had no actual idea what the time was but if the sun was down in the middle of summer it could be past 10 pm 

every step is an agony against his side, against his back, deep in his belly 

every breath burns and every inhale reminds him of the fact that he's worn his binder for too long 

he can't bear the idea of taking it off right now 

wymack had made neil keep the spare key, but neil lost it somewhere during the day's events, so he knocks on the door instead

wymack wrenches the door open like he wants to take it off its hinges, but a mix of surprise and concern wash out the fury on his face when he sees neil

"where the hell have you been?" he demands, looking neil up and down, pausing more than on one place. it makes neil shiver. "andrew

got back from columbia hours ago. matt called me to say you weren't with them. what the hell happened to you?"

he's looking at neil with too wide eyes, trying hard to pretend he's not worried

if neil looks at all how he feels he kind of gets why

he can't make himself answer wymack, not when he's trying to pretend today didn't happen, not when he's trying to forget everything 

"can i stay here for a little while?" he settles on, despite knowing it doesn't answer anything

"shit kid what the-" 

he goes to grab neil to haul him inside, but neil flinches away out of habit, everything from today too fresh in his pained psyche

he can't make himself look wymack in the eye, there's an apology in the tip of his tongue

from the corner of his eye, he sees wymack take a deep breath 

"just come inside"

he follows wymack, wrapping his arms around his middle 

he trips on his own two feet before he reaches the living room, having to catch himself on the wall at his side 

"oh that's not good"

the words slip from his mouth before he even thinks about it but thats okay

his vision is blurry, the world around him tilting to the side and wymack is right there in front of him with the phone pressed to his ear

"neil’s back, i need your help"

no, no, knowing wymack it's probably abby on the phone, neil doesn’t need her, doesn't need anyone's help, he can deal with this on his own-

"i don't need abby"

"you're covered in fucking blood josten, i decide that you need abby"

"i can stitch myself up, i don't- she doesn't need to come" 

"she says she's on her way"

neil groans, fight spilling out of him just along with his own blood 

well if she's on her wait he might as well-

"can she bring me some pads?"

"you got that?" he says into the phone, and neil slowly sinks into the floor, wincing as he sits with his back against the wall, waves of pain shooting up his spine 

its okay, hes okay, he can handle this, its nothing he hasn’t handled before, he can leave this behind along with the countless other times 

wymack grunts, still talking with abby,"ask him when you get here" 

he pauses for a second, and if neil were any more aware he'd think of his pause as worrisome, of his gaze too suspicious

but he doesn't notice either, too focused on breathing through the pain and locking the memories away

"neil"

he snaps his eyes open, putting away the memory of dark eyes and ginger head and a leering smile 

wymack is looking at him

neil just hums

"abby’s asking if you've been getting the testosterone shots"

he's far too tired to understand the relevance of the question but answers yes regardless

"she says with how long you've been taking them you shouldn't be getting your period"

neil freezes, eyes wide as he stares at wymack without actually staring at him

the ghost of hands and lips on his skin threaten to overtake him, the weight on top of him is suffocating, the pain inside him ripping him in half 

he can't fucking breathe

his hands are digging into his sides, tearing open the wounds he'd hastily bandaged with part of the hoodie he managed to steal 

there's something too much like understanding in wymack's gaze 

how did they figure it out?

his voice is a trembling whisper, "please don't"

the word burns on the way out, and it echoes in his head, the memory of it being ignored earlier that very day too many times along with "no"s and "stop"s too fresh to stop his skin from crawling

he digs his fingers deeper into his side, until he feels the blood blooming freely again

god he just wants to rest, he just wants to take a break

he's so fucking tired

"not today", he says softly

wymack's gaze softens uncharacteristically, but instead of the pity neil was expecting there's pain and grief in his eyes 

"okay, abby asks how heavy the bleeding is, for the pad"

if he had any blood to spare, he'd blush, out of shame, out of rage, out of defeat

"very"

he hangs up not long after, and despite neil wanting to drown in the silence wymack doesn't let the silence drag

"do you want me to call the cops?"

that startles neil so much he almost laughs, almost

"there's no use in that"

"you could press charges"

he's reminded of when he was younger, the first time at only 13 when he'd come to mary and told her he'd been raped by an adult at his school, how angry she had been at him, how she'd called him stupid and an idiot for letting it happen, how when he'd timidly asked if he should tell the cops she'd slapped him

how he just had to suck it up and deal with it

how it was something that happened sometimes

"no"

he didn't tell her when it happened again

he didn't tell her any other time that it happened again 

"he paid when i made smashed a bottle in his head"

that's too much information and nothing at all at the same time, but neil didn't even wait around long enough to see if he was alive, bleeding and hurting and with glass stuck in his side

he ran as soon as he could

to his relief, there's no judgement in wymack's face, no anger, no disgust

its enough he releases the tightness of his arms across his abdomen and he gasps involuntarily at the pain of the scratches and torn up skin and the deeper wound in his side 

"come on, you're bleeding through your shirt, let's start getting you cleaned up"

i kinda lost track of the prompt and got carried away but i kinda liked what came of it at the end funnily enough second fic with dadmack and like the third fic with a less painful ending fkksd title from cut my lip by twenty one pilots

[stories-of-the-nrm]

Time Doesn't Heal All Wounds Part 3

(Scott falls out of his engine form to the floor in agonizing pain.)

Gary: Scott what's wrong?!

(Scott won't stop screaming.)

Scott: IT HURTS! IT HURTS SO MUCH!

George: What does?!

Scott: EVERYTHING!

Narrator: Scott was screaming so loudly that everyone in the building runs over to see what happened.

Andrew: What do we do?! I've never had an engine respond like this!

Scott: TAKE ME TO THE HOSPITAL!

(A workman rushes to the nearest phone.)

Gary: It's going to be ok, Scott.

(Scott's curled up in a ball crying. No one knows what to do since repairs have never been this messy.)

Narrator: The ambulance arrives and the EMTs are shocked to see an engine's human form in need of help.

Andrew: Is there anything you can do the help?!

EMT: Well we'll do our best. We're not trained to work with humanoid engines. Until we can get him to the hospital, the most we can do is give him a painkiller humans would use.

Andrew (sighing): I understand. Thank you.

(The EMTs have to work together getting Scott on a gurney.)

EMT: You'll be alright mate. We just need to get you on the good stuff until we get you to the hospital.

Narrator: As soon as he gets an IV in his arm Scott starts to feel a little drowsy.

(The EMTs look a little shocked.)

EMT: My word this is the strongest we have. It should knock a human out cold.

Scott (groggily): I.. had a lot of... painkillers. Too many... repairs.

(They try to figure out what to do.)

EMT: Is this enough to help?

(Scott can only nod.)

Narrator: The EMT's continue to run Scott's IV until they get to the hospital. Many tests are done as none of the staff has ever seen a case like this.

Doctor: Bloody hell. How can such a being even exist? I can't even tell if what I'm looking at is normal.

(He sighs.)

Doctor: I suppose all we can do is keep him for the night as we try to figure out how this works. Take him to a room.

Time Skip

(We see Scott in a hospital bed asleep. Gary and George are by his side.)

Gary: I can't believe he started screaming like that.

George (sighing): It's to be expected. I can only imagine the amount of pain he would be in.

Gary: Doctors don't even know what to do. I just don't understand why Scott would want us to take him here.

