#so i suspect i will be highly distracted for a while

[roisnoir]

The most recent batch of swatches

the triangle piece is for a doily ("d'oyley") - you make seven of them and attach them to a cloth center, as far as I can guess. I think it would make a very pretty, very maybe-wear-it-over-something-solid (or at least wear good sunscreen), top when paired with one of the deeper borders. I would need to work out how to increase the size of the triangle pieces, though - they're currently only the one size. Which might be worth doing - the motif in the middle might make for a pretty lace on it's own.

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

If you already made a request like this or if this request makes you uncomfortable in some way you can just ignore it, I don't mind

Could I request a headcanon with the Octavinelle trio, Idia and Malleus with a s/o who's always wearing clothes that cover as much of their body as possible? Like hodies, pants, long skirts, etc

But one day s/o finally takes the courage to tell and show the reason for that. The reason is that s/o has various scars across their body and they're pretty insecure of them (you don't need to specify where they came from)

Love your work and hope you have a great day 💜

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul understood perfectly well how it felt to be insecure about your body. While your issues didn’t perfectly align, he couldn’t pretend he didn’t understand at least part of your pain, though he tried to keep that secret close to his chest while he comforted you. He assured you that your sense of style had class and that’s why the other students didn’t get it, imploring you to ignore the rumors as only you had the right to pick what suited you best. He doesn’t know if there’s a way to help you gain confidence but he would try to support you to the best of his ability.  

Floyd Leech:

Floyd did notice your fashion choices but it had never bothered him, he just figured land-dwellers had their own thing going on and thought nothing else of it. Scars, however, were cool as hell in his eyes and he told you to show them off more often, even if it was just to him. He’s interested in the story behind them but even he shows tact at times, or perhaps he was simply distracted, but either way he didn’t push the subject much further. He’s already threatening enough that most people aren’t stupid enough to speak poorly of you when he’s around, so you could at least have that peace of mind.

Idia Shroud:

Idia had never questioned your fashion sense even when others might’ve, as he was used to rumors or gossip spreading about him. He never suspected he’d unlock another portion of your potentially tragic backstory, avoiding direct eye contact with your scars to avoid being rude. He thinks it’ s true that everyone has scars, some more visible than others, and hiding them away is another form of defense. He quietly appreciated the level up in trust, becoming more vocal if he heard people speaking negatively about your clothing choices.

Jade Leech:

Jade had sneaked peaks of scarred skin once or twice but had never questioned it, happy to smile on and pretend he saw nothing until the right moment strikes for him to ask. He’s highly aware of the rumors being spread, listening to each carefully and locating their sources for further investigation. He can see how easily you’re bothered by the words of others and when you finally tell him about your scars, he began to understand Floyd’s ‘protective instincts’ a little more. Thankfully he had already done the work of finding out who was causing your stress and he'd have them handled in no time at all.

Malleus Draconia:

Malleus listened intently to your story, hiding the anger gathering deep in his chest as he remembered all the rumors that drove you to confess this now. He had no doubt he could shut them down but the pain they had inflicted on you was already clear, meaning he was just a tad too late to completely protect you. He won’t make that same mistake again, stroking your hair and soothing you as he thought of the best ways to strike at your foes quickly, in a way that would assure their silence without drawing too much attention back to him.

[wafflefries13]

Rose With(out) Thorns (Riddle x Reader)

Summary: Riddle needs help putting off his mother's plans to set him up for an engagement, so what better way than to fake date NRC's favorite magicless prefect? Things can only go well. (No, they can't.)

AN: Fake dating, yay! Had the idea for this a long while back, finally got around to writing it. And, like most of my fics I'm finding out, it kind of got away from me. I hope at some point, probably some time in book 7 here, we finally get a confrontation with Riddle's mom. I hate Riddle's mom, all the cool bitches I know hate Riddle's mom.

Warnings: Depictions of a toxic family environment, AFAB reader with she/her pronouns.

When Riddle had pulled (Y/N) aside after classes, she didn’t expect to be sitting in one of Heartstabuyl’s tea rooms, a cooling cup of herbal tea placed in front of her. (Y/N) sipped the tea, observing Riddle. His mouth was pulled into a small frown, eyebrows furrowed in determined concentration. His hands were clasped behind him and he was pacing so much (Y/N) was worried about him wearing a hole in the rug. It had almost seemed like he had forgotten she was there. 

“Riddle?” She prompted gently. 

Riddle jumped, startled. (Y/N) really did think he had forgotten about her. His face turned pink, blushing up to his ears. He cleared his throat, promptly sitting down in the chair across from her.

“I have a favor to ask of you,” He said, swirling a spoonful of honey into his tea. She tried to not take it personally that he wouldn’t meet her eyes. 

“Something going on with Ace and Deuce?” She asked, jumping to the most logical conclusion. “I don’t mind meditating.” 

“No, thankfully, both of them have actually been rather pleasant as of late. This is of a more… personal nature.” 

“Oh? Are you doing okay?” She set her cup down, leaning forward. 

His blush went from gentle pink to strawberry red. “I - ahem, yes, no, I’m fine, it’s not that I don’t - what I mean to say is, ah, well…” Deciding there was no elegant way to put it, Riddle’s shoulders slumped as he stared dejectedly into his tea. “It’s my mother.” 

(Y/N) immediately tensed. “Oh.” 

The last time (Y/N) had thought about Riddle’s mother was when he was about to leave for winter break. She remembered how quiet he had been, not even bothering to reprimand the excited first years running around the mirror chamber like excited kids. (Y/N) had taken advantage of his momentary distraction to snatch his phone from his dazed hands and entered her number. 

“In case you need anything,” She had said. “Or, you know, you just miss me too much and want to say hi.” 

He really did blush way too easily. 

Of course, any plans for talking on the phone were quickly eliminated by the events at Scarabia. When (Y/N) finally did get her phone back, she found a couple of missed calls and overly formal texts from Riddle’s number, buried in between the frantic messages from Ace and Deuce responding to her SOS. 

Back in the tea room, (Y/N) set her cup down, leaning forward to meet Riddle’s eyes. “Hey,” She said gently. “You know if I can do anything for you I will.” 

“It’s not that easy,” He said. “My mother asked me to come home for the long weekend coming up. And I highly suspect she wants me there to… try and arrange a match.” 

“A match? Wait, like getting engaged? Aren’t you kind of young for that?” 

Riddle shrugged. “It would definitely be a long engagement, but it’s not uncommon to have a match set up years in advance, especially between prominent families like mine.” 

“How very Jane Austen.” 

“Sorry?” 

“An author from my world, she wrote romances. Anyway, sorry, keep going.” 

“Well, I agree that it seems soon. To be fair, Mother was trying to set something up before I came to Night Raven College as well. Being accepted to such a prestigious magic school only elevated my prospects, as she put it. She wants to establish a solid match with another high ranking family, setting my future in stone. Especially after everything that happened at the beginning of the year.” They were both quiet for a moment, fighting off memories of Riddle’s Overblot. “I…” Riddle continued. “I don’t think anyone back home knows.” 

“Oh. Well, it’s like personal medical information, right? Even if it’s magical or whatever it’s still your mental health. You don’t owe anyone that.” 

“I don’t think that’s why she hasn’t told anyone. I know it might be hard for you to believe after everything that’s happened this year, but Overblots are still considered rare. Not many survive the process. And those that do, well, they aren’t looked upon as kindly as you’ve looked upon us.” 

(Y/N) set her cup down hard. “That’s not fair! It’s not some moral failing. You and everyone else were - are - dealing with really tough emotions! It’s not right to just ignore trauma and your feelings, that’s what led to everything happening in the first place!” 

“I’m glad you see it that way. And, if I’m being honest, public perception of the emotional stress that can lead to an Overblot and those who make it through the process are gradually being seen with more sympathy. Like you said, it’s a mental health issue at the core. But older communities like the one I grew up in are slower to accept new social views.”  

(Y/N) sat back. “I’m sorry, Riddle. That sounds really hard.” 

“Thank you,” Riddle breathed. He cleared his throat. “Well, that sort of awkwardly leads to what I was wanting to ask you in the first place.” He cleared his throat again, nervously looking around the room. Finally, steadying himself, he forced himself to meet (Y/N) eyes. “I would like you to come with me and act as my partner.” 

(Y/N) felt her head go light and heart jump. “You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?” 

Riddle’s confidence cracked as he looked away again. “In so many words, yes.” 

“Wow. Forget Jane Austen, this is more Meg Ryan territory.” Riddle blinked. “Never mind, forget it. I mean, not what you’re talking about, just, it’s not what I was expecting you to say.” 

“It’s not the most conventional request, to be fair. But I’ve turned this over in my head for days and I can’t see any way out of it. My plan is to show I’m taken, dissuade the marriage market. It will be one less thing for Mother to hold over my head. I’ll probably have to deal with it eventually when I graduate but I don’t even want to consider getting engaged right now, for economic, political, or whatever other reason. I’ve never been overly fond of the prospects my mother has introduced anyway. Not that I want to pressure you or anything! I completely understand if you wouldn’t feel comfortable for any reason and I completely respect your decision-” 

“Well, hey, don’t answer for me, now.” (Y/N) reached forward and touched the back of Riddle’s hand, jolting him out of the spiral he was throwing himself in. He jumped at the contact. “It’s unorthodox, but since when has anything here been orthodox? Of course I’ll help, Riddle. I can’t guarantee I’ll be very good at it, but I’ll do my best.” 

Riddle blinked at her for a moment, registering her words, then the tension practically floated off his shoulders. “That’s - that’s great, thank you.” 

“Hey, what are friends for? Besides, this will make a great story to tell the guys later.” 