(A nurse comes in.)

Nurse: Excuse me, does he have any relatives?

(Gary and George are very confused on how to answer that question.)

George: He has a brother and some cousins but I'm not sure if they would be able to come here if you need testing.

Nurse: Would you be able to tell me where his brother might be working?

Gary: Uh. I believe you would be able to contact Sir Topham Hatt of the Island of Sodor. If you ask for someone by the name of Gordon and tell him that his brother Scott is in the hospital, he'll be able to understand.

(She writes that down.)

Nurse: Thank you gentlemen. I understand this is an unprecedented event for all of us. Our hope is that we can use a healthy engine similar to Scott to determine what should be found in their human forms.

George: We know that Scott might be missing some features due to issues with his repairs. He's unable to remain under engine anesthetics because of the length of his repairs. He already developed a tolerance to it, so it wouldn't have been possible to continue keeping him under while his repair status is unknown.

(Her eyes widen.)

Nurse: Would you say that for an engine this is the equivalent of having chronic pain?

Gary: Well. According to our boss, we have no idea when work can continue. Until an agreement is made we wouldn't be able to keep Scott under as it could easily take months. I guess you can say he has chronic pain since he's been in and out of the works or surgery since 2004.

Nurse: Has he developed a tolerance to engine painkillers?

George: Yes. Scott himself told us that he was developing a tolerance to it.

Nurse: Oh dear.

(Gary writes down Sir Topham Hatt's number.)

Nurse: Thank you. As difficult as this will be, I think it's best if we continue to keep Scott like this. There's just too many unknowns that need to be resolved and we just can't risk putting him through that pain again.

(They sigh.)

Gary: Thank you. We know you're doing the best you can.

(She takes the number and walks out of the room.)

George: Well Gary looks like it's just us again.

Gary: Indeed. I just hope that a solution is found soon.

George: Me too.

Narrator: Little did they realize just how long they would have to wait.

Tagging: @bluy1206, @werbitssft, @klein-sodor-bahn, @theyellowroseofsodor, @juniebugsss, @tornadoyoungiron, @pxmun, @nlliah, @pxmun2, @thefedoragirl, @roosinii, @ethereal-capricorns-blog, @jessica-sv509510, @jayde-jots, @thatcheeseycandle, @jordeynnotgordon, @oldslowcoach, @tetsudomoe1304, @be-kind-and-rewind-again, @hardchildpainter, @asktheoriginalorder, @onyx-and-friends, @that-mr-e, @sustysteel198, @monika-396, @fabianvalencia561, @gordon208, and @savannahlee-d29.

An: Merry Christmas everyone!

[fcble]

GREAT THINGS, PART II

"For God's gifts and his call are irrevocable." — Romans, 11:29.

In which Haksu's life falls apart. FEATURING: Kang Haksu, Lee Taein, Yoon Mingeun, Lim Byeonghwi, Fable ensemble WORD COUNT: 6.7k WARNINGS / NOTES: Discussions of stalking and blackmail, more heavy-handed religious themes. You can read the first part here! Not very proofread. Sorry in advance for the mistakes I definitely made. I wanted to finish this closer to the beginning of April than the end but it is what it is. I also fucked up the timeline a little bit compared to some other pieces. This is the more canon one.

DECEMBER 2017

You pass Taein's little tests with flying colors. You’re Hercules, and these are your trials. First, your one month trial period. In the beginning, it is hard. There are days when you think you can’t make it at all, when you think maybe it would be better if you gave up, that a mediocre life is not so bad. After all, most people live mediocre lives. You aren't most people.

Second, it becomes apparent by your third or fourth day that the other trainees—namely Mingeun and Jaeseop—have a vendetta against you. Mingeun leads the independent dance practices, because he has the most experience, despite being the second youngest in the room. It throws you for a loop at first—how one nineteen year old can have the same amount of idol training as everyone else combined. You don’t enjoy taking direction from him. He singles you out, though you don’t trip over your feet any more than Andrew or Intak, and asks you to repeat sections over and over again until he’s satisfied. He isn’t good at giving instructions. He’ll tell you that something is wrong, crossing his arms with his back to the mirror, but not what exactly is wrong. It doesn’t take long for you to realize he’s doing this on purpose. He doesn’t want you to succeed, and he’ll hold you back himself. You won’t let yourself be bullied by someone younger than you, so you force yourself to take his advice seriously and listen earnestly. It’s a battle of wills, and you’re going to win. 

Jaeseop is a different story. He treats you differently because you’re an outsider. He’s been with Zenith Entertainment the longest because Taein is his uncle, a fact that you learn not from him, but from Kiyoung, and then do your best to take in stride. It becomes even more important for you to impress him. He holds you at an arm's distance anyway. You can't understand it. He seems so protective of everyone else, drawing a clear line between you and them. You try, again and again, to get to know him. He gives you the cold shoulder every time, answering your questions in short sentences or single words, like he’s mimicking Intak’s speech patterns. You have to be on his good side, because you know he’s reporting everything that relates to you back to Taein. You imagine what he says about you: you don’t fit in, you’re different, they would be better off without you. The thoughts keep you up at night, despite the bone-deep tiredness that you haven’t been able to shake since you joined the company.

Third, Taein extends your trial period weeks and months at a time. You make it through your first month, and he seems surprised to see you in his office again, come the new year. He changes it up on you, amending the parameters of your old deal.

“A month isn’t nearly long enough to learn how someone works,” he tells you. “Take a job, for instance. A new employee doesn’t immediately know everything about the position, or fit into the workplace culture. There’s always a training period.”

You haven't had the type of job he's describing, so you sit in his office and nod along. Your trial month becomes a two month trial, then a three month trial. You wear down Jaeseop and Mingeun one at a time, until they have no choice but to acknowledge you.

When your third month is over, Taein doesn't say anything. You assume you passed all his tests. You're officially a trainee now, a member of whatever Taein is planning.

Then it's summer, and everything changes.

You're going to debut. Of course, you knew this from the beginning. So did everyone else, because that's what you told them the day you joined.

Your debut announcement comes in the newly renovated meeting room. You were unaware there were still changes being made to the building, of construction going on on the floor above you. You chalk it up to being so intensely involved in your training.

Nevertheless, you sit in a spinning chair at the end of a long table, the lights dimmed to illustrate the presentation that Taein and his assistant, Yuxuan, are giving on your upcoming debut. Your group name is Fable. Your debut is slated for August 8, 2018, your twenty-first birthday. It must be fate. Your concept will be representative of Korea, and Intak is writing your debut song. More importantly, you’re going to be the main vocalist. You can feel Mingeun’s murderous gaze from across the table.

After the group announcement, Yuxuan pulls you aside and tells you Taein wishes to speak with you, individually. You don't know what that's about, but you agree. You assume he wants to speak to everyone individually.

When you’re in Taein’s office again a day later, you aren’t worried. Then he locks the door behind you, and you start to worry. You feel like you've spent more time in here than practicing with the rest of Fable, though you know that can't be right. It's the way time stretches and slows when you're sitting in front of Taein.

“You’re in a very unique position,” he says.

“That’s an interesting way of putting it,” you say. You can’t show weakness. “I want our deal to continue through my debut.”

“No.” Taein’s response is immediate. 

“Then Eunyoung-ssi will learn of your infidelity,” you say, almost apologetic.

“And you’ll ruin any chance you have of debuting.”

That would be a problem for you, but you have to pretend it doesn’t matter. You shrug. “You’re so close to finally debuting a group. Isn’t this what you left SM to do? You’ve spent so much time and money on us. It’d be a shame to throw it all away now.”

You can feel him faltering. You’ve pressed all the right buttons. You push them further. “I’m going to be the face of Fable, and you’re going to make that happen.”

Taein leans back in his seat. “So that’s what all of this is about. You’re desperate for your five minutes of fame. I can’t make anyone famous. It won’t fall into your lap.”

You hold his gaze. “You can buy it. I want every opportunity that Fable gets. If there aren’t any, you’ll make some.” You assume he has deep pockets. He can’t produce an idol group without them.

“There are other, easier ways to become famous,” Taein says, sounding almost amused. “Being an idol is a fickle position.”

It's the position you chose. You won't back down now.

"You drive a hard bargain," he continues. "I seem to have been backed into a corner." It doesn't really seem like that to you, but you keep your mouth shut, in case he decides to change his mind.

“You’ll be the face of Fable, and in return, you’ll keep my secrets to yourself.”

You nod again, this time maybe too enthusiastically. “Deal.”

Taein holds his hand out and you shake it, suddenly feeling lighter. You’re going to debut. You’re going to do great things.

“Jaeseop spoke highly of you,” he says as he unlocks the door.

You pause. “He did?”

“He admires your tenacity and your ability to work with people who don’t want to work with you. He also said you might be more stubborn that Mingeun, which may not be a compliment.”

You beam at the praise. You choose to interpret that last part as a compliment.

You’re halfway out the door, a skip in your step, when Taein stops you again. “One last thing. What were you studying?”

"Business administration," you answer. "I dropped out at the end of the school year."

He nods. "It suits you. You should consider going back."

You aren't too sure what to make of that.

APRIL 2021

You build your house with paper cards, yet you’re surprised when it comes tumbling down. You think you should have seen it coming. There were signs: Taein started work earlier and left later. Sometimes he’d stay overnight, locked up in his office, doing God knows what. You try to ask Jaeseop about him. He brushes you off and tells you not to worry. You spend a few days in that limbo between caring and not caring, poking your nose where it doesn’t belong and minding your own business.

Then the news breaks. It comes from Mingeun in the group chat—nothing more than taein’s wife is divorcing him lol. Then he changes the subject and asks if anyone’s seen his headphones. Jaeseop confirms it a minute later, then asks if you can all not talk about it.

It slights you more than it should. You know Mingeun and Jaeseop are close. You know Mingeun never takes no for an answer. You still want to be part of that in-group that gets to know the full story as it develops. 

When the news breaks in public a couple of days later, you keep track. That’s your responsibility, after ll, your finger on the pulse of any news, good or bad, about you and about Fable. You read through the reputable sources, then the less reputable ones. They talk about Taein’s past: his first divorce, his less than amicable departure from SM Entertainment, how a small company could finance a debut with as many promotions as Fable had—and all the opportunities you had. Then the next major news story breaks, and everyone forgets about Taein.

Not you. You can’t. You walk on eggshells around him, though to be honest, you don’t see him much. You know his schedule well enough to avoid him.

Until the day he asks to see you. He corners you—it seems like he knows your schedule just as well as you know his—as soon as you arrive back from a photoshoot. He stands outside the entrance to the parking garage, smoking a cigarette. Daewoong looks unfazed.

“We need to speak,” Taein says. You’ve barely had the chance to step outside.

You nod silently. You saw this coming. You watch him flick the ash off the butt of his cigarette and discard it to the ground.

You follow him into the building, and then up the elevator, still in silence. You’ll have to defend yourself soon, and you need the time to think. You can broker another deal with him. You’ll have to. You’ve grown too lax in your position, too self-assured and confident that nothing could go wrong, because nothing goes wrong until it does. You’re the face of Fable. You have more bargaining power now than you did four years ago when you were no one.

“Have a seat,” Taein says, unlocking the door to his office. You can’t remember when he started locking it.

You sit. He locks the door behind him, and that’s when you begin to think you might be in trouble.

You watch him sit in his much nicer seat and start up his computer. He’s looking at the screen when he asks, “Do you know what I wanted to talk to you about, Haksu?”

You weigh your options. You have a guess. It’s a very good guess. You don’t know what he wants to hear. It knocks you off balance.

“I can hear the gears in your head turning,” Taein says. He’s still not looking at you.

“I have a guess,” you say, perfectly neutral.

“I’d like to hear it.”

You take a deep breath. “You want to talk about our deal.”

“Precisely. You should have said it with more confidence.” Now he tears his gaze away from the screen to give you a once-over. You bear it.

You begin to lay your pieces in front of you. “The footage is irrelevant now. If I were to reveal it, it’d destroy both of us.”

You have more to say, but Taein interrupts you. “You, more than me. So you understand. It’s time we close that chapter of our lives, once and for all. We won’t need to speak of it again. It will be like it never happened.”

“Until you marry again and cheat once again.”

Taein laughs. “I’m old, Haksu-ah. I doubt I have a third marriage in me.”

He treats marriage and divorce like toys. You despise it. Marriage is a sacred covenant, not something to play with and discard. You want to weaponize it against him, but it’s difficult when he doesn’t share the same ideals as you.

“I want the other part of our bargain to stay the same,” you propose.

Taein's smile nearly vanishes. “No, I don't think so.”

Truth be told, you’re accustomed to all the good things that have come your way. The solo television appearances and jobs and endorsements and advertisements. You take it all in like a man starving. You can't give that up.

“I’m the public face of Fable,” you say. “You made me into it. Without me, who do you have?”

“It might be time for a change,” Taein muses. “Someone else can take the lead. I think Byeonghwi might be a good choice.”

He can’t be serious. Byeonghwi could never do what you do. None of them could.

“Wouldn’t it be strange?” you press. “To have someone else represent the group? The fans and the public are used to me.”

“You’re a member of a group,” Taein says in a tone that leaves little room for argument. “You’ll have to share the spotlight.”

That’s the last thing you want to do. You’ve worked hard for your place in the sun. You can’t just concede it. You grasp for straws, trying, desperately, to come up with a trump card. You find yourself lacking one. It’s no matter, you tell yourself. You found one before. You can find one again.

You swallow back any sort of lesser argument. “Fine.”

“I'm glad we're in agreement,” he says pleasantly. “You can keep the photos, if you'd like. Or you can post them online, if you'd like that more. It was never about them anyway.”

The world tilts dangerously around you. “What do you mean?” you ask, unsure if you want to hear the answer.

“All you got from them was a chance,” he says. “I will admit you forced my hand in accepting you as a trainee. Everything after that was your work.”

“Then I would have debuted anyway? I would have been the face of the group anyway? I could have shown your wife the pictures and you wouldn’t care?”

Taein nods. “It would have been unpleasant at the time. It was a surprise my marriage lasted until now.” 

You understand, suddenly, the appeal of violence. Taein, sitting directly in front of you, is the root cause of every problem you've ever had as a member of Fable, and even before that. It would be so simple to reach across his desk and—. You stop yourself. You spend too much time with Mingeun.