Riddle scowled, blushing again. “Don’t.” 

~~~

A few days later, (Y/N) and Riddle stood in the mirror chamber. They had come up with a cover to tell everyone while they were gone. Since (Y/N) technically didn’t exist in Twisted Wonderland, not having any government papers or even a birth certificate, Riddle suggested they visit Dinah, the capital city of the Queendom of Roses and his home city, to petition at an official government building for temporary citizenship.  It was really only a half truth. If they had time between the deception, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to try. 

Grim was staying at Heartstabuyl with Ace and Deuce, although it would be more accurate to say with Trey, since he was clearly the one in charge while the House Warden was away. 

“And make sure to do that reading for History of Magic,” (Y/N) was saying, fiddling with Grim’s bow and magestone. “I marked the pages and put highlight tabs on the parts you need to take notes on. And don’t eat too many sweets, you’ll give yourself a stomach ache again. And don’t stay up too late or else you won’t have the energy to do anything during the day and you’ll throw off your whole sleep schedule. And-” 

“Mrow!” Grim cried, batting her hands away. “I get it, I get it! I’m not a little kid, you know!” 

(Y/N) smiled softly, scratching behind his ears. “Of course I know. You’re a big full grown dire beast who doesn't need anyone to take care of you. Why, I bet when I come back you won’t need me to cook for you anymore or make sure you wake up on time. You probably don’t even want a souvenir!” 

“No, no! I like your cooking! And you better bring me something back, henchhuman!” 

“Of course, Grim.” 

Like a parent sending their child to school for the first time, (Y/N) and Grim detangled themselves from each other. Grim floated back with Ace and Deuce, who also required promises of souvenirs, and gave a final wave. (Y/N) waved back before stepping through the mirror portal after Riddle, luggage in hand. 

There was always a strange feeling when going through the mirror, far spaces being squished together in a more convenient and transversable state. If (Y/N) hadn’t already been dragged underwater to swim through the depths unbothered, she would have compared it to being surrounded by water. Instead, she would more closely compare it the moments after a fall or jump, when totally suspended in the air with no tether. A slight jolt of the stomach at first, a feeling of weightlessness, a rush of cold along the spine, and then they were there. 

(Y/N) still wasn’t completely sure how the mirror portal worked, or how it chose where to deposit someone, considering there wasn’t always a mirror on the other end. She knew it had something to do with the magestones NRC students wore on their armband, and that it helped to leave and come back from the same place, but other than that it was just another magic mystery she didn’t want to think too hard about. 

(Y/N) shook her head as she stepped from the portal back on solid ground. Bright sunlight warmed her skin as she blinked and looked around. (Y/N)’s first impression of Dinah was a memory of a picturesque depiction of Victorian London. The street in front of them was wide, paved in even brick. There were store fronts painted in bright warm colors with big display windows, buildings stacked high with higher chimneys on top. Men and women strolled along the street, seemingly dressed to the nines for a perfectly ordinary outing, with top hats and long coats, bustled dresses in fanciful colors and feather hats. 

A pair of horses pulled a dark blue omnibus carriage down the street, hooves making a pleasant ‘clip-clop’ sound as they meandered. It made (Y/N) wonder about the technological advancements of Twisted Wonderland, not for the first time. She had remembered how surprised she had been to see that cars existed in Sunrise City, when previously the only methods of transportation she had seen had been brooms, ghostly carriages, boats, and mirror portals. She frowned at the memory of Leona teasing her about her surprise. 

“We have our own carriage,” Riddle told her, mistaking her expression as she watched the omnibus. “Mother sent it to collect us. It should be here - ah, there.” Riddle lifted his hand in greeting to the approaching carriage. 

A white horse pulled a ruby carriage with a stenciled rose against a six-pointed starburst emblazoned on the doors. There were two men in stately red velvet livery on the carriage, one at the front, flicking the reins and lazily holding a horse whip, and the other holding on the back above the wheels. As they pulled along the sidewalk, the driver nodded and the footman jumped down to formally bow. He lugged their luggage atop the carriage, a barely noticeable judgmental sneer pulling at his mouth as he handled (Y/N)’s. While Riddle’s bag was neat and new, as beautiful as it was practical, (Y/N) had foraged hers from somewhere deep in the depths of Ramshackle dorm, among the abandoned rooms and chests and closets with all manner of ragged treasures. The carriage rocked as they climbed in, sitting on soft overstuffed bench seats facing each other. Riddle knocked against the roof when they were settled and the carriage rumbled forward. 

(Y/N) stared out the window, marveling at everything they passed. “Hey, how far is Trey’s family bakery from here?” She asked. 

“Hmm? Oh, not far, but I’m not sure we’ll have time to go by. I’m not sure Mother would approve of it.” 

(Y/N) turned back to Riddle, noticing how he gazed out the window without really seeing anything. His hands were clasped tightly in his lap, knee jittering with nerves.  

She reached a hand forward and touched his jumping knee, causing him to startle. “Hey,” She said softly. “It’s going to be okay. You got me here with you, right? And-” She rummaged through the pocket on her NRC uniform, the most formal attire she had for making a good impression. She pulled out a small Moleskine notebook, proudly displaying it. “I’ve been taking notes! I have a bunch of the Queen of Heart’s rules here. I don’t have nearly as many memorized as you do but I figured a cheat sheet wouldn’t hurt.” 

Riddle looked at the notebook for a second before smiling in relief. “Thank you, (Y/N). I’m sorry, I haven’t been a very good host so far, have I? Especially considering what you’re doing for me.” 

(Y/N) switched sides, landing heavily next to Riddle as the carriage went over a bump. She lightly knocked his arm with the back of her fist. “I told you it’s fine. I’m happy to help out. I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you so uptight before, and that’s saying something.” 

Riddle frowned. “I’m not uptight.” 

“Sure you’re not, teapot tyrant.” Riddle huffed and turned away. “Hey, I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Seriously, though, are you doing okay?” 

Riddle fiddled with his fingers, choosing his words carefully. “The last time I came home, over winter break, my mother and I… well, it wasn’t a fight, exactly. An argument. That just so happened to lead to raised voices. And some harsh words. And maybe some things that are hard to take back.” 

(Y/N) wasn’t really sure what to say to that. She sat back, focusing on the rumbling of the carriage beneath her. She noticed Riddle fiddling with his fingers again, picking at the skin around his nails.  She slid her hand into his, holding it tight between them. She stared straight ahead, ignoring Riddle’s look of shock, no matter how cute his rising blush made him look. She squeezed his hand once, looking out her window. Riddle watched her face in profile, feeling the warmth of her hand in his, their shoulders occasionally bumping each other with the rocking of the carriage. He turned back to his own window, squeezing back.  

A short while later, the carriage pulled in front of an elaborate townhouse. It had a beautiful red brick facade with white trimming around the windows and door. Ivy climbed elegantly up one side of the building There was a waist high black wrought iron fence around the perimeter, and the small yard in front was studded with blooming red rose bushes with butterflies elegantly flitting from flower to flower. And, while it was undoubtedly beautiful and picture perfect, (Y/N) couldn’t help but feel a little put off by the whole image. It seemed too perfect, not a blade of grass out of place or a bruised petal. Even the butterflies felt like they were on a preapproved flight path. Despite the fresh air outside, it was stifling. 

As the footman on the carriage unloaded their bags, (Y/N) made a move to pick hers up, only for a valet to swoop in and effortlessly scoop up both bags. He turned and marched back through a door that seemed to shimmer out of nowhere, disappearing behind the ivy when he went through it. 

“A servant’s entrance,” Riddle told her. “There are several through the house. It helps keep everyone separated.” 

“I could have gotten my stuff,” She said. “It’s heavy.” 

“You’re a guest. It would be impolite to expect you to carry your own things.” 

A man in a crisp black suit with a gold pocket watch dangling from the front breast pocket opened the door, bowing low with a hand on his chest. “Welcome back, Master Riddle.” He said. The man looked up, sweeping a quick but appraising look over (Y/N). “And this is Miss (Y/N)?” 

“Yes, hello!” (Y/N) greeted, smiling brightly. She walked forward, taking hold of the man’s hand and with both of hers and shaking it. She missed the choking gasp Riddle let out behind her. “Just (Y/N) is fine. It’s so nice to meet you! This is a lovely home. I’ve never been to Dinah before, everything is so beautiful! I’ve only been to the Queendom of Roses once before, in this place called Clocktown for a festival, but it’s so much different here.” 

The butler nearly reared back at her greeting, going stiff as a board, but too polite to all together flinch and snatch his hand back. He merely retracted his hand, looked once at Riddle, then gazed straight ahead impassively. “Yes, well, welcome to the Rosehearts townhome. I hope you… enjoy your stay, Miss (Y/N).” 

(Y/N), determined to push through the awkwardness she could sense building, replied chipperly, “Thanks!” And strode inside without looking back. 

“Thank you, Edgar,” Riddle said as the butter closed the door behind them. “Do you know when Mother and Father will be home?” 

“Dr. Rosehearts was called in for a last minute surgery and I believe Mr. Rosehearts is at his club. They both planned to be home for dinner to meet you and your… guest.” 

The only way (Y/N) could think to describe the townhouse was grand. A grand sweeping staircase to the second floor, marble flooring of black and white checkered tile, two rooms on either side of the entrance hall stuffed with comfortable furniture with lace, one room farther to the back half-hidden behind the staircase, and decorative oil paintings. 

“Wow,” She said. “This is where you grew up?” 

“Partially, yes,” Riddle said. “We have a country estate as well, but the hospital is in town and Mother always wanted to be present for the social season.” 

“Ooh, a country estate and the social season. Look at you, sounding all fancy.” 

“Well, excuse me for being raised in polite society, unlike some people.” 

“Hey!” (Y/N) laughed, playfully shoving him as he grinned back. 

Riddle’s eyes cut back to Edgar the butler, watching the two of them with a critical eye and raised eyebrow. Riddle cleared his throat and schooled his face back to a serious expression. “I’ll show you your room, (Y/N). It’s upstairs.” 

“Was it too much?” (Y/N) asked as they ascended the staircase, out of ear shot from Edgar. “I was trying to make a good impression.” 

“People don’t tend to be as friendly with strangers here,” He said. “When you meet my parents it would be better to wait for them to act first.” 

“So no big hug?” She laughed at Riddle’s glare. “Don’t worry, I’ll be picture perfect polite tonight. I know it’s important to you.” 

“Thank you. To be honest I still feel awkward about all of this.” “I could say ‘what are friends for’ but I think we’re a little past that. It’s not like I’m getting nothing out of this. This place is like a fancy hotel!” She pushed open the door to her room, bright with the sunlight streaming in across a bed with a large fluffy white duvet across it. (Y/N) spun around, falling against the bed with a ‘poof’ of the down feather pillows. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything so soft,” She sighed. Suddenly she sat straight up. “Oh, oh! Show me your room!” 

“What?” 

She jumped up, taking his hand and pulling him back down the hall. “Come on, let me see your room! I want to see what you’re like when you're not at school.” 

“Much the same, I promise.” 

His eyes cut to a door down the hall and (Y/N) grinned wickedly. Ignoring Riddle’s sound of protest, she threw open his door. 

She faltered a bit as she looked inside, stomach squeezing with that same unease she felt from outside. Spartan wouldn’t be the right way to describe Riddle’s childhood bedroom. Sure, there was plenty of stuff in it, a neatly made bed, an expensive looking desk with a glass hooded reading lamp, plenty of books filling shelves, and a polished wardrobe. But it felt so bare. It felt more like a catalog picture than someone’s own bedroom they had grown up in. (Y/N) looked back to Riddle, who was looking down as if ashamed, like his room was full of trash rather than uninspiringly neat. 

(Y/N) forced a smile to her face, closing the door. “Well, show me around. Back in my world, houses like these would have a bunch of secret passages, maybe a couple of ghosts. But I guess ghosts aren’t all that unusual here.” 

“I think your home has more ghosts than mine,” Riddle said. “As for secret passages…” 

(Y/N) clapped her hands together. “Yeah?” 

Riddle smiled slyly. “Sorry, none of those either. Unless you’re thinking of servant’s doors, but I don’t think they would appreciate us meddling.” 

“Aw, boo.” 

“No pun intended, I’m sure.” 

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” 

“How about the garden? It’s out back. I’ll have someone bring us tea. It’ll give us a chance to strategize.” 

The garden was nestled in the backyard of the townhome, bordered by high fences separating it from the other townhomes. There were, unsurprisingly, rose bushes in raised wooden boxes. White gravel pathways cut through each of the boxes, strolling under a trellis wound with flowers. To the back of the garden was a small glass greenhouse, filled with different medical herbs and plants along with scientific equipment for study. There was a small table on the back porch underneath a pergola wrapped with ivy. After Riddle gave (Y/N) a tour of the gardens they sat down and a maid brought out a white China teapot, pouring tea into delicate blue and white tea cups. (Y/N) inhaled the steam, letting the warmth and sweet notes of the tea fill her lungs before taking a sip. 

“Thanks!” (Y/N) said to the maid who blinked before bobbing a nod and rushing off. (Y/N) made a note to herself that the servants here had a habit of avoiding eye contact. “Okay,” She said, taking a blueberry scone from a plate the maid brought with the tea. “What’s our game plan?” 

“Well, my mother is obviously the one to impress. I don’t believe Father will have much to say, he usually defers to her. That’s usually a good plan with anything, deferring to her, I mean. Safe topics of conversation include the weather, recent medical innovations, and the health and travel of neighbors. It’s best to avoid personal topics like parliament, gossip, or personal questions. It’s also best to avoid discussing novels, Mother says they fill one’s head with fanciful ideas and nonsense.” 

“Okay, so when would be the best time to brag about you?” 

Riddle’s teacup clattered against the saucer. “What?” 

“Well, you’re my fake boyfriend and I’m trying to look good in front of your mom, so it makes sense if I talk you up, right? Like how you’re a great dorm leader, that dressage stuff you’ve been doing in the equestrian club, how you’ve been helping other students study. Cater told me about how you set up a Magicam account just to help him study, that was super cute.” 

“I’m, ah, not actually supposed to have a Magicam account, educational or otherwise, so it’s probably best not to bring that up. Mother says social media rots your brain.” 

“I mean, sometimes, yeah, but it can be fun too. And I know you still post sometimes. I follow you.” 

“You do?” 

“Of course I do! Those study tips didn’t just help Cater. Plus I like to see what’s going on with you. Not that you post stuff very often or anything, but I did like that picture from the last Unbirthday Party with those cupcakes you made.” 

Riddle waved her praise off. “They weren’t anything special. Most of the frosting was smudged all together anyway.” 

“Oh, don’t sell yourself so short. You don’t have to be perfect at everything, especially the first time around. And I thought they were cute.” She fished her phone out of her pocket, quickly swiping to the picture they were talking about on Magicam. It was a close up of Riddle, smiling, face smeared with red frosting. Trey was caught mid-laugh, handing him a napkin. Ace’s hand was blurred with movement in the lower right edge, having snagged a cupcake from the tray Riddle was holding, covered with cartoon rose dotting liners. It was obvious that the red and white frosting on top was meant to replicate delicate rose petals, and while some of them looked presentable, most had been piped with a shaky hand, leaving too much or too little frosting for the petals. “See? Cute.” 

Riddle’s hand darted forward to push the phone down. “Yes, sure, fine, you made your point! I knew I should have taken that down.” 

“Don’t you dare.” 

Riddle sighed, accepting defeat. “Fine, yes, just don’t bring it up at dinner.” 

“If you don’t mind me saying, it doesn't seem like there’s a lot of wiggle room for conversation here. What do you usually talk about when you come home?” 

Riddle took another sip of tea. “My studies, mostly. Class rankings, the local social season, applying for medical colleges, that sort of thing.” 

“What about your friends at NRC? Or all the weird and exciting stuff that happens? Like when we all went to the ghost realm at Halloween, or Fluer City at Halloween? Wow, a lot of crazy stuff happens around Halloween, huh?” 

“That’s all superfluous. My grades and plans for the internship fourth year are more important.” 

“Riddle.” (Y/N) reached across the table, taking Riddle’s hand. “That stuff is still important, you know. We’ve gone through a lot of crazy stuff, a lot of it dangerous and scary. It’s okay to talk about that. There’s life outside of classrooms.” 

Riddle looked away but squeezed her hand. “I know. And I’m getting there, with priorities and understanding others. But this sort of thing is important to her. And I still want to impress her, to have her be proud of me. Despite everything.” 

(Y/N) pressed her lips together. She wanted to say something supportive, something wise, something to make everything better. But nothing seemed right, nothing to encapsulate the pity and support (Y/N) felt all at once. In the movies or on TV, there was always some sort of all encompassing resolution, a final speech to make everything better. But she couldn’t find the words, couldn’t seem to express exactly how she felt. That Riddle didn’t need to constantly try so hard, to always make himself a perfect image for others to view. That he was allowed to like the things he liked, no matter how trivial or silly they seemed. Make bad frosted cupcakes, learn dressage, play games, be a teenager like everyone else for once. That she had such strong feelings for him, faults included. But nothing seems right. So she just squeezed his hand back. 

“Master Riddle,” A voice said, startling them both. Edgar stood at the door, casting a permanently judging look at the two of them. “Doctor and Mr. Rosehearts have returned. They have requested your presence in the dining room.” 

Riddle jumped up, smoothing his outfit even though it was spotless. “Right, well, (Y/N), I suppose it’s time you meet my parents.” 

Now that the time was actually here, (Y/N) didn’t expect to feel so nervous. Well, maybe nervous wasn’t the right word. Sure, she was anxious, hoping to make a good impression and help Riddle with their plot, but there was something else mixed with it. A kind of dread at coming face to face with a woman she had only ever heard bad things about. This woman, whether intentional or not, set the ground for Riddle’s Overblot. She was not an insignificant part of his emotional distress, his stress, the walls he put up around himself. How were you supposed to feel about a person like that? Especially when the object of that stress still so strongly wanted her approval? 

Edgar escorted them to the dining room where the table was already set and a maid and footman were starting to set out the first course. (Y/N) felt her heart jump unpleasantly in her chest as she came face to face with Dr. Rosehearts. The older woman’s steely gray eyes locked on to (Y/N)’s directly as she stepped in the room. She felt like her skin had been peeled back and every dark and unpleasant thought she had ever had had been thrown on the table for everyone to inspect. Dr. Rosehearts’ otherwise perfect cupid’s bow mouth was pulled into a tight frown. Her red hair, matching perfectly to her son’s, was pulled back in a tight bun clasped at her neck, a deadly looking sharp hairpin keeping it together. She looked elegant and flawless, more like an expensive bone China doll than an actual living breathing person in front of her. (Y/N) almost jumped in surprise when she finally noticed Riddle’s father. He was reading a newspaper, sharp cheekbones and tired, watery eyes under wavy mousy brown hair. Other than a brief flit of his eyes as the two of them entered, it was almost like he didn’t notice them at all. 

“Riddle,” His mother said, standing and turning to her son. (Y/N) felt like a stone had been removed from her chest as Dr. Rosehearts’ eyes finally left hers. “Welcome home. Take a seat.” 

Riddle marched over to his seat opposite his father, sitting with a ramrod straight back, looking straight ahead. (Y/N) faltered for a moment, wondering if she should sit next to Riddle or Mr. Rosehearts. The second of hesitation was noticed by Dr. Rosehearts, whose mouth ticked in annoyance. Riddle subtly nodded his head to the chair across from him, next to his father. (Y/N) scuttled over, pulling the chair out with an undignified squeak against the floor. Mr. Rosehearts looked up at her as she sat down, blinking like she had materialized out of thin air. 

“Mother, Father,” Riddle said, voice stiff. “Allow me to introduce my partner, (Y/N) (L/N), Ramshackle Dorm Prefect at Night Raven College. (Y/N), this is my mother, Dr. Victoria Rosehearts, and my father, Mr. Albert Rosehearts.”  

“Please to meet you,” (Y/N) said, giving what she hoped was a bright and welcoming smile. “Thank you for having me.” 

“Yes, well,” Dr. Rosehearts said. “I must admit it was a surprise when Riddle told me he was bringing a guest home for  the holiday.” 

“Well, Riddle always talks so fondly about Dinah and I haven’t traveled too much, so I couldn’t help but impose. You have a lovely home, by the way.” 

“I do wonder,” Dr. Rosehearts said, ignoring (Y/N)’s attempted start at conversation. “How a young girl such as yourself comes to attend an all boys school?” 

“To be totally honest I’m not really sure myself,” (Y/N) said, laughing through the awkwardness of Dr. Rosehearts intense direct gaze. “We’ve been trying to figure that out since I first got here. It’s been kind of a struggle getting a hang of everything, considering I can’t even use magic, but I-” 

(Y/N) was interrupted by the clatter of Dr. Rosehearts’ spoon clattering against her soup bowl. Even Mr. Rosehearts looked up, suddenly intrigued. “Did you say you can’t use magic?” Mr. Rosehearts said. 

(Y/N) gulped, looking quickly at Riddle who was going pale. “Well, no, I can’t. I’m sorry, I thought you knew. I’m not even from this world. Dimension? Anyway, magic doesn't exist in my world. Somehow one of the black carriages swept me up and brought me here. No one can figure out how or why yet, not even our Magic Mirror. Our headmage has been trying to research it but I guess there’s not a lot of studies on interdimensional travel.” She tried to laugh off the heavy atmosphere. “But no, no magic. Can’t even ride a broom, which is a shame because that’s the one thing I would really love to do.” 

Dr. Rosehearts cleared her throat, dabbing her mouth delicately with a napkin. A maid hastily rushed in to clear her soup. “Well, I suppose Night Raven College’s admission requirements have become quite lacks as of late, having common folk mingling with upper crust society and nobles, not to mention allowing fae folk. I suppose anything is possible at this rate.” 

(Y/N) scowled, finding herself blurting out her next statement despite Riddle’s miniscule shake of the head. “Hey, everyone works really hard at NRC. Where they’re from or their family doesn't matter, they’re all great mages. Besies, it’s the Magic Mirror that chooses people. It’s able to see everyone’s potential. And with everything that’s been going on this year everyone’s only gotten better. It’s amazing some of the stuff I’ve seen them do.” 

“Oh?” Mr. Rosehearts said, folding his paper closed and leaning forward. “Has it been an interesting year?” 

“Oh, yeah. I mean, I don’t know what a typical year at a magic school is like, but to me it’s been insane! There was one time where one of our dorm heads got kidnapped by a ghost bride to marry him, and everyone got together to try to woo her away. She ended up slapping half of them and freezing them in place. Oh, Riddle was here, he had this amazing red velvet suit. Or one of our magestones got stolen by a fairy queen and we had to stage a whole heist to get it back. Our coach, Coach Vargas, had these camps to test people’s abilities and survival instinct when they couldn’t use magic. But then he dressed up as a monster and ‘kidnapped’ a bunch of students so everyone else had to come rescue them. The next camping trip he got one of our other professors in on it too. And every once and a while we’ll have this Culinary Crucible that they had to change the judging for because everyone kept cheating, but-” 

“My!” Dr. Rosehearts suddenly exclaimed. “I don’t believe I remember the last time we had so much chatter at a mealtime.” 

(Y/N) felt her face heat up, but she wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or anger. 

Mr. Rosehearts, who had been nodding along to (Y/N) recollection of events with rapt attention, cleared his throat with a cough, leaning back in his chair and taking up his newspaper again. “Yes, well, youth these days,” He said, noncommittal. 

Despite the fact that a maid had just brought out the next course, Dr. Rosehearts stood. “I find I’ve lost my appetite,” She announced. “I will be retiring early tonight. Riddle, we have an appointment at the Lorina Hotel tomorrow for high tea. Make sure you and your guest wear something presentable.” With that, she swept from the room without another word. The silence that followed was brittle, like ice on a lake right before someone plummets through it. 

“Well,” (Y/N) said, breaking the quiet. She stood, walking over to Dr. Rosehearts abandoned plate and picking it up, dumping the roasted chicken and vegetable onto her own plate. “More for me then.” 