"Blackmailing your boss really isn't a good look, Haksu-ssi," Taein says, clearly oblivious to the thoughts racing through your mind.

You shift in your seat so that you're sitting on your hands. He seems so smug and self-confident, wielding his superior intellect over you. You can’t stand it.

"You went along with it," you say. You try to stay calm. You can feel your control slipping away from you. "You said we had a deal."

"We did," he concedes. "I would have upheld my side of the bargain no matter what. You're the one who constantly thought about it. I ask to speak to you, and the first thing you always said was something related to your blackmail. Clearly, it was important to you. You brought this upon yourself."

That was good. You know that. You wouldn't be here, if not for your investigative skills. You earned your spot, in more ways than one. And yet, there’s something about the way Taein speaks, about his tone of voice and his choice of words that make you feel like a child being reprimanded by an adult well-versed in the ways of the world. You know nothing, and he knows everything.

"It was a pleasure working with you, sajang-nim," you say, voice tight. You're not going to cry, but you think you might scream.

Taein smiles at that. “I don’t think it was for you. I appreciate your sentiment nonetheless.” 

You don't take Taein at his word. You can't. He's shown, now, that you can't trust him. You think you're playing checkers, and he's five steps ahead of you in chess. Two can play at that game. You made a bargain with him before, when you were younger and more naive. You have the experience now. And you know Taein's reputation is far from spotless.

This time around, you have a bit more money and a lot less free time. You refuse to let go of your bargain, and more importantly, you want to get Taein back. So you hire a private investigator, a middle-aged man who’s supposedly good at his job, near the high end of your budget. You do it all online, staring at your computer screen only at angles at which no one else can see it. You lay out the bare bones of your situation through emails: this is your boss, you’re a lowly employee, you’re dissatisfied with the current state of the company, you want to know if he has any sort of illegal dealings. It's a bit of a jump from the third point to the fourth, but the investigator doesn't ask. 

He gets back to you a couple of days later. You open the email minutes after it arrives, curling up on one end of your apartment’s couch with a coffee. It’s straightforward and professional. You skip over the pleasantries and focus on the important part, where the investigator has written Lee Taein’s company, Zenith Entertainment, is partially owned by Ahn Jinguk, one of the sons of Danyoung Group chairman Ahn Changok. As far as the financial state of the company is concerned, all business is legitimate. However, unless you are the heir to Samsung or Hyundai and capable of outbidding the Ahns, I will no longer be investigating Lee Taein. I wish you luck in your future investigative endeavors, should you still be interested. As a next possible step, I have attached some information about a few other individuals of interest.  

Underneath all of that is a series of names, occupations, and pictures of everyone else with a stake in Zenith Entertainment. You think you might have seen some of these people around the building before, though their names are unfamiliar. 

You’re so focused on your phone screen that you don’t register Mingeun coming up behind you, until he says, “What’re you looking at?”

His breath ghosts over your ear as he leans on the edge of the couch and peers over your shoulder. You jump, clicking your phone screen off. “Nothing.”

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” Mingeun says. You can practically hear him scowling. He’s been more of a nuisance than normal over the past couple of months, ever since Jaeseop told him he wasn’t going to be part of their upcoming promotions because he’s technically still on hiatus. “So? Talking to a girl?”

You take a moment to respond. You could tell him the truth. Now that you and everyone else know what he’s been through—what Taein put him through—you think he’d understand your decisions, even if he’s a terrible Catholic and the one time you brought him to Mass was a disaster.

“It’s a long story.”

Mingeun drops into the seat next to you. “I have all day. I didn’t think you were the type to date as an idol.”

You flush. "I'm not dating anyone. Can we talk somewhere more private?"

You don't know where Eunsu and Byeonghwi are, but you don't want to risk them overhearing your conversation, should they interrupt.

Mingeun raises an eyebrow. "Sounds exactly like what someone who isn't dating would say. Your room or mine?"

You know Mingeun's room is akin to a pig sty. "Mine."

As it turns out, your bedroom isn’t much better. It’s not like you get visitors, because you don’t have a girlfriend. You sit on your bed. Mingeun sits on the floor. There isn’t much more space in the room. Your desk is entirely monopolized by your laptop and a stack of notebooks. Your desk chair is being used as a bar stool in the kitchen, though it’s a bit too short for that.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” you begin, because Mingeun seems a bit too fixated on that. “This is related to how I joined the group.”

Mingeun’s expression turns hostile. You can practically see him remembering your first few trainee days.

You pick and choose your words. You’ve parleyed with Taein; you can have this conversation with Mingeun. 

“I also made a deal with him,” you say, as if you two are one and the same, “though it was a bit different from yours. I discovered he was cheating on his wife. I exchanged keeping that information a secret for a debut.”

“You blackmailed him.” Mingeun’s voice is an icy monotone. “Then you came in here and took my spot.”

It sounds bad when he says it like that. You never took anyone’s spot. If you had, then Mingeun wouldn’t be here at all.

“I didn’t,” you say, but he barrels over you.

“You did. I was the best vocalist until Andrew-hyung joined, and then I was the second best vocalist until you came along. When you’re third best, you might as well be nothing. It means you’re not good enough. You’re not talented enough, you’re not skilled enough, you haven’t worked hard enough.” He’s standing now, beginning an erratic circuit around your room. 

You let him cool down a little before you speak again. “I’m sorry,” you offer, as if that's going to fix anything.

He fixes you with a baleful glance, and you're suddenly thankful he hasn't punched any holes in your walls. It looks like he's inching closer and closer to it, hands balled into fists, jaw so tight he might pop a vein. You're surprised that he doesn't have permanent indents in his palms from his fingernails.

“Did you know,” he says slowly, “that a few months before we learned we were going to debut, Taein-nim cut me from the lineup? For you.”

“I didn’t know,” you say softly, staring at the ground. “It worked out for you.”

"It did not 'work out' for me," Mingeun says, air-quotting your words back at you. "If it 'worked out' for me, I would be in NCT right now. It 'worked out' because Jaeseop-hyung argued for me. He managed to convince Taein-nim to debut me as well."

All of this is news for you. You wonder how long Mingeun has kept all of this bottled up. The last three years, presumably. Almost the same length of time he spent lying about where he grew up and what his childhood was like. There's nothing you can say to reassure him. You know this, because you've tried before. Mingeun isn't a conversationalist. Once he gets worked up about something, the dialogue becomes one-sided and there's little to do but wait until he cools off.

You present him with a question of your own anyway. "If you had an opportunity to do what I did," you ask, "would you have done the same?"

You know that if you were in his position, left with no choice but to disguise your identity, to hide who you truly were in order to debut, you'd do it.

Mingeun only glares at you. "I don't want to know what you're up to anymore. I don't care."

He doesn't answer your question. You take that to mean he agrees. He storms out of your room, and you give him a few minutes on his own before you follow to retrieve your coffee.

You can’t make another deal with Taein. For once, you’re out of ideas. You have no cards left to play, no aces hidden up your sleeve. You’ve been the face of Fable for three years. That will have to be enough.

The change comes quickly—faster than you thought it would. Byeonghwi is the one with the extra schedules: the solo endorsements, the variety show appearances as a representative of the group, the music show MC position. Those were yours, once upon a time.