~~~

Later that night, (Y/N) had apologized to Riddle no less than twelve times. She tried to defend herself, that she was taken by surprise that his parents didn’t know about her unique circumstances, that she was annoyed how dismissive Dr. Rosehearts had been, that she just started talking and couldn’t figure out how to stop. Not that any of it really excused her behavior, she knew. She felt like she had let Riddle down, ruining whatever chance, no matter how slim, of this being a peaceful visit home. And, while Riddle had repeated every time that it was fine, that she was okay, that he should have prepared her better, she still felt bad. 

(Y/N) had never been to a high tea before. She wasn’t 100% sure what to wear, especially with Dr. Rosehearts’ comment from the night before. And it wasn’t like she had an extensive wardrobe to choose from in the first place. Thankfully, their alchemy teacher with a penchant for fashion design had somehow grown fond of her during the school year, providing her with a few outfits to help her fit in better outside of school.  The next morning, she pulled a dusty blue sundress with little white buttons out of her luggage. She had a pair of sandals more suited to the beach than a hotel, but they fit the theme better than her school loafers. She slipped them on and hoped no one would look down. 

Tea was scheduled for 11 so (Y/N) decided to find Riddle and try to get a better lay of the land before they headed out. He didn’t answer her knock, which she thought was strange as Riddle wasn’t the type to sleep in, even if he was home on break. She felt strange wandering through the house. Every once and a while she would see a maid or footman dart out of one of the hidden servant’s doors, but before she could start a conversation or ask where her hosts were they would duck their heads and disappear. 

She eventually found Mr. Rosehearts in the breakfast room, which was the same as the dinning room but with a changed name for some reason. The thick curtains had been thrown open letting light pour in across the spread on the table. Despite the fact that there was enough food to feed at least ten people, Mr. Rosehearts was the only one present, absentmindedly nibbling on some jam slathered toast. 

(Y/N) forced a smile to her face. She might have ruined her first impression with Dr. Rosehearts last night, but Mr. Rosehearts had at least seemed intrigued by what she had to say. “Good morning!” 

Mr. Rosehearts jumped, dropping his toast jam side down on the spotless table cloth. “Oh! Good morning.” 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” The last thing she needed right now was to turn both of Riddle’s parents against her. 

Mr. Rosehearts waved her off, gingerly picking up the toast and plopping it on his plate. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m just not used to company in the morning, is all. Not that I mind it. Please, sit.” 

“Is everyone else still asleep?” (Y/N) asked, scooping up some chive studded scrambled eggs on her plate. 

“Oh, no, Victoria doesn't believe in sleeping in. It disrupts the normal circadian rhythms, you know, especially for teenagers like you and Riddle. No, she and Riddle were speaking in her office.” 

“Oh.” (Y/N) suddenly didn’t feel very hungry anymore. “I think I need to apologize.” Mr. Rosehearts looked up, blinking owlishly. “I was rambling last night, at dinner. I shouldn’t have been so argumentative, especially since I’m a guest in your home. I’ll be putting a better foot forward from now on, promise.” 

“Oh. Oh! Oh, no, please, think nothing of it. Actually,” He leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I was hoping you could expand on some of those stories you started last night. Just between you and me, I happen to have a penchant for gossip.” He patted the newspaper beside him. Now that (Y/N) got a closer look, she realized it was a society gossip column. She smiled, getting Bridgerton flashbacks. 

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of stories. Do you want to start with Fleur City almost burning down or Magicam Monsters taking over NRC?” 

Meanwhile, Riddle sat in an uncomfortable straight backed chair in his mother’s office. Various papers floated around the room, magically organizing themselves in various case files. A free-standing pen signed Dr. Rosehearts’ signature across multiple forms. Despite the warm morning light filling the room, Riddle felt chilled. 

“I wonder,” Dr. Rosehearts said, sitting behind her large mahogany desk, hands clasped in front of her. “About the company you have chosen to keep while away at school.” 

“(Y/N) is a respectable person,” Riddle said. “She was just thrown off last night. She’s still not used to many of our customs. She’s a fast learner, however, she’s acclimated remarkably quickly to life here. Given that she has no base of knowledge for many of the classes at Night Raven College she has good grades and-” 

Dr. Rosehearts held up a hand, stopping Riddle with the words of praise in his throat. “The way the ones you associate with act reflects on you, Riddle. It also reflects upon me and the whole Rosehearts household. You should know better by now.” 

Riddle felt his face flush, looking down. “Yes, Mother.” 

“Really, Riddle, I didn’t think you’d be the type to fall for any pretty face. And how much do you actually know about her background, anyway? You said yourself she’s not from here. Who knows what kind of manipulation she might be playing at, using our good name against us?” Riddle bit his tongue, your defense springing into his mouth. “I’m just trying to look out for you.” 

“Yes, Mother, I know.” 

“Wonderful.” Dr. Rosehearts stood, Riddle following. “We’ll continue to house Miss (Y/N) here during the break, it would be bad form to throw her out at this point, but as soon as you return to school I expect you to end this frivolous excursion.” 

Riddle felt his heart drop into his stomach. “But, Mother, I-” 

“No buts, Riddle,” She said sternly. Riddle immediately looked down, avoiding her cold iron gaze. “I know best for you. You’ll do as I say. We have a plan for you, remember? There’s no use upending your future over some fleeting fancy. And besides, there are many wonderful eligible ladies here in town. We’ll be meeting a few of my top choices for you at the hotel. And we’ll be attending a ball tomorrow night.  Your friend is not invited, by the way.” 

Riddle drew in a sharp breath, a million things he wanted to say racing through his mind. His mother had arranged a meeting with bachelorettes when he had told her he already had a girlfriend? He realized with a sinking sensation that no plan he and (Y/N) would have come up with would have been good enough for his mother. She had her plan and nothing would be able to change it. He suddenly had the sensation of floating, no, falling, with no anchor or safety net. His stomach flipped and a rush of cold descended over his body. 

“Yes, Mother,” He only said. 

Dr. Rosehearts nodded definitively. She swept from the office, Riddle following close behind with downcast eyes. They both paused on the stairway, startled by the sound of laughter floating out from the breakfast room. Riddle pushed past his mother into the room. (Y/N) and his father sat at the table across from each other. His father’s head was thrown back, eyes closed and mouth open in a raucous laugh. Riddle couldn’t remember the last time he heard his father laugh like that, or even laugh at all. (Y/N) was in the middle of a story, hands animated. 

“So of course the referee asked who he is, because their team didn’t have anyone signed up for an alternate, and Leona goes and uses my name! Like no one would recognize the second prince of the Sunset Savannah. And you know what, no one did!” 

Mr. Rosehearts put his hand against his chest, trying to regain his composure. “And then? Did you at least win?” 

“Oh, of course, yeah! And then we all had to run away in this jeep Leona was driving right when it started to rain. I’ve heard Checka still calls him ‘Unca (Y/N)’ sometimes.” 

Mr. Rosehearts looked up, noticing Riddle and Dr. Rosehearts standing in the doorway. “Oh, Victoria! (Y/N) was just telling me the most wonderful story. Did you know she’s friends with Prince Leona of the Sunset Savannah? And the Asim heir, they donated at the last charity gala you attended, didn’t they? It’s amazing the adventures children can get up to now a days-” 

“You’re very chatty this morning, Albert,” Dr. Rosehearts cut him off. “This much noise in the morning is quite unusual, don’t you agree?” 

Mr. Rosehearts’ face dropped and he squirmed in his chair. He picked up his newspaper, flipping it so a person couldn’t see what he was reading. 

(Y/N) frowned at the sudden change of mood, but gave Riddle a warm smile when she saw him. It was amazing how he almost immediately felt lighter. He really hoped he wasn’t blushing again. “Hi!” She chirped, standing. Riddle felt a rush of mixed emotions. Part fluff at (Y/N) smiling at him, beautiful in her sundress, part embarrassment knowing it was exactly the wrong thing to wear, and no doubt his mother had clocked that immediately. 

Riddle reached for a cheese danish. His mother’s hand snapped out, swatting his hand away. “You’ll have sweets at the hotel,” She said, sniffing. “You don’t need the extra sugar, especially this early in the morning.” 

‘Then why have it on the table?’ (Y/N) thought uncharitably. She went over to Riddle, linking her arm through his, pulling him away from Dr. Rosehearts. “You’re sweet enough already, Riddle. When do we head out?” 

Later, as they were waiting for the carriages to head to the hotel, Riddle pulled out and quickly ate the danish (Y/N) had slipped in his pocket. 

~~~

The Lorina Hotel stretched high above their heads. (Y/N) leaned back to take in the full scope of it. The facade was clean white bricks with dozens of windows glinting in the sunlight. Each story was capped by marble carvings of lions with wings, jumping fish, and flowers. 

“No time for gawking,” Dr. Rosehearts said, straightening her gloves. “We have people waiting for us.” 

“We do?” (Y/N) asked, purposefully ignoring Dr. Rosehearts thorny glare. “Are they your friends, Riddle?” 

“Not in so many words,” He replied. 

A finely dressed doorman opened the door to a lavish lobby. Before (Y/N) had a chance to ‘gawk’ again, Dr. Rosehearts swept them off to a side room. She gave their name to a waiter at a podium. The man skimmed the list of reservations in front of him, looking down his nose at (Y/N) and her uncovered shoulders. While (Y/N) was too enamored observing her surroundings, Riddle noticed. He quickly shrugged off his jacket and brought it around her shoulders. The man sniffed. He led them through the tea room to two tables situated against a large window. They sat by a large window opening onto a courtyard in the middle of the hotel. Guests strolled across the green lawn, admiring flowers. Dr. and Mr. Rosehearts sat at their own small table while Riddle and (Y/N) were directed to one that had three other residents already. 

“Riddle!” One of them called, smiling up at him. “How lovely to see you again.” 

(Y/N) felt Riddle stiffen beside her. “Hello, Lily, Rose, Violet. It’s nice to see you all as well.” 

(Y/N) slipped her hand into Riddle’s, who jumped in surprise, before inserting herself in the girls’ line of sight. “Hi! I’m (Y/N), Riddle’s girlfriend. It’s nice to meet some of his friends from home!” 

All three girls, in Victorian inspired puffed up dresses with more lace and tulle than (Y/N) had ever seen before and large elaborate sun hats to match, startled, blinking at her as if she had appeared out of thin air. 

Almost in sync, the three of them whipped out decorated fans. “Oh, hello,” Violet said. “We weren’t aware Riddle was bringing a guest.” 

“You’ll just have to put up with me then, I guess.” Riddle pulled out her chair and, with a surge of confidence and a sideways glance at the three girls, (Y/N) quickly kissed his cheek. (Y/N) smiled at the shocked gasp they let out as Riddle’s face turned red. She couldn’t help but reveal in Dr. Rosehearts’ glower as Mr. Rosehearts discreetly smiled into his tea. “So, how close is this to the unbirthday parties at school?” 

“An unbirthday party?” Lily said with a chuckle. “Isn’t that a bit juvenile?” 

“If by juvenile you mean really fun and a great excuse to dress up then yes, I suppose it is.” Under the table, Riddle squeezed (Y/N)’s hand, in warning or thankfulness she wasn’t sure. The three girls looked at eachother, flicking and fluttering their fans with precise motions. 

A waiter brought a pot of tea to the table which he dutifully poured in everyone’s delicate tea cups. Another waiter brought a high stacked tower with tiny cakes and sandwiches. (Y/N) tried to cut down on her abrasiveness for the rest of the tea, not wanting to make Riddle uncomfortable. Although, to her it seemed the three other girls were doing a great job of that on their own. When they weren’t speaking to each other about him without his input, they chatted about things that had been happening in Dinah during the social season, then acted surprised when neither (Y/N) or Riddle could contribute to the conversation. 

After a while, and two pots of tea, Riddle excused himself. A tense silence dropped over the table like a heavy curtain. The three girls continued casting knowing glances at each other, snapping and waving their fans. 

(Y/N) spread her hands on the table. “Look, I know just enough about fan language to know you’re talking about me, but not enough to know what you’re saying. So if you have something you want to say you might as well come out and say it.” 

“You’re rather blunt, aren’t you?” Rose said with a sniff. 

“Among many other things.” 

“We were just wondering,” Violet said smoothly. “About your pedigree. It’s unusual enough to have a girl attending an all boys school, so we surmised you must have a particular magical talent.” 

“We all attend Lady Dormouse’s Finishing School, you see,” Lily said with a saccharine smile. “It’s a far more… elegant education.” 

“Well, I don’t know about elegant,” (Y/N) said, pointedly ignoring Rose’s smirk when she said under her breath, “Clearly.” “But Night Raven College is a great place. Sure, it’s a minefield half the time and considering I can’t do any magic so half of the assignments are almost impossible, but I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. I’ve made amazing friends there, and, of course, I got to meet Riddle. That’s the best part.” (Y/N) smiled wistfully. 

The girls across from her all dropped their jaws at once. “You can’t use magic?” Violet gasped. 

“Surely you know a simple zephyr spell? Or can light a candle?” Lily asked. 

“Nope, not a thing. Don’t have one drop of magic in my whole body.” At this point it almost felt like a mark of pride. And she was beginning to relish the shocked expressions people made. 

Violet reached forward and gently touched the back of (Y/N)’s hand. “You poor thing,” She said, voice breaking. Rose had pushed herself as far back in her chair as she could, as if magiclessness was contagious. (Y/N) could practically see the gears turning in Lily’s head as she considered such a thing being possible. 

(Y/N) looked out the window to the courtyard, trying to avoid Violet’s overly sympathetic gaze. She perked up when she saw a few uniformed staff members setting up small white arches in the grass. A flock of pink flamingos waddled on tall, thin legs around the fountain. One of the staff members gently cradled a small wooden box where a hedgehog poked its nose out. 

“Hey, Riddle!” She called as Riddle walked back to their table. “Check it out, they’re setting up croquet! We should see if we can play.” 

Riddle’s face lit up. “Really?” He asked, craning his neck to look out the window as the first round of players took their marks. He quickly looked back at his mother and schooled his face to a more serious expression. “That is, I mean, I wouldn’t want to impose.” 

“Oh, I’d love a good game of croquet!” Rose said, clapping her hands. She stood, going over to Riddle and touching his shoulder in a way that made (Y/N) grit her teeth in annoyance. “I was the undisputed champion at Dormouse. You will play with us, won’t you, Riddle?” 

The group exited to the courtyard, Mr. Rosehearts quickly arranging for a game with the attendants. The girls had huddled around the green, watching the previous game. Riddle was looking down at his feet, fiddling with his fingers, pulling at the skin around his nails. 

“Hey!” (Y/N) said, slinging her arm around Riddle’s shoulders. “I am here to make sure you have fun, fake relationship or not. So come on, let’s have fun! Plus, I have no idea how to play this game.” 

“Well,” Riddle said. “The first thing is to choose your flamingo mallet.” He effortlessly snatched a flamingo by the neck, turning it so he held the legs. The flamingo immediately went ramrod straight. 

“That doesn't bother them or anything, right?” (Y/N) asked, looking dubiously at the remaining flamingos. 

“Not at all. They’re specifically trained for this. Go on, try one.” 

“Okay…” (Y/N) tried to replicate the quick movements Riddle had made when grabbing his flamingo. The bird she was aiming for dodged her hand. She grabbed again. Another miss. She heard the girls tittering with laughter. (Y/N) huffed, trying to snatch at the flamingo with both hands this time. The large bird squealed, flapping its large wings as (Y/N) wrestled it. The flamingo squawked and (Y/N) squawked back in defiance. Riddle quickly came to her rescue, grabbing the flamingo and performing the same practiced motion. The flamingo immediately went rigged, but (Y/N) couldn’t help but notice the defiant glint in its eye. 

“Thanks,” (Y/N) mumbled, plucking stray feathers out of her hair. 

Riddle stifled a laugh behind his fist. “Not a problem. The rest of the game is pretty simple. You want to hit the hedgehog through the white pickets to the end of the lawn, then again on the way back. The fewest hits win.” 

“Right, sure. Sounds easy enough.” When Riddle went to take his first hit, (Y/N) whispered harshly to her flamingo mallet, “Don’t mess this up for me.” 

After the others had taken their turn, (Y/N) stepped up to the first hoop, her hedgehog rolled into a ball in front of her. She carefully angled her flamingo down, tapping the head against the small animal. ‘Just like mini-golf,’ She thought to herself and swung gently. She heard giggling from the spectators. She looked down, seeing her hedgehog in the exact same place. Only, no, it was about an inch to the left, away from where she had hit. She tapped her foot, swinging again, this time keeping her eye on the spiky ball. Yup, there, again, it rolled ever so slightly the other way. 

“My ball is cheating,” (Y/N) said, pointing at the innocent-looking hedgehog. 

“It’s a poor craftsman who blames their tools,” Dr. Rosehearts replied from the sidelines. 

“I don’t think that applies here, but sure,” (Y/N) mumbled. 

She squared her feet, tightening her grip on the flamingo’s legs. She tried a harder swing this time. It connected, sending the tiny hedgehog tumbling. Before (Y/N) could celebrate her victory, the animal swung out in a large arc away from the pickets, slowing to a stop right by Dr. Rosehearts’ feet. (Y/N) scowled, going over to stand by Riddle’s parents while the rest of the group took their turns for the second round. 

“You know,” Dr. Rosehearts said softly to (Y/N) when Mr. Rosehearts walked off to get some tea. “Lily’s father is a minister in parliament. She’s an especially accomplished pianist and frequently has requests from the royal theater company to play.” 

“MmHmm,” (Y/N) hummed. 

“Violet recently won first place in a national equestrian show jumping competition. Her father is a colleague of mine, an orthopedic surgeon, and her mother is a most accomplished florist.” 

“Neat.” 

“Rose is an absolute gem, of course. Extremely high marks with practical magic, and her embroidery has been displayed as far as the Sunshine Lands. She’s also wonderfully organized and an exemplary hostess. I can see her managing a fine house one day.” 

“Maybe, but Rose Rosehearts is kind of clunky, don’t you think? Or redundant? One of those.” 

Dr. Roshearts sniffed. “She also has a firm grasp on language and elegance.” 

(Y/N) opened her mouth to say something she knew she would probably regret when the referee called for her turn. Dr. Rosehearts inclined her head and took a step back, giving (Y/N) room to swing. 

“Alright,” (Y/N) said softly to the ball and mallet. “The arch this time.” 

She aimed, taking in a deep breath as she swung. She looked around the green, not seeing her hedgehog rolling towards or away. It also wasn’t stuck in its place at her feet. Suddenly, the flamingo began to writhe in her hands, flapping its large wings to bat fiercely at her face. She coughed on feathers, trying to hold the distressed animal as far away as possible. Peaking out from one eye, she saw the hedgehog clinging to the flamingo’s neck, climbing up and down while the bird desperately tried to escape its tiny claws. (Y/N) shook the bird, reaching out to try and dislodge the hedgehog. That only seemed to make it worse as both animals began to panic. The flamingo kicked out causing (Y/N) to drop it. With an unholy squawk, it leapt out of her hands, flapping and dancing, colliding right into the gawking Dr. Rosehearts. The red-haired woman shrieked, several hotel attendants coming to her rescue, trying to grab the flamingo. (Y/N) couldn't help but notice Mr.  Rosehearts watching the whole spectacle with fascination from the tea cart. 

As the attendants apologized profusely to a fuming Dr. Rosehearts, (Y/N) made her way over to Riddle and the three gasping girls. “Well,” She said. “I don’t think I’m very good at this game.” 