When the opportunities do start coming your way again, it's never you alone. It's you and Eunsu, or you and Byeonghwi, or you and Andrew. Once you stop to think about it, all those pairings make logical sense. You and Eunsu are basically inseparable in Fable's group shows, because you're always hanging onto him. You and Byeonghwi and the two faces of Fable. You and Andrew are the backbone of the group's music as the main vocalists. It's infuriating. You despise it.

Your current situation has you and Byeonghwi as guests on a radio show, promoting your soon-to-released album alongside a mostly rookie cast promoting their soon-to-be released film. It was supposed to be you and Eunsu, but Eunsu’s older brother passed away recently, and he left for home a few days ago.

You told Daewoong you’d be fine going by yourself. He gave you a rather disinterested look and said the program’s director requested two representatives. 

When you're sitting in the radio program’s studio, comically oversized headphones on the table in front of you, it almost feels like normal. As long as you pretend Byeonghwi isn't sitting right next to you. Before you’re on air, you make polite conversation with the actors. There are three of them: two young men and one young woman. You try, as you sit there, to match their faces to the film poster on the wall behind them. It’s a bit difficult, because the film is some sort of gritty, post-apocalyptic one, and their faces are covered in fake blood and gore.

You do your best. You’re charming. You’re cordial. You’re kind. Byeonghwi tries to join the conversation twice, and you ice him out subtly both times. He takes the hint. No one else seems to notice.

Then the host begins the show, and you’re on air. It’s just as much of a performance as being on stage is, and you don’t disappoint. You introduce yourself: you’re Haksu from Fable, in charge of the group’s vocals. Then you introduce your sixth mini album, 환호작약, releasing in two weeks. The tracks were all written by your group members, and the title track, 멋, is an upbeat trap anthem driven by a taepyeongso. You’ve worked hard for this, and you hope everyone will listen to and enjoy the songs.

You’re comfortable, relaxing as the film cast introduce themselves and their characters. You learn the movie’s plot follows three high school students who become trapped in their school when the apocalypse begins. Cut off from the outside world, the students quickly turn on each other, forming and breaking alliances. In line with that—and not with your album—the radio program’s episode is themed around school. You’re prepared, like you always are, your mind full of anecdotes and advice, though you were never a good student. Byeonghwi wasn’t either. The two of you are here regardless.

The first question tackles favorite subjects. You’re seconds away from responding, leaning into your microphone to speak. Your favorite subject was, of course, art. You’ve been in choirs all your life. It’s what made you want to become a singer.

So when the host turns to Byeonghwi and asks, “Byeonghwi-ssi, since you’re the youngest, could you go first?”

You disguise the beginning of your sentence with a cough.

Byeonghwi seems a bit surprised, but he recovers quickly. “I liked PE a lot. When I was in high school, I was on my school’s soccer team. Growing up, I wanted to play professionally.”

The eyes of one of the actors—his name has slipped your mind already—light up, and he launches into his own similar story. This must have been planned, and you weren’t involved. You’ve never been athletic. You survive Mingeun’s dance practices and that’s enough for you. The two of them embark on a lengthy conversation about Son Heung-min that the host has to interrupt to steer the show back on track.

For some reason you weren’t consulted on, all the questions are directed towards Byeonghwi, not you. He talks about clubs—his soccer team again—and cliques—how he transferred to high school in Seoul and developed a poor reputation because he sat in the back of the classroom and was absent often, a story you and your fans have heard countless times before—and preparing for the suneung. He didn’t even go to university. You did, but no one asks you for advice. You sit in silence as he gets a faraway look in his eyes, recounting cram schools and private tutors and self-discipline.

Everyone seems oblivious to your plight. The film cast laughs along with Byeonghwi’s stories, the same way they joked around with you before the program started.

Then comes the program’s main event, posing the same question the film’s cast deals with: who would you choose to survive the apocalypse with? As per usual, Byeonghwi goes first.

“Haksu-hyung, of course,” he begins. That was a given, but it means you now need to choose him as well. When you and Eunsu planned your responses, you both agreed to name each other. You had no such agreement with Byeonghwi.

“He’s reliable and everyone likes him. People are drawn to him. He’d be a good leader,” Byeonghwi continues. “And Yejun-hyung. He’s smart and would definitely survive.”

You have to admit you like hearing speak so highly of you.

When it’s finally your turn to speak, you say, “I’d pick Byeonghwi.”

A reason isn’t in any of your plans, so you make one up on the spot. “His athleticism makes him a good asset, but he might leave me behind if we had to escape,” you joke, before quickly moving on. “I’d also want Jaeseop-hyung.”

Your first pick, had you been in a real apocalyptic situation, would also be Andrew, but you doubt the three of you are some sort of survival situation dream team.

“He’s reliable and we get along well,” you finish.

You don’t speak much for the rest of the program. You sulk quietly instead, because Byeonghwi and the actors are doing most of the talking, and no one bothers to include you in the conversations. It would have been better if Daewoong let you go alone.

The on-air light finally clicks off, and your torture ends. You pull your headphones off, happy to be free of the weight. Byeonghwi stretches in his seat, a bright grin on his face. “That was fun! Did you have fun, hyung?”

You grunt out a noise that could be positive or negative. Of course he had fun. He was the one who got to speak. All you did was introduce yourself and your new album. Your sole consolation is that the main focus was on the actors, not on the two of you. You’re the face of the group. It just feels wrong for anyone else to represent the eight of you. 

You grit your teeth and bite your tongue and force a smile to your face for the usual round of polite goodbyes and closing remarks with the show's host.

Byeonghwi beams brightly. “I hope we can do it again.”

You echo his sentiment out loud. Inwardly, you know that once is more than enough for this experience.

After that, the promotions of your latest mini album come to a smooth close. The night of the recording of your farewell stage puts everyone in a good mood—until Mingeun ruins it all.

He’s in the dorm when you arrive, which is a surprise, because he spends most of his time with the band. You didn’t think he wanted to see the rest of the group during the promotional period he was excluded from.

You also didn’t think he was part of your little after party—a kickback, according to Andrew. The distinctions between types of American parties have never been of interest to you.

No one else minds. Mingeun slips in like he was just at your music show performance, though he’s drinking water, not alcohol. He’s standing in the kitchen, shoulder to shoulder with Eunsu, when he suddenly announces, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Haksu-hyung has something to share.”

You, leaning against the counter amidst your conversation with Andrew, do not, in fact, have anything to share. You play along anyway. “A toast,” you say, raising your soju bottle. “To our successful promotions.”

You didn’t win a single music show this time around, but there are another measurements. Your sales numbers are good. Your fansigns are successful. No one experienced a life-threatening scandal.

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Mingeun says. He’s not raising his water bottle. You lower your drink.

You watch Jaeseop’s gaze ping-pong between the two of you, more curious than anything.

Mingeun takes a seat in your desk chair. “Haksu-hyung wants to tell us how he became an idol.”

You want to do nothing of the sort. You know it won’t end well. No one—not even Andrew—is drunk enough to hear it.

“He told me recently,” Mingeun continues. “I thought everyone else might want to know.”

“There’s something we don’t know?” Byeonghwi asks, ever innocent. You assume there are a lot of things he doesn’t know.

You try to downplay it. “There isn’t much to say. I wanted to be an idol, and I managed to find Taein-nim, who was willing to give me a chance.”