~~~

When they got back to the townhouse, (Y/N) had another round of apologizing to Riddle. 

“I really didn’t mean for that to happen,” She said. She didn’t say she felt somewhat satisfied to see Dr. Rosehearts in distress, plucking stray feathers out of her hair and clothes the whole ride home. “I don’t know what I was doing wrong. I hope I didn’t embarrass you too much.” 

“I know it’s not your fault,” Riddle said, pulling off his tie. (Y/N) was sitting on the bed in his room as he watched her in the mirror on his bureau. “The hotel should have vetted their animals better.” 

(Y/N) bit her lip. She gave a mirthless laugh. “Our plan isn't going very well, is it?” Riddle faltered, dropping his tie. He turned around to look at (Y/N). Her mouth was screwed up in a tight frown, her eyes misty, and she clutched the duvet tightly. “Sorry. I really wanted to make you look good. I wanted to try and seem like the perfect girlfriend, but I just kind of made everything worse. I wanted to show you that I-” She suddenly cut herself off, looking up and meeting Riddle’s eyes. Her face grew hot and she looked away. “Sorry, don’t listen to me, I’m rambling.” 

More than anything, Riddle wanted to ask her what she was going to say. More than anything, he wanted to say something back, something that had been stuck in his mind well before he asked for her help in their plot. Something that made his heart speed up with her every kind word and action, that made him feel pleasantly light-headed whenever they were close, that caused his chest to fill with pride as she worked tirelessly to defend him during the trip. But his tongue felt like lead in his mouth. He could still feel the iron-hot glare from his mother on the carriage ride back from the hotel. And, beneath it all, a simmering fear that their ploy was really just a ploy, that (Y/N) was just an exceptionally good actor, that there was no way she could feel the same way about him that he was realizing he felt about her. 

He tapped his foot, coming over to sit next to (Y/N) on his bed. “There’s a ball tomorrow night,” He said, not looking at her. “Mother, Father, and I are invited. Mother… asked if you would be alright remaining at home.” 

“Oh,” She said, and Riddle tried not to flinch back at her tone of voice. “No, yeah, I get it. Hey, I don’t even have anything to wear. So, yeah, it’s fine.” 

“It’s not,” Riddle said, his harshness even startling himself. He cleared his throat, starting again. “It’s unfair to you. I shouldn’t have dragged you all the way out here. This whole thing was a bad idea to begin with.” 

“Oh,” (Y/N) said again, another fractured syllable. She stood. “Well, yeah, fine. I guess the idea of us being together is a bad idea.” 

Riddle felt a jolt in his chest. “No, wait, (Y/N), that’s not what I-” 

“No, I get it. Why would someone like you want to be with someone like me in the first place? You’ve got a plan all figured out, right? NRC then internships then becoming a world famous doctor. And what do I have to offer you? I can’t do magic, I don’t have any family, I definitely don’t have any money, I have no idea what I’m even going to do over the summer break. And it’s not like I fit in with your world, anyway. Not just Twisted Wonderland, but the whole life you want for yourself. It’s fine, I get it.” She stood, pacing, hot and angry tears pricking her eyes. She took a deep, rattling breath to steady herself before turning to Riddle face to face. “I won’t get in your way anymore. But I do want to say that you deserve better than how you’ve been treated. You’re not your mother. You deserve someone who sees how amazing you are by yourself, not some mold other people try to put you in. You’ve worked so hard these past few months to be a better person and I- I just hope you find someone who recognizes that.” Without another word, (Y/N) rushed out of the room. She nearly collided with Dr. Rosehearts in the hall before muttering an “excuse me” before throwing herself in her room, locking the door. 

Dr. Rosehearts lifted her chin, walking the few steps forward to Riddle’s room. She didn’t bother knocking and just stepped inside. Riddle was sitting on the edge of his bed, face buried in his hands. 

“I’m glad you’ve come to see reason, Riddle,” She vaguely praised. Riddle looked up at her with red rimmed eyes, checks flushed. “We’ll leave for your suit fitting in the morning. Don’t be late.” 

“Yes, Mother,” Riddle mumbled. The sound of his door clicking shut ricocheted around his ears. 

~~~

“I messed up,” (Y/N) said. “I really messed this whole thing up.” 

It was the next day. She’d barely slept the night before, not bothering to go down to dinner last night or breakfast this morning. Eventually, she heard the front door open and close, watching Riddle and Dr. Rosehearts board a carriage to go out. She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling, and called Cater. 

“I mean,” He said. “It’s not the best, that’s for sure.” 

(Y/N) had called Cater after a moment of desperation, eager for someone to talk to and express her frustrations. She trusted Cater enough to know he wouldn’t immediately run off and tell everyone about the plan and would be patient enough to listen to her vent. He had also lent a sympathetic ear in the past when she had gotten overwhelmed by the strangeness of her new world and missing her old one. She could practically see him twist a lock of hair around his finger as he talked to her. “But it’s not all your fault. Riddle could have stepped in to help, you know.” 

“He’s just… under a lot of pressure here,” She said. “I guess I had this idea in my head of what it would be like. But, man, do I hate his mom.” 

“We all do, sweetheart.” 

“I feel like I kind of abandoned him, though. But he basically disinvited me from my last night here so how am I supposed to feel?” 

“Hmm. Do you know where the party is supposed to be tonight?” 

“At Rose’s place, bleh.” 

“Well, you could always crash it.” 

(Y/N) sat up. “Crash? I can’t do that, I’ve embarrassed him enough already.” 

Cater huffed in frustration. “Honestly, you’re both so blind I don’t know how you stand it.” 

“What?” 

“I’m sorry, I thought you said the reason you went there in the first place was to help Riddle.” 

“I did - I am - but-” 

“And what? You’re just going to let one bad game of croquet take that from you?” 

“It wasn’t just that game, I-” 

“And we both know Riddle’s blind spots. Sure, he’s been better about all that rule stuff and chilling out here at school, but being back in the middle of all his trauma is different, you know?” 

“I - You know what? You’re right.” 

“Of course I’m right, I usually am.” 

“Riddle acts like he’s in charge all the time, I forget that we’re practically the same age. And everyone needs help, even when they’re too stubborn to admit it.” 

“Yes, exactly! Stubborn is practically Riddle’s middle name!” 

“Which means,” (Y/N) stood. “I’ve got to be stubborn back! If Riddle can’t ask for help then I need to be a good girlfriend and recognize he needs it and do my part!” 

(Y/N) could feel Cater’s smirk in his next words. “Ooh, his girlfriend, huh? I thought you were just pretending?” 

“Oh, you know what I mean. Thanks, Cater. I’ve got to go get ready. I have a party to crash!” 

“I’m going to need every detail when you get back!” 

(Y/N) quickly hung up, dialing another number. “Hi, Vil? It’s (Y/N). I have a really big favor to ask.” 

~~~

Riddle stared into his flute of sparkling wine, watching the few remaining bubbles rise and pop. It was flat by now and he hadn’t taken a single sip. The last rays of sunlight glowed gently against the surrounding townhouses that Riddle could see out the large bay windows of the ballroom. Couples twirled together along the floor to the elegant music from a string band. A long table was precisely set with way too much food, even given the substantial size of the party. His father mingled across the room with several other gentlemen from his club, doing his best to blend into the curtains. Riddle stood dutifully next to his mother who was speaking to Rose’s mother. Rose herself hovered next to him. He floated in and out of their conversation, only picking up about every fourth word. He wore a dark red velvet coat with a tight white starched collar that he kept tugging at to keep from strangling him. 

“And then,” Rose was saying. “Betty walks in with a yellow checkered parasol! Can you imagine? For an autumn leaf viewing picnic? Honestly, I’m surprised she had the nerve to stay around for as long as she did with that sort of faux pa.” 

“MmHm,” Riddle replied, swirling his glass causing a few errant bubbles to meander to the surface. 

“Really, the only thing that might have been more embarrassing is if she brought a chestnut tart! Oh, are you alright, Riddle?” 

Riddle coughed, clearing his throat as his face turned red. “Yes, fine, just remembering something unpleasant.” 

“Well, I’m not sure how you could think of anything unpleasant with me around,” She said, clutching his arm to pull him closer to her, batting her eyes. Her eyelashes were so long Riddle had a single terrifying impression of spider legs. 

Riddle cleared his throat again, more uncomfortable this time. “Yes, I can’t imagine.” 

Rose pouted and opened her mouth to say something else only to be interrupted by the round of gasps and murmurs that swelled from around the room. At the top of the grand staircase leading down to the ballroom, a footman was taking a dark traveling cloak from a newcomer. The cloak fell away to reveal the elaborate dress underneath it. The bodice was a rich crimson red with puffed sleeves at the shoulders, leading down to illusion sheer sleeves with tiny intricate beading twinkling down to the tight clasps at the wrists. The skirt bloomed out from the waist, layers upon layers of fabric resembling a large upside down rose. The red from the top continued down the skirt in an almost dripping effect, the rose petals turning white at the bottom as if they were being painted. The rose parted just at the knees to allow the wearer more freedom of movement, revealing sheer stockings with the same bead work. 

Riddle shoved his glass into Rose’s hands, ignoring her shocked look. He strode forward, cutting through the crowd. As the new figure descended the stairs, he met her, extending his hand to take hers. 

“Hi,” (Y/N) said, smiling gently at him. “I’m not too late, am I?” 

“No,” Riddle breathed. “You’re here just in time.” 

“Excuse me!” They both turned to see Rose and her mother coming over, frustration on Rose’s face and confusion on her mother’s. 

“I’m sorry,” Rose’s mother said, eyes darting to (Y/N)’s and Riddle’s held hand. “This is a closed party.” 

“She’s with me,” Riddle quickly said. He saw his mother furrow her brow and press her lips together. He continued, meeting her gaze. “This is (Y/N), my girlfriend. She’s my guest.” 

There was another small round of exclamations around the room. Rose crossed her arms while her mother blinked in confusion. “Oh, well, then please, by all means, welcome.” 

(Y/N) bobbed a curtsy, “Thank you.” 

“Would you like to dance?” Riddle asked. 

(Y/N) smiled and Riddle felt like his heart would explode. “I’d love to.” He led her to the dance floor. The band, which had paused at her entrance, started up again with a waltz.“I should warn you,” (Y/N) whispered to him as they took their place. “I have no idea how to do any of this.” 

“That’s alright. Just follow my lead.” 

“Riddle, I’d follow you through the Land of Ghosts and back if you asked me to.” Riddle tripped over his own feet, (Y/N) catching him in a spin and laughing. 

“I like your dress,” Riddle said, trying to regain his composure. “I didn’t see it before.” 

“Thanks, it’s a loner. I have friends in high places. Vil, I mean Vil.” 

Spectators watched the couple in a not at all elegant dance across the floor. “Oh, Victoria,” Another socialite's mother said, coming up to her. “You must be so proud. She seems like such a lovely girl. And Riddle looks so happy!” 

“Indeed,” Dr. Rosehearts replied with a steely stare at the couple. She noticed the flush on Riddle’s cheeks, his eyes closed as he laughed at something (Y/N) had said. (Y/N) took a wrong step back, bumping into another couple dancing behind them. She watched them apologize, (Y/N) saying something to the other couple that made them laugh and wave a pleasant goodbye. Dr. Rosehearts ground her teeth, nose screwing up in frustration. 