To your horror, Jaeseop speaks up. “To be honest, I’m curious about that too. Your story’s never added up, and Samchon doesn’t like talking about you.” He starts to count on his fingers. “I recruited Intak and Kiyoung-hyung. Mingeun and Eunsu knew Samchon from SM. Andrew and Byeonghwi passed the audition. You don’t fit into any of those categories. So?”

You know that. You wince at the reminder. You can feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on you, even Intak and Kiyoung, who might as well be a world away in the living room. You swallow roughly. Your throat is dry and your hands are sweating. You put your drink down before you drop it.

Mingeun spins around in your chair. It almost looks like he’s enjoying himself. “You were enthusiastic when it was the two of us. What happened?”

You trusted him. Out of everyone, you thought he’d understand you the most, and despite all his prickliness, you know that he’s trying and he means well. Usually. You also know Jaeseop and Byeonghwi and Andrew and probably Kiyoung would find your actions deplorable. 

“I thought you’d understand,” you say, picking your words carefully. You discard “sympathize” and “relate.” 

Mingeun nods slowly. “I guess you were right about that.”

That boosts your ego by only the most miniscule amount. It can’t compare to the dread swirling in your stomach. 

“Will one of you explain?” Jaeseop bursts first, nosy as he is.

“Sorry, hyung,” Mingeun says. “We’re going to say some unpleasant things about your uncle.” Then he turns to you. “I’ll help.”

Jaeseop shrugs. “I’ll survive.”

The room is silent, except for the pop of Andrew opening another bottle of beer with his now empty one. Mingeun, clearly reveling in the attention, says, “Haksu-hyung could have predicted Taein’s divorce before he became a trainee.”

“I don't get it,” Byeonghwi announces almost immediately.

“You knew,” Andrew says, surprisingly calm. 

You nod, suddenly feeling mute. Mingeun is telling your story, and for once, you don't mind.

“I still don't get it.” Byeonghwi again, of course.

“Blackmail,” Mingeun announces dramatically. “Haksu-hyung won’t admit it, but that’s what it is. He caught Taein-nim in some uncomfortable situations, and used it to become a trainee.”

It sounds much more dramatic—and much worse—when Mingeun puts it like that. His words are met mostly with silence. You stare at the kitchen counter, unwilling to make eye contact with anyone. Your secrets are revealed to the world, and strangely, you feel lighter. You didn’t Mingeun about all the time you spent staking out Zenith Entertainment and him, by extension. You don’t think you’ll ever tell anyone that, and your burden settles on your shoulders again.

“Is that accurate?” Jaeseop asks, oddly calm. Almost like Taein when he’s mad, you realize. 

“Yes,” you answer without looking at him. You like the spotlight, but right now, this is the worst it’s ever felt. Defensively, you add, “It wasn’t hard.”

Eunsu shakes his head. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

You don’t think you have a bad side. It was just one of the choices you had. Desperate times and desperate measures.

“At least it wasn’t revealed through the tabloids,” Mingeun says, waving his water bottle through the air. 

“This isn’t about you,” Andrew says. He’s a few paces farther from you than he was when you were talking earlier, and more than halfway through his second beer.

Mingeun ignores him. “It’s not that bad. I get it.”

“Not that bad?” Eunsu repeats. “I think it’s pretty fucking bad.”

You wince. You didn’t think he’d oppose you like this. It’s weird, because it seems like Mingeun is almost on your side, despite bringing up the topic in the first place, and you’ve never seen the two of them disagree on anything. 

Then Jaeseop says, “It’s not surprising that he’d do that.”

You think he’s talking about you, but then he adds, “My uncle. His first marriage ended the same way.” He almost cracks a smile. “I didn’t think you’d catch him.”

Byeonghwi’s eyes are wide in annoying innocence. You assume he’s wondering what happened to respecting your elders and filial piety. You’re surprised too. You know there’s little love lost between Taein and Jaeseop. You didn’t think he’d understand your logic.

“So,” Mingeun says, spinning in your chair, “does anyone else have any deep, dark secrets they'd like to share?”

"No," Andrew says. "I know not to tell you secrets."

“Would you don't have told us?" Jaeseop asks.

“I don't know," you admit. You don't like that Mingeun was the one who shared it, but the reaction you received was better than you expected. Jaeseop isn't kicking you out of the group, and if Andrew and Eunsu look at you like you have some contagious disease, well, you'll live. 

"How long did you do this for?" Kiyoung calls from the living room.

You freeze. You never told Mingeun that. He stormed out before you could get very far. You wonder if you should lie. After all, Taein said it didn't matter. You could have done this on your own. The reception is fine now, but if you tell them it helped you become the face of the group when maybe, it was supposed to be someone else, they might turn on you.

You make your decision, and pray for forgiveness.

“Not long. Like Mingen said, I used it to become a trainee."

"There were easier ways," Jaeseop says, another clear echo of Taein.

“What made you stop?" Kiyoung asks, staring intently at you.

"I didn't need it. I could do it on my own." Half lie, half truth. "I didn't want to ask for too much. It didn't feel right.”

Eunsu snorts, "Didn't realize you cared about morality."

You're trying to make it into Heaven, so you do care.

Kiyoung doesn't quite seem to believe you, but he drops the subject.

The mood never recovers, despite Byeonghwi's best attempts. You can't tell who's to blame: you, for your actions all those years ago, or Mingeun, for his insistence on the subject. You fade into the background of your own group's private party, hit with a sudden stab of fear that maybe this is your fate. Maybe you'll have nothing left. Maybe your group members are witty and charismatic and charming, and all they needed was the chance your fall from grace is now providing.

You won't let that happen. You can't let that happen. After all, you're destined for great things.

[camillafanfiction]

Africa Calling - Part 1

September 1979

Camilla stretched her arms and with a little sigh sat down on the comfortable sun lounger by the pool again, her legs bent in front of her chest. The first half of September had been unusually warm this year and it was wonderful to soak up the sun. Charles, who was sitting on the sun lounger next to her, was still fiddling with his new video camera. Earlier this month he had captured Tom’s first day of school with it and just yesterday he had filmed how little Laura was taking more and more firm steps, almost running off now.

After a little less than one month after Lord Mountbatten’s death it seemed like Charles was finally starting to really enjoy life again. With Camilla and her wonderful warmth and joie de vivre it felt free and simple, carefree and somehow just… perfect. In April, right after Laura’s first birthday, Andrew had been called to Rhodesia and would be staying there for the foreseeable future without much furlough, much to Charles’s delight. If he had his will, he would probably have moved in by now, Camilla knew. Well, in a way he had, at least since Uncle Dickie’s death anyway… He was spending more time with her children and her than ever before and whenever he was off duty he came around. Camilla, too, felt much happier since they spent so much regular time together, but they both knew, too, that they had to be more careful than ever. With Tom turning 5 in December and having started school on September 3rd, he began to understand and talk more, so they were very careful to not let anything of their love show in front of him.    

“Hey, Miss Sexy!”, Charles suddenly said and held his video camera directly at Camilla, who was looking absolutely to die for in a rather small stunning red bikini with white polka dots. One and a half years after Laura’s birth, she’d lost almost all of the baby-weight and looked most perfect, though she had never really bothered about her weight. She’d also grown and nurtured her hair and it was now falling over her shoulders in almost long, golden waves. He loved that length on her, it made her look like a goddess.