The song ended and Riddle and (Y/N) exited the dance floor. They’re faces were both flushed, glowing underneath the chandelier lights. (Y/N) felt her heart flutter pleasantly as she watched Riddle, a rare genuine smile across his face, eyes crinkling at the corners. She could always tell when it was a sincere smile whenever a tiny crease appeared between his eyebrows leaning to his left eye. She wondered what it meant that she had studied his face so intently to notice that. 

Dr. Rosehearts interrupted the conversations happening around her by walking away, striding with her head held high to Riddle and (Y/N). (Y/N) noticed her first, taking a side step closer to Riddle and meeting the older woman’s stare with unabashed defiance. Dr. Rosehearts ground her teeth again. 

“Riddle,” Dr. Rosehearts said. Riddle jumped, just now noticing his mother’s presence. His body immediately stiffened, shoulders going back to make a conscious effort to stand straighter. “Lewis and Carol were looking for you.” She waved her hand over to the other side of the ballroom. “I thought I might have a chat with (Y/N).” 

Riddle started to stutter a response before (Y/N) laid a gentle hand on his arm. “It’s okay,” She said. “Go on, I’ll catch up with you later.” Riddle looked between the two women, eyes locked in a silent battle of wills, before nodding hesitantly and going over to see his old middle school classmates. 

(Y/N) plucked a glass of cider from a passing waiter. She wondered briefly what the drinking laws were here. 

“Well,” Dr. Rosehearts said, clasping her hands in front of her. “You certainly know how to make an entrance to an event you weren’t invited to.” 

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” (Y/N) said, swirling her glass. “I’m Riddle’s plus one. He wanted me here.” 

“Yes, I suppose it is very kind of him to humor you.” 

“Well, someone in your family needs to have a sense of humor, right?” 

“Hmph. Riddle has a plan, you know. He can’t be distracted by frivolities.” 

“You have a plan, you mean. Riddle can do whatever he wants. He’s exceedingly capable, smart, and an amazing mage.” 

“Thanks to my careful tutelage.” 

“Despite your ‘careful tutelage’ I’d say.” 

Dr. Rosehearts eyes flared. “You know nothing about my relationship with my son. My son.” 

“Oh, I know plenty.” 

“And I know my son. Believe me, your relationship, or whatever you want to call this, is just some passing fancy. He’ll get over it soon and come back to me with his senses intact.” 

“At least my relationship with him didn’t lead to his Overblot.” 

There was a snapping sound, a shatter of glass, and a gasp from across the ballroom. Riddle whirled around. His mother stood over (Y/N), her hand raised. (Y/N) clutched her cheek, already turning red from Dr. Rosehearts’ slap. 

“How dare you?” She shouted, now drawing every eye around the room. “My Riddle was perfectly fine until the moment you showed up at that school. He was obedient until you started influencing him!” 

“And that’s all that matters, right? That he is obedient to you. That he does whatever you say. He’s not your doll for you to play with, he’s a living breathing amazing person you just refuse to recognize has his own thoughts and life outside of you!” 

“I won’t take criticism from some magicless interloper who cavorts with fae and meddles with every aspect of a world she doesn't understand!” 

“Well, that’s just the beginning of your issues, isn’t it? You’re so stuck in your own head you refuse to recognize when you’re in the wrong and actively hurting the people around you!” 

Dr. Rosehearts took in a sharp inhale, raising her hand again. 

“Mother!” Both women turned to see Riddle rushing over to them. 

(Y/N) immediately blanched. “Riddle, I’m sorry, I-” 

“Riddle!” Dr. Rosehearts cut her off, jabbing a finger at (Y/N). “Control this wretched girl!” 

“I will do no such thing,” Riddle said defiantly, putting himself between his mother and (Y/N). He turned to her, lowering his voice. “Are you alright?” 

(Y/N) blinked at him. “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” 

He gave a decisive nod and turned back to Dr. Rosehearts. ��Mother, you need to apologize.” 

Dr. Rosehearts gaped at him. “Me? Apologize to her?” 

“You’ve been nothing but hateful since (Y/N)’s arrived. She’s our guest and someone extremely important to me. You could at least have the common courtesy to be polite.” 

Dr. Rosehearts’ face was cherry red. “How dare you speak to me like this! I’m your mother!” 

“And nothing she said was untrue!” Dr. Rosehearts flinched back. “All my life, all I’ve wanted was to please you, to make you proud of me. I worked so, so hard. It crushed me, it destroyed me, that I couldn’t meet your impossible expectations! And I just thought that was how the world was, set in rigid rules, and anyone who couldn’t follow every last one was a bad person. I ruined friendships, I ruined myself, I almost ruined everything when I Overblot!” Another round of gasps rang from around the room. (Y/N) slipped her hand into his, squeezing in reassurance. He squeezed back, soldiering on. “I’m not a son to you, I’m a project! I’m some doll you parade around and pose however you want without any actual care for the damage you might do! (Y/N) has shown me I can be a better person, that I can be who I actually want to be! Except I have no idea who that person is because you’ve broken me into your specific mold for so long. She’s stayed by me, my friends have stayed by me, no matter what. For the first time in my life I feel content with myself, like I can actually breathe. And you act like that’s a bad thing.” Riddle was breathing hard, hot tears starting to spill from eyes. “Well, I’m done. I’m done trying to please you. I’ll never be good enough for you. And that’s fine. I don’t want to be. Now I just want to be good enough for myself. Let’s go, (Y/N).” Still holding hands, the two swept from the ballroom, the party goers parting for them like the Red Sea. 

Dr. Rosehearts’ face was red with rage, eyes darting around the room from each pitying, concerned, and judging face of the attendants to her son’s retreating back. She was breathing hard, head fuzzy, vision going blurry around the edges. Stepping forward, she slid her hairpin from her perfectly maintained bun, a magestone embedded at one end. She took a solid step forward, pointing it at Riddle. “Riddle-!” 

“Victoria!” She froze at the sudden exclamation. She turned, seeing Mr. Rosehearts staring steadfastly at her. “That’s enough.” 

She stopped, looking down at her hand, at her wand, at what she was about to do. She gasped, dropping the wand so it clattered against the marble flooring. The sound echoed in her ears. 

~~~

It was starting to rain outside. Riddle shrugged off his jacket, holding it above the two of them to huddle beneath it. 

“I don’t think we would be able to take the carriage back,” He said. “To be honest, I’m not sure if I want to go back to the townhouse anyway.” 

“No problem,” (Y/N) said, pulling her phone out of an invisible pocket. “Give me a second. Hi, Hornton? It’s (Y/N).” Minutes later, a private carriage from the Lorina Hotel was pulled alongside the cafe’s outside seating where Riddle and (Y/N) had taken up temporary shelter. “Friends in high places,” She said as they climbed inside. 

The two were quiet as the carriage rumbled on. They sat next to each other on the bench seats. Riddle leaned his head on (Y/N)’s shoulder as she rubbed circles in the back of his hand. They exited soon after at the hotel, a doorman holding an umbrella over their heads as they rushed inside. 

At the front desk, the concierge and manager were talking in animated whispers, jolting up to paste on bright smiles as the two approached the desk. “Hello!” The manager said, a little too enthusiastically. “Checking in under Draconia?” 

“Yup, that’s us,” (Y/N) said, holding Riddle close. “Two rooms, please.” 

“Ah, well, of course, you see,” The manager stuttered. (Y/N) suspected they didn’t often get calls from foreign royalty as it was throwing the poor man off this game. “Unfortunately, as I mentioned to his majesty on the phone, we only have one room left available.”

“Oh. Well, if it’s a double that will work fine, too.”

The manager cringed. “It’s a single bed, Miss.” 

“Ah.” (Y/N) said, head starting to spin. She tried to quickly problem solve in her head. Could she call Horton back and ask him to make reservations somewhere else? Or would that be rude? Just the thought of going back to the Rosehearts townhome made her skin crawl. 

“It’s fine,” Riddle said. “We’ll take it.” The manager looked relieved as he handed over the keys. “I’ll need to make a phone call as well, to have our things brought here in the morning. Do you have anything we could use for the night?” 

“Of course, sir! Please, take it with our compliments.” 

They handed over two sets of monogrammed gray pajamas. A bellhop led them to the elevator, pushing the button to their floor. 

“I guess you’re right,” Riddle said. “It does pay to have friends in high places.” 

For some reason, that comment, along with the building stress of the night, broke the tight bundle of nerves (Y/N) had lodged in her chest. She started giggling, not being able to stop or catch her breath. Riddle soon followed, both of them almost doubled over with impractical laughter. They continued to their room, a patron from next door sticking his head out at the noise. Their laughter died down when they came into the room, both setting eyes on the single bed at the center. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” (Y/N) said, pointing to the adjoining bathroom. Riddle just nodded, tearing is eyes from the bed and trying very hard to look anywhere else. 

In the bathroom, (Y/N) peeled off her dress, feeling kind of bad about haphazardly throwing it over the towel rack to hang. She turned the water on to almost scalding, letting it rush over her in an attempt to beat the chill that had settled in her bones, only partially from the rain. After her shower, she changed into the provided pajamas. They were warm and soft against her skin. She hesitated before exiting the bathroom. 

Riddle jumped when she came out, and she wondered if she should have knocked first. She saw he had pulled the duvet and one of the massive pillows off the bed, laying them out on the floor. “You can take the bed tonight,” He said. “I’ll sleep here.” Without waiting for her protest, Riddle went into the bathroom locking it behind him. She soon heard the sound of rushing water from the shower. 

‘Well, that’s not very fair,’ She thought. She drug off the remaining blanket from the bed and the other pillow, creating her own spot on the opposite side on the floor. Riddle was the one who just had his whole world tossed around. It was only fair if he got the bed for the night. A few minutes later, Riddle left the bathroom in a cloud of steam. He was rubbing his hair with a towel. He looked confused at (Y/N) on the floor on her side of the bed. 

“I’d say you can take the bed,” (Y/N) said. “But I know you’re too stubborn and chivalrous for that. So I’ll stay down here too. That way we’re even.” 

“You don’t need to do that for me,” Riddle said. 

“I want to.” 

Riddle stared at her. (Y/N) could almost see the thoughts turning in his head. He nodded once, going over to his side of the bed and laying down on the improv sleeping mat. (Y/N) reached up and switched off the light. A soft glow from the street lamps came in through the window, the rain softly padding against the glass. (Y/N) could see Riddle through the space under the bed. He was staring straight up, hands clasped tightly against his stomach. 

“Riddle-,” She started. 

“I’m glad I said it. I think I’ve been wanting to say all of that for a long time now. And I don’t think I would have been able to if you weren’t there, if I didn’t know I had your support. So thank you.” 

(Y/N) thought hard, turning his words over in her head. ‘Screw it,’ She thought. She got up, dragging her blanket and pillow with her. She went over to Riddle’s side of the floor/bed, dropping her stuff next to him and laying back down. She turned on her side to look at him, meeting his wide confused eyes. 

“Riddle, I think I’m in love with you.” Riddle sputtered, choking on air, but now that she had started, (Y/N) knew she had to power through. “I mean, I’ve never really been in love with someone before, but I’m pretty sure that’s what this is. My feelings for you, I mean. It started off with just really admiring you. I know the beginning of the year was really tough and I can’t imagine what it was like to go through all of that. But ever since you’ve been working so hard, and I can see that, everyone can see that. You’re smart and brave and stubborn as hell, which I got to admit I kind of like. I love how I can tell when you get genuinely excited about something or that smug grin you get when you’re right about something. You’re a great house warden and a good friend. Not to mention you’re really cute. So, yeah. I just needed to say that. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same, I understand. Or you don’t want to give me an answer right now. I don’t mind waiting, if it’s for you.” She laid on her back, staring at the ceiling, heart thundering in her chest. The silence of the room was only broken by the soft pitter patter of the rain.  

“(Y/N)?” Riddle said softly. (Y/N) turned on her side so the two of them were facing each other again.  “You know I’m not good with talking about my feelings. I still have a hard time deciphering them myself, to be honest. But one thing I’m absolutely certain about is how I feel about you. I love you. I have to admit, I had ulterior motives when I asked you to come with me for this. I thought maybe it would be some sort of test run for an actual relationship, which now, saying it out loud, I realize how awful that sounds, and I’m sorry. I love how I feel around you, like I can be the greatest person in the world. I love how kind you are, how ready to jump into action, how ready you are to help no matter what. I love how steadfast and brave you are in what must be a terrifying situation, not knowing anything about your surroundings or having the same tools as all of us to combat it. And you’ve basically taken on raising Grim by yourself which I know can’t be easy with having that extra responsibility all of a sudden on top of everything else. I know I might not be the easiest person to be around. I’m stubborn, like you said, and I can get angry easily. Obviously my family is a complete mess. But, I hope, despite everything, you can still accept me for who I am and for who I want to be.” 

“Riddle, I already said I love you. Of course I accept you. I wouldn’t want it any other way.” 

Despite how flustered it made him, Riddle wouldn’t want to be pried out of each other’s arms as they fell asleep for anything in the world. 