Camilla tilted her head towards him, tried to look indignant and breathed a shy “No pictures, please!”, but after a second failed miserably and was only able to splutter and almost fell off the sun lounger. 

“Silly girl,” Charles grinned with a shake of his head. “I’m not taking photos, I’m filming you.” And indeed, he was sure he’d taken the most amazing clips of her, capturing her wonderful laugh, her beautiful body and pretty surely he’d even managed to highlight her incredibly sexy venus dimples that he loved so much. 

“You’re an idiot.” She rolled her eyes as Charles’s lens came way too close to her cleavage and she playfully put her hand in front of it. “No, no, no,” she laughed. “You’re being naughty, Sir.” With one smooth, quick movement she grabbed the camera and carefully pushed it to the side and into the grass. 

“And you’re being cheeky, Miss,” he retorted, saving his camera before he snatched a kiss from her, which suddenly led to a playful tiff, heating up the whole situation out of nowhere. They’d made love not too long ago, earlier this morning, but the tingling and prickling still hung in the air and flushed through both their bodies. Camilla hadn’t planned on it, but she’d fallen madly in love with Charles again just around her 30th birthday last year. Charles, on the other hand, had never stopped loving her and was still head over heels in love. He was crazy about her and would probably be all of his life. At least he couldn’t imagine a day in his life where didn’t love or want her.

“Let’s continue this conversation in bed,” Camilla breathed against the Prince’s mouth. “My legs can’t wait to hear what your hands have to say…”

x

Camilla looked at Charles in surprise, then laughed and threw her head back, looking absolutely sexy without intending to. “You must be joking!”

Charles shook his head and stroked tenderly over Camilla’s naked back. “I’m being very serious, my darling.” he replied, but he could read on her face that she was still trying to figure out if he was taking the mickey out of her or if he’d suddenly gone mad because of his suggestion.

She turned to her side, presenting her wonderfully full breasts. “Darling, you can’t be,” she shook her head.

“But I am,” he insisted, kissing her collar, which made her smile.

“Are you sure you’re not in some kind of a post-coital bemusement or something?”, she giggled, teasingly running her index finger over his stomach and down to his crutch. It made him moan and she grinned again, lovingly and sexily at once. 

Camilla noticed very well how much will-power it took Charles to push her slightly away. “Let’s talk about it with a sober mind, maybe at tea time when we’ve recovered from that wonderful orgasm?!” he suggested with a smirk, making no secret out of just how much he loved that lusty lush life with her. 

“Are you talking about mine or yours?” she teasingly poked him in the ribs and they both laughed. Then she propped herself up on her elbows. “How about before the children are running and rampaging around us again?”

x

Later that day the lovers sat in the garden again, right in the grass with Laura chasing around them as good as she could. The sun was still up in the sky and bees and butterflies were humming in the air. Camilla had well avoided the topic they’d been talking about earlier that day, but she could read on his face that wasn’t through with it yet.

“Lovey,” he nudged her, “I’ve been very serious when I asked you to be my official companion for Rhodesia. You’re the perfect fit!”

Camilla shook her head in disbelief. “In your wildest dreams, darling.” How could Charles seriously consider her as an official companion for the handover of Rhodesia? She was just a mum and housewife and, most of all: his affair.

“You’re absolutely underestimating yourself, darling.”, Charles contered. “Let me tell you why you’re perfect.” He kissed her palm. “Firstly, you’re happily married to Andrew and he’s the leader down there. So, obviously, you want to be with him at that particular event, you’re a proud army wife after all.” He heard Camilla’s chortle, but chose to ignore it. “Secondly, because you’re happily married nobody’s going to think anything when you’re accompanying me.”

“Despite all our friends and the rest of high society…” Camilla interposed with an amused grin.

Charles shook his head and placed his index finger on her mouth. “Thirdly, you know how to behave, are a perfect companion and, first and foremost, you make me very, very, very happy. Just imagine a grumpy Prince of Wales at such an important event…”

“And your family would, of course, totally approve,” she replied ironically, rolling her eyes.

“Well, Uncle Dickie can’t complain anymore and Mummy actually thinks it’s a nice idea.”

“Your mother thinks ‘it’s a nice idea’?!” Camilla raised an eyebrow.

Charles shrugged his shoulders, his face unimpressed. “Yes.”

“There’s no way I’m going to get into a plane for what, 13 hours?!”

“Not even for your favourite little prince?” Charles looked at her with puppy eyes. 

“Darling, I’m going to embarrass you… the monarchy… I’m just… you know… your devoted old house wife friend from the countryside…”

“You’re the perfect consort, my darling.”, he encouraged her. “And I’ll reward you graciously”, he whispered into her ear, which made Camilla giggle.

“Fool,” she laughed, but then got serious. “I’ll think it through. But don’t put your hopes up.”

Charles rolled to the side, a content smile on his face. For the moment that was all he needed to know.

[media-for-dinner]

✧˖° The Spirit Bares Its Teeth - Andrew Joseph White °˖✧

★★★★★ - 10/10 - a gruesome love letter addressed to all who have felt broken

"'And do you consider yourself strong?' I've had to be. To make it this far, being a person like this"

-> 399 pages | Sept 5th 2023 | read Dec 25th-Jan 1st 2025

Whilst reading this, I felt the sense that not everyone would understand quite how powerful it is, but the reviews here show that it's found its audience. This concoction of detailed gruesomeness and saddening relatability is wrapped tightly in love, joy, and comfort; even in the worst of places, there is hope. It's definitely a page turner, though I think it's best to leave yourself little moments to really process the weight of this story and its messages.

The Spirit Bares Its Teeth tells a gripping supernatural tale, but it truly shines in the in-depth internal monologue of the main character as he feeds small pieces of your life story back to you in excrutiating detail. This is true for trans and queer people, autistic people, and anyone assigned female at birth especially, and I am all of the above so you can imagine how close this book is to my heart now.

The historical aspect encouraged me to think about how far we've come and how much further we desperately still have to go as a society, the descriptions of masking and dysphoria and misogyny were gut-wrenchingly relatable, and the little moments of trans and autistic joy were such powerful glimmers of hope. We've always been able to find that joy, in every time period, no matter what is done to us.

This book is a love letter addressed to all who have felt broken. It is wrathful and relentless and joyful all the same, and its words will not let you go upon closing it.

"They told me there was no joy to be had in this. But of course there is"

-> My Quote Collection!

[pascaloverx]

To Begin Again

SIXTEEN

Summary: You're a new teacher at a large and influential school. It's a risky step for you, as you've been running from your ex for almost two years. But when Dumbledore asks you to take on a class at the renowned Hogwarts, you can't refuse. However, your life as a newly arrived teacher won't be easy. Especially when the other teachers don't seem eager to make friends. Or rather, two teachers in particular: Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

Author's Note: Welcome, dear readers. Please leave your comments if you enjoy fanfiction. This fanfic takes place almost in the real world (with the addition of werewolves) and is not a wizarding fanfic. There will be some differences and changes in things from the Harry Potter story or other fanfics in the HP universe, but I promise to do my best writing this fanfic. There will be a love triangle coming in this fanfic. So, dear readers, just as in this fanfic it's meant to imagine Remus Lupin as being Andrew Garfield and Sirius Black as being Ben Barnes, now I present to you the fancast of Severus Snape as being actor Enzo Vogrincic. Imagine him as Snape if you can.

FIFTEEN SEVENTEEN

Sirius regained consciousness some time later, while you were tending to the boys' injuries. Harry had woken up just minutes after the young man, whom you suspect to be Sirius’ brother, had left. However, Sirius hasn’t said a word since he realized where he was. He stares into the distance, occasionally seeming like he’s about to speak to Harry or you, but nothing comes out. All you hear from him are murmurs of agony, likely due to the wound on his arm. Surprisingly, Draco and Harry have been cooperating well while you’re all trapped in this makeshift cell in an unknown location. The bars confining you are made of an extremely resilient material.

"Professor Y/L/N, do you think we can take a bath once we get out of here? I can't stand the stench of this place anymore. It's like it's seeping into my soul," Draco asks while helping you change Harry's bandage. Harry, who had been expressionless until now, lets out a soft, faint laugh. You’re not sure if Malfoy noticed that he managed to make Potter smile, but you feel a bit of relief in being with your students during such a difficult time.

"I hate to agree with Malfoy on this, but the smell of this place is making my nose burn. Especially with all of us stuck here with Draco, who gets sweatier the more scared he gets," Harry comments softly but with more clarity. Draco looks at Harry, almost unable to comprehend how a boy who was suffering so much could still have the strength to tease him.

"Very funny, Potter. But professor, don’t listen to what Harry’s saying. I’m only sweating because it’s too hot in here. Actually, smarty-pants, everyone’s sweating here," Draco remarks in a more playful manner, not intending to offend anyone. Both boys smile as if they’ve reached a common understanding. You watch them, and your heart reminds you that you must protect them, especially since it’s likely that Harry’s parents are dead and you promised Draco’s mother you would take care of him.

"Hey, boys. When we get out of here, I promise this awful stench will just be a memory of the time we survived together. And everyone will be able to take a nice bath and put on as much perfume as they want. Deal?" You step in on their playful banter, trying to give them a sense of certainty—not just about the bath or the end of the stench that assaults your noses, but about getting out of there. Something lights up in the boys' faces. They seem to believe in you.

"Professor, can you fix my godfather?" Harry’s simple yet desperate question makes you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders. The Potter family was hurt right in front of him, and it’s obvious he’s worried about his godfather. Sirius is all he has left. You nod in confirmation and gently run your hand over Harry’s head, giving him a soft, comforting touch.

"I'll try. But I need a favor from both of you. Cover your ears and think about something you want to do when you're back at Hogwarts. Whether it's causing trouble in class or taking luxurious baths, just close your eyes and cover your ears." You don't want to tell them, but the darkness makes it likely that Sirius is in worse shape than he appears. Before anything else, you need to make him presentable—you don’t want to traumatize them. They immediately, without further discussion, do as you say. You then turn to crawl over to where Sirius is. The light in the cell is terrible, but you manage to make out Black after some time trying. Sirius has eyes full of anger and tears streaming down his face. His hair is a mess, as if he had run his hands through it repeatedly. When he looks at you, it seems like you can connect with him.

"No." That’s all Sirius says as he contorts himself to press more tightly against the cell wall, moving away from you. You watch him, but you don’t approach any closer.

"It's not your fault. If there were a way to undo all of this, I know you would." You speak softly, trying not to raise your voice so Harry and Draco can stay at peace, or at least be spared from extra worries.

"I watched them burn. I saw James's desperate face as the flames grew. And now, I see his son here, desperate for a way out of this situation. And it's all my fault!" Sirius criticizes himself so angrily, as he beats his hands against his chest. You walk over to him and take his hands in yours. Firmly, you pull his hands away from his chest.

"Your best friend died because of whoever set his car on fire. Because of whoever trapped us here. Never because of you. But we can try a way to escape. Get Harry and Draco to a safe place." You look deep into Sirius’s gray eyes as you explain what needs to be done. Your heart is heavy because the only way out of there could cost someone’s life, and you hope that if something bad is to happen, it happens to you.

"Y/N, I’m useless for any damn plan you have. I have a wound in my stomach that's been bleeding for hours. If there’s a way for you and the kids to get out of here…" Sirius says, his voice trailing as if speaking requires an immense effort. Your main urge is to cry, out of fear of losing him. But you promised yourself when you woke up in this damned cell that you would stay strong until you were safe. You then reach into your coat pocket and show Sirius a small vial you found there.

"Narcissa left this in my pocket. Now I can only think that she knew what was going to happen. But it doesn’t matter. The vial contains a small dose of moon dust. It will make me transform. That way, I’ll have the strength to break the bars that trap us all. What I need from you is to take the kids and keep them out of my sight. At least while I’m a wolf. Then get out of here." It seems crazy, everything he's proposing. But it's the best he can do. Ensuring an escape for the three of them. Honestly, at the beginning of your time at Hogwarts, you never imagined you’d be sacrificing yourself for two boys who constantly bicker with each other and a man who drives you mad in the worst possible way. But now, it's what you want to do.

"I’m not leaving here without you. Especially if it means leaving you behind transformed. If anyone tries to…" Sirius seems a bit distraught by his own thoughts about the worst that could happen if they follow your plan. You gently touch his face, letting out a deep sigh.

"I don't want anything bad to happen either. But we need to take the risk. The kids are terrified. And we don’t even know how the others are. Lupin might need you. Taking this risk is a small price to pay." You want to convince yourself almost as much as you want to convince him. Fear is inside you, making you dread the idea of transforming, but there’s no time or space for your terror.

"It's not a small price to me. Risking you… it’s not going to happen." Sirius is stubborn, and his persistence almost seems like there's another way, but there isn't. You look into his eyes once more, then pull him in for a final kiss. Just in case you don't make it.

"No matter what happens next, take the kids, keep them away from me; preferably, don't come back here. I’ll be hoping that you can get back to Hogwarts safely." You say as you pull away from Sirius. He doesn’t seem happy with your decisive tone, but he nods, as if even though he disagrees with you, he’s determined to save his godson and cousin.

“Survive, Y/L/N. Don’t make me have to bury you.” Sirius says, and with some effort, he gets up. He walks over to Harry and Draco. You can’t hear what he says to the boys, but you watch them move to a corner of the cell, huddling together as Sirius covers them with his body. You take one last look at them and then grab the vial. Seconds after smelling it, you feel your transformation begin, and everything becomes blurry. Your awareness of what’s happening fades, but you position yourself as far from the boys as possible and hope for the best.

You wake up not knowing what happened, dressed under a soft bed. Your body is too sore, but you know you transformed. You hope that the kids and Sirius have gotten out of the cell. You hope you are in Hogwarts, but that hope quickly fades.

"I'm glad you've woken up. It took quite a bit of effort to get you here. But I would never let anyone harm the former love of my life, even if she tried to kill me a few times and betrayed my trust." Severus Snape says as he enters the room where you are. Shit, he must have kidnapped you while you were unconscious. And now you're in his hands.

"What are you planning, Snape?" you say, somewhat irritated, while sitting up slightly from the bed, staying at the edge of it. Snape moves closer to you and looks at you with tenderness.

"I want a fresh start for both of us. And I’m willing to tell you everything you want to know. About who is behind the terrible things that have happened to you. All in the name of your forgiveness, mi vida." He says as he holds your hand and kisses the top of it. You then brace yourself for Snape's revelations.

TO BE CONTINUED...