~~~

It was sunny the next morning, the rain from the night before lending a pleasant coolness to the air. Staff from the Rosehearts’ townhouse had dropped off Riddle and (Y/N)’s packed bags that morning and the newly formed couple was getting ready to head back to their starting point for the Magic Mirror to bring them back to school. (Y/N) tried to buy some fancy chocolates from the hotel for the boys back at NRC, but the manager and staff had shoved the boxes into her hands at no charge. 

“Compliments to friends of the Draconia family!” He had said. 

As they got ready to head out, they heard someone call from behind them, “Riddle!” 

They turned around, seeing the Rosehearts’ carriage come down the street, Mr. Rosehearts leaning out of the window, waving. He jumped out as the carriage rolled to a stop, jogging over. 

(Y/N) took a step in front of Riddle. “Do you want me to deal with it?” She asked. 

“No, it’s fine,” He said. “I’ll only be a minute.” Riddle left his bags with (Y/N), who watched Mr. Rosehearts’ approach with a critical eye, and walked over to meet his father. “Father. I’ll be heading back to school soon. I don’t want to be late.” 

“Right, of course, I won’t take up too much of your time.” He seemed nervous, not meeting his son’s eyes. Finally, he took a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize, Riddle.” 

Riddle blinked. “Apologize?” 

“Yes, and it’s a long time coming. I’m afraid I haven’t been a good father to you. I saw the kind of stress your mother put you under, how controlling it could be. And I ignored it. I should have been better for you, stood up for you more. You’re my son, Riddle, and I love you. But I haven’t acted like it for a long time. I hope, one day, we can start again and you can forgive me.” 

“I-” Riddle was at a loss for words. “I can’t say it will be soon, but I appreciate you saying that. I hope you can understand.” 

Mr. Rosehearts smiled wide and nodded. “Yes, of course. We’ll go on your time.” 

Riddle looked back at the carriage. “Is Mother here?” 

Mr. Rosehearts’ face dropped, looking away and rubbing the back of his head. “No, she’s still at home. We’re actually going to… spend some time apart for the foreseeable future.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry.” 

“No, no, it’s for the best. I’ll be out at the country estate if you need anything.” He winked and whispered conspiratorially. “To be honest, I’ve always wanted to get into ornithology. I hear there’s a rare variant of the jubjub bird in the area I’ve been dying to get a look at.” 

The two separated, Mr. Rosehearts to his carriage and Riddle to (Y/N). “You okay?” She asked. 

“Fine. I think things might be looking up, actually.” 

She bumped him with her hip. “Well, you’ve got a super cool new girlfriend now, so I sure hope so.” 

Riddle chuckled, linking their arms together. They stepped back through the portal to school, confident that no matter what trials and tribulations would come next, they would face them together. 

[abstractnaturaldisaster]

is it over now? (was it over then?)

part five

part six: with the wilt of the rose

With the success of Eddie's Steve single as his bandmates had started to call it, the label had basically told Corroded Coffin in no uncertain terms to channel that energy into the rest of their album. It wasn't that Eddie didn't like the attention his song was getting and Steve absolutely deserved it, the lying piece of shit, but it was like getting permission to write angsty music about Steve took all the fun out of it. He was fully out of inspiration of the angst variety and had taken a hard left turn into moping, feeling sorry for himself, and being one thousand percent convinced that he was going to be single for the rest of his life and die alone.

Eddie was reclining in his giant beanbag chair (his nest as Steve used to joke with him), occasionally humming lines, strumming on his guitar, and writing more and more pathetically dramatic lyrics for most of the day until he reached his limit and pulled out his phone. It wasn't like Eddie was purposefully keeping track of people in Steve's life but over the time they were together his little gaggle of gremlins wormed his way into Eddie's life too. Unfortunately when he opened his phone it was to tweets of Dustin going low key feral over Steve's new role in some indie biopic but at the same time being crazy upset that Steve would be incommunicado as Dustin so helpfully added in his tweet. The kid was such a dweeb. Eddie flicked out of twitter and opened instagram hoping that his feed would be mostly possum memes. He scrolled idly for a while seeing new tattoo ideas and of course many cute furry animals doing many silly things until suddenly he was reminded of a particular face Steve made and Eddie (although he would never admit this) searched for Steve's public profile only a little disappointed that he hadn't posted anything more recent than when the two were together.

Because Eddie may or may not be a massive masochist and can't leave well enough alone, he decides to tab over to Steve's tagged pictures to see if there is anything recent. In between several tags of Steve being unfairly good looking in whatever movie he was currently filming, Eddie was taken aback by a post that was just of Robin and Nancy. They looked a little closer than just gal pals or whatever it was the tabloids called them while speculating how they could be friends while "fighting" over Steve. So much for modern feminism.

Before Eddie got distracted enough to go through a full rant that might include a fairly long section about how Ronnie was treated differently than the rest of his bandmates, Eddie focused back on the issue at hand. Why was Nancy who he highly suspected of stealing his fucking boyfriend posing like she was getting engaged to Steve's best friend. And why did they fucking tag him it it? Robin was snarky sure but she didn't seem like that level of bitch. Eddie took a deep breath and opened the fairly lengthy caption to see:

nancywheeler Hello World! It's been a long time coming but I am so excited to publicly announce that me and Robin (@buckster) are going steady. I know I don't post a whole lot about my person life on here (seriously, the rest of the world is so much more exciting) but you've always been so supportive of my coming out and sexuality related posts as well as understanding when I needed to set a boundary between my personal life and my online persona. I've been unable to share my most recent relationship for a really long time because of the public pressure of coming out and being a "marketable asset." Steve (@sharrington) could not have been a better support during this time and took a lot of public flak to keep Robin and I safe and comfortable until we were ready to be out publicly. He always offered up his home while I was visiting and kept me company while Robin was working. I guess us bi guys have to stick together, huh? Anyways, that's all for now. And no, we aren't engaged (yet 😈)

Eddie was floored. He had spent all his time since leaving Steve's apartment feeling very holier than thou and smug about everything that happened with Steve and the success his band was experience because of it. Although if one Miss Nancy Wheeler was telling the truth (which like as a journalist Eddie thinks she has to), Steve was actually helping his platonic soulmate find love with his exgirlfriend. If Eddie hadn't already felt kind of shitty for assuming the worst about Steve, this had to take the fucking cake. Eddie was truly done for. Put a fork in him. He's the worst person ever. Fuck. He needed reinforcements.

devilededs: uhm hi friends, i think maybe i am the asshole in the whole steve situation can u come to mine?

ronnie: you saw it? i can finally give you shit about being a total drama queen?

devilededs: what do you mean? why would you not tell me if you knew it existed.

ronnie: precisely because of this vibe right now.

devilededs: okay, everyone but ronnie pls come over i need snacks and maybe some really b grade horror but you have to indulge me in my sadness.

garbear: already on the way with your emotional support jeff and frank. we'll pick up snacks.

ronnie: if you let me problem solve for you can i come for snacks? i don't think i can handle moping eddie without trying to show you its very fixable.

devilededs: YES! FIX! ME! HOW! GET OVER HERE!

Eddie flopped back into the beanbag chair and let his notebook flop out of his lap. Thankfully his friends all had keys so he could continue to rot in place until Ronnie forcibly withdrew him from his hovel.

part seven

@lololol-1234 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @zombiethingy @grtwdsmwhr @dreamercec @anne-bennett-cosplayer @strawberryyyenthusiast @mensch-anthropos-human @kal-ology @ttyrussss @kristmkris @starman-jpg @wonderland-girl143-blog @child-of-cthulhu @legalmenace87 @adealwithher @practicallybegging @lunaraquaenby @stripey82 @lexyvey @goodolefashionedloverboi @mothmamhasyourlocation @mugloversonly (if you wanna be tagged in future parts feel free to comment! happy to add people)

[mentallyisekaid]

「 ✦ Fatui Harbingers x La Signora's Sister! Reader, PART 2 ✦ 」

---

Part 1 [Part 2] Part 2.5 Part 3 Part 3.5

It's highly recommended to read the parts in order, otherwise few things will make sense!

Author's note ~ From this chapter forward, Y/N will develop a strong, somewhat intimate bond with her fellow Harbingers, but it's still, essentially, platonic. After coming up with the full storyline for this series, I figured it'd best to keep romance to a minimum, so it won't distract me or the readers from what's happening plotwise. But make no mistake - all of them care quite fiercely about you... it's not labelled "Harbingers x Reader" for nothing :) And of course, you're free to interpret their relationship in any kind of way you prefer <3

---

Featured in this chapter, we have (drum roll, if you please)... Scaramouche, Childe and Columbina!

Warnings: brief/indirect spoilers regarding Sumeru's Archon quest and Scaramouche's lore

Word count: 3k

---

A month had passed since the funeral, and the day you'd become the 12th of the Fatui Harbingers at Pierro's request.

*Note ~ Even though Signora's dead, I still consider her to be one of the 'Eleven Harbingers', and thus Y/N's position will be the 12th!

Truth to be told, you hardly cared whether such a dubious position had been offered to you out of respect for Rosalyne's legacy, or merely because they'd wanted to keep an eye on the immortal girl who possessed two Visions.

For the past five centuries, your life had lacked any clear purpose - perhaps this new title could change things to something a bit more... colorful?

Perhaps they could be the change.

On that note, there was something quite peculiar you'd come to notice about the infamous Harbingers.

Despite joining their ranks, you had kept the reason behind your questionable situation as a secret, so on a very essential level they still knew next to nothing about you (except for the Director who definitely knew enough to make you very uncomfortable!) In this regard, shouldn't they have considered you a stranger, or at least a high security risk?

Yes, yes they should have.

Yet not only did they treat you as one of their own, but it appeared that for some reason, these people cared about you to an extent beyond just professional relationships, always looking out for you in weird ways, like making sure you didn't overwork yourself, stayed healthy and never lacked any weird luxuries like expensive bath salts - that, and the fact that they were almost constantly lingering around you...

As someone who'd grown used to getting by on their own, you didn't really know what to make of their behavior. Or how to return it.

But did you dislike it? Not really. Why? Well, you were still sort of figuring that out.

You were currently sitting in Pantalone's office, looking through some financial reports while the Regrator himself was away on a business trip. As things stood, this was pretty much all that your title as a Harbinger was good for - assisting your colleagues by handling the less direct approaches to their duties as diplomats of Snezhnaya. It was only natural that you weren't yet expected, or trusted, to do any actual fieldwork.

So, your days were mostly spent being surrounded by endless piles of documents...

*knock, knock!*

...and them, as you might have guessed.

You sighed, placing the papers down on the desk when another round of impatient knocks came in. Clearly, that someone was going to invite themselves in regardless of your answer, and it wasn't hard to narrow down the list of possible suspects since only the highest ranking members of the Fatui were allowed in this part of the headquarters - frankly, the doors here tended not to be Harbinger-proof?

But it's not as if you really minded, breaktime was due anyway. Also, their company was always vastly more entertaining than work!

"It's not locked, you know" you commented, leaning back on your chair.

A scoff was heard before the door was rudely pushed open, and an unfamiliar character marched with such arrogance you'd think they owned the place. This made you raise an eyebrow; what an admirable sense of superiority? It wasn't someone you'd met before, but judging from the way they carried themselves, you recognized them nonetheless.

The man with child-like features (and a rather beautiful face) stopped in the middle of the room, staring curiously, though somewhat condescendingly, at the girl behind the desk.

"Are you," he started, "perchance the Director's newest recruit?"

"It's already been a month, but I suppose... in any case, what can I do for you, mister?"

"Mister?" The Harbinger crossed his arms, both amused and irked by your way of addressing him. "Ha, do you not know who I am?"

"Oh, no, I'm fairly certain I do," you sighed. "A presumptuous attitude, and a strikingly non-traditional kasa hat... the Balladeer, I presume? I heard you were busy playing a god in Sumeru with one of Dottore's segments, so I thought it might be a while before I get to meet the last one of my colleagues. But here you are - Scaramouche, was it? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He was being rude too, you were just returning the discourtesy.

Scaramouche held back a chuckle, the bells from his hat jingling.

"Ah, yes, that would be me. And as to why I bothered coming all the way from Sumeru just to meet you, miss Twelfth..."

"I have a name. It's Y/N."

He clicked his tongue, taking a step closer.

"Yes, yes, whatever. Now, sit there and listen. I was in the middle of my little experiment on blasphemy when I suddenly heard that the Jester had recruited a new Harbinger, who, incidentally, has two Visions and is supposedly immortal - but she blatantly refuses to reveal anything about herself. Surely, you can imagine my slight annoyance at this, seeing as you, on the other hand, seem to know an awful lot about us."

You smiled a bit, fiddling with the quill pen in your hand.

"Yes, I don't exactly go around advertising my past to others. But aren't you same in that regard, Scaramouche?"

"I won't amuse you by answering that." He smiled eerily. "The point is, I don't like being kept in the dark - it gives people the chance to stab me in the back, and that's not something I'm particularly fond of."

"Ask the Director, then. I can assure you he knows all kinds of scandalous things about me - about all of us, no doubt."

He shrugged. "That won't be necessary."

In the blink of an eye, Scaramouche was no longer where he'd been standing before. The Sixth Harbinger had suddenly jumped on top of your desk, scattering the paperwork you'd spent hours organizing. He leaned forward with a smug look on his face, grabbing your chin between his delicate fingers.

"So, our little miss Harbinger refuses to reveal her secrets? We'll get those out of you, don't you worry~"

"My goodness?" Your previously dull eyes sparkled a bit. "What a bold move - it's certainly... something. I must say, I find your character quite fascinating, Balladeer."

"Likewise."

Behind that ruthless, indigo gaze, was a forlorn soul that had faced so much injustice...

When travelling around Teyvat for the past centuries, you'd caught bits and pieces of hearsay about Scaramouche's tragic past - most of it probably accurate. But it wouldn't have been wise to bring up such matters when you'd only just met him, especially since the Balladeer was widely known for his foul temper.

Though, judging from the way was looking at you, he probably knew what you were thinking. Even so, there was no ill intent in his eyes.

A new voice suddenly interrupted your odd encounter.

"I hope you're not harrassing our princess, dearest Scara!"

Tartaglia waltzed in to the office with an ominous smile. Scaramouche jumped down from your desk, scoffing at the sight of his ginger colleague.

"Ha, barely! I just happen to find her very intriguing."

Childe laughed a bit, stepping forward to pat your head.

"Well, I did tell you she was special, comrade. And to think you didn't believe me? Yet, here I find you. It seems Y/N Lohefalter is capable of drawing the attention of even the Balladeer himself, ahahhah~"

You followed their interaction, thoroughly entertained - compared to your previous uneventful life, this was certainly refreshing.

"Foolish boys," yet another familiar voice was heard, and Columbina strode in gracefully. "Avoiding your work to disturb Y/N with these shameful antics? Pierro would be quite displeased. Now, perish."

Damselette then turned her attention on you, smiling sweetly.

"Would you like to have an afternoon snack with me? I hope you've been eating enough, my dove."

"Now, now, don't be greedy..." Scaramouche taunted. "It's rather obvious that she and I were having a conversation."

You smiled a bit, pointing at each one of them with your pen.

"Technically, you're all are here equally uninvited. And on that note - as much as I'd rather do anything else right now - I really should continue with these documents or they're going to pile up..."

"Hey now, you know Pantalone doesn't like it when you overwork yourself, Y/N," Childe pointed out, crossing his arms.

Columbina smiled gently. "Yes, how about we go and have some tea instead?~"

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow at this.

"You sure speak to this girl in an unprofessional manner, Tartaglia, Damselette - if I didn't know better, I'd say it sounds almost intimate. Trying to snatch her away from me, perhaps? But you've already known her for a month; it ought to be my turn to get acquainted with our new little Harbinger. Y/N and I have some things to discuss, after all..."

"Oh?" Childe raised an eyebrow. "Then what exactly were you and her chatting so intimately about before I came?"

"Enlighten us, Balladeer," Columbina chuckled.

You shook your head a bit.

"Let's not go down that rabbit hole-"

"No." Scaramouche cut you off with a smug expression. "These two, and the rest of them... would agree with the opinion I shared with you, don't you think? Surely it's something that we've all been wondering about."

Columbina and Childe shared a brief but knowing look - it wasn't hard to guess what the Balladeer had said to you, and though he should have gone about it a more discreet manner, they couldn't deny their curiosity either.

The angel-like Harbinger walked next to you, brushing back a loose strand of hair from your face.

"I'd rather hear this from you," she hummed.

Her touch was a little cold but gentle, not at all unpleasant. You just weren't used to this kind of physical intimacy, or rather, it had been so long since you'd experienced any kind of intimacy, that it caught you a bit off-guard whenever your co-workers offered these weird gestures. It's not like you... really minded this. But it did make it hard to refuse when they the asked you for something.

You sighed, leaning back on the chair.

"Of course, I... know you're all somewhat displeased that I'm keeping these secrets from you, about my past, that is - how I've lived for this long, and how it's possible that have two Visions. It might be difficult for you to trust me because of this, but even so, I am not obliged to reveal anything. And you know as well as I do that the Jester already knows what there is to be known; he wouldn't have let me join otherwise."

Scaramouche narrowed his eyes, not content with your answer.

"Yes, but I also know that the Director is a man of his principles - either those secrets are shared of your own accord, or not at all."

"Then maybe you don't need to know? Maybe you're better off not knowing?"

Tartaglia frowned, leaning against the wall next you.

"Being a part of the Fatui already means that we're in way over our heads when it comes to anything questionable that's going on in Teyvat. Your... situation, is included in that, even more so because you're one of us now. And in case it's not clear yet, we do care about our own, even if that often gets a bit lost behind our agendas and differences." He put a hand on your shoulder and offered a reassuring smile. "So, we'd like to know more about you, Y/N. I'm sure that's what Scaramouche has been trying to tell you too, albeit he has a weird way of choosing his words."

The Balladeer crossed his arms. "What a speech, Childe." It sounded like a snide remark, you somehow sensed that he didn't mean it as one.

"For once, I agree with these two," Columbina said. "Though both are going about this in a rather thoughtless manner. Regardless of her past and whether or not she chooses to disclose it, she is a Harbinger - and that does not necessarily mean we should know all these things about her. Her only responsibility is to serve the Tsaritsa, after all."

She smiled at you. "But it is a shame you don't seem to trust us very much, Y/N."

Reverse psychology? Smooth.

"I think you've misunderstood me, though. It's not about trust."

You stood up from Pantalone's fancy office chair, stretching a bit.

"At this point, revealing those things might or might not cost me, but I'm pretty sure I won't gain anything from it either. If that's the case - well, is survival not about keeping the trump cards you have, or at least not giving them away for free? And information is often more valuable than Mora."

"You sound like the Regrator, though I'm sure he would disagree about the Mora part." Tartaglia chuckled. "But I like the way you think! So, what is it that you'd like in return for those secrets?"

"I'd be happy to arrange whatever it is~" Columbina singsonged. "Within the bounds of good taste, of course."

Scaramouche clicked his tongue. "What an insufferable girl - what is it you want, then?"

You tilted your head, wondering why these people were so invested in you. One day, you'd surely understand... but in this moment, you could only think about their offer and how it was just slightly too tempting to refuse.

"Well, right now, I'm craving for some excitement. Something more thrilling than this paperwork I'm drowning in day after day. I don't suppose one of you has a solution for that?"

Columbina's soft laughter jingled in the air.

Scaramouche was glaring at you.

Childe's eyes were sparkling.

"Excitement, you say?!" the ginger exclaimed. "Oh, that won't be a problem. How about we make a little bet, Y/N?"

"I'm listening."

"Let's fight a bit~ I've been wanting to see what you're capable of, and a match against the Eleventh Harbinger is far from playing around, so I'm sure it would prove exciting enough for you." He nodded toward the two gemstones hanging from your belt. "Use those Visions, any weapons and all the shenanigans you can possibly come up with - if you think you can. I promise to make it worth your while. Naturally, you'd have to share some of your past in exchange..."

You raised an eyebrow at his suggestion. "...if you manage to win, that is?"

Columbina chuckled. "Careful, Y/N. You'll get Tartaglia too excited~"

Scaramouche rolled his eyes.

"I'm not sure you understand what you're agreeing to, miss Twelfth. But by all means, go play with this idiot - I'll gladly come and watch, it ought to be entertaining. The next phase of my mission in Sumeru is not due in a while anyway." (And if by some miracle you do manage to beat Childe, I'll come up with other ways of discovering those secrets.)

The Balladeer as well had grown quite captivated by you.

Childe smiled innocently. "How about it, Y/N? Are you in?"

"You bet."

---

...who in their right mind had recruited this maniac?

Sure, the Harbingers had inhuman abilities, but this was pure madness. Tartaglia had yet to even demonstrate his Hydro powers, much less a Delusion, but merely by using his agility and a pair of escrima sticks he had already brought you to your knees.

It's not as if you considered yourself to be a particularly skilled fighter, but you did have five centuries' worth more experience than him, and quite a few tricks up in your sleeve. But Childe only ever gave you the time to use your polearm - no Visions, no shenanigans - and even so, you didn't manage to land a single hit on him.

You lay on the floor of the training grounds, breathlessly gazing up at Tartaglia who was pinning you down with his knee.

"Ready to yield, girlie?"

"Ha... I'm not, *huff*, giving up that easily..."

He smiled, putting a bit more pressure on your chest - not in a painful way, but it was still enough to diminish your remaining fighting spirit rather quickly.

"Alright, alright, fine... please, *huff*... stop, Tartaglia... I, *huff*... give... up..."

"You can call me Ajax, by the way."

The ginger stood up, gazing down at you with a grin on his face. Well, at least now you knew that the rumors about his martial arts prowess weren't exaggerated? Neither was the fact that whenever he did fight, there was this euphoric (honestly a bit scary) aura around him. Reminder - think twice before you accept a challenge from this guy in the future!

That said, you had quite enjoyed yourself...

Ajax offered his hand to you, and you meekly took it, allowing him to pull you up from the ground.

Columbina and Scaramouche, who had been silently observing from the sidelines, appeared slightly amused and certainly pleased by the end of your struggle. This outcome had been more or less expected, but ever so welcome. A Harbinger never backed on their word, after all~

"Now then, my angel..."

"...you better keep that promise."

The three of them led you to a small lounge, dimly lit by a fireplace and deserted from any members of Fatui. Exhausted, you slouched down on a couch and closed your eyes.

Damselette came next to you wordlessly, laying down and letting her head rest on your lap. This was a habit of hers that you didn't mind; while admittedly rather intimate, it was something like this that you had long yearned for.

Childe leaned against a nearby wall, smiling at you encouragingly. For some reason, you always felt at ease around him. He was like an "older" sibling - more than she ever was, the one you'd already lost before her death.

The Balladeer was sitting on an armchair, observing you with an unreadable expression. The slight softness in those cold eyes was perhaps only noticed by you; an abandoned soul recognizes its own kind.

"Now then, Ajax, Scaramouche and Columbina. Allow me to tell you a story - one that discloses how my first Vision came to be. While I'm at it, I suppose I might as well reveal why Rosalyne and I shared such a difficult relationship..."

(to be continued)

[fatgirlonadate-blog]

21 Days - Day 12

In the two weeks since your mission started, the only thing you've managed to gain is a couple of orgasms and a handful of hickeys. While those were not something to complain about, it certainly wasn't going to impress Jenna tomorrow. The two of you need something - some small scrap of information - to report, and it isn't just magically going to appear with the two of you sitting around the house all day.

While your neighbors are major gossips and you've heard more than you ever wanted to know about the woman next door who puts trash in the recycling and the conspiracy about the mailman possibly stealing all of the best coupons, they have yet to share any actual useful information. It's highly likely that they know or at least have come into contact with your suspect, but relying on them for a lead hasn't produced anything useful. It's time to actively start doing something other than waiting around for clues to fall into your lap.

A distraction would also be helpful. There's been a storm brewing in your heart since Sylus walked away from you yesterday, and the longer you dwell on it the more it threatens to turn into a hurricane. He hasn't texted or called. No mysterious packages have arrived, and there's been no sign of Mephisto at your window. He feels oddly absent. Maybe it felt like a goodbye because, deep down, that’s exactly what it was—a goodbye.

You shake your head, forcing the thoughts of him from your mind. Focus. Distraction. Focused distraction. That's all you need. And maybe a stiff drink wouldn’t hurt, either.

"Xavier," You call to him, slipping your phone into your pocket as you enter the cozy living room. "You hungry?"

He glances over at you from his spot on the couch, his eyes lighting up as if you've handed him a winning lottery ticket. "Always."

"We could go out. I saw a bar in town while I was shopping yesterday. We can use it as an excuse to eavesdrop. And," you add, sweetening your offer, "I'll even buy you a drink."

Xavier sits up, his white hoodie bunching at his elbows, "Hmm. What happened to never drinking again?"

You roll your eyes at him as you join him on the couch, pulling your legs up onto the cushions and tucking your feet under his warm thighs, "Oh, that? Someone else must have said that. Must have been your other fake wife."

Xavier's laugh rings through the room as he grasps your ankles and pulls you across the couch until your thighs are in his lap. His fingers are already at your waist, poking and threatening tickles as he says, "My other wife? I'm pretty sure I only have one. And I'll end up carrying her home tonight if we go to a bar."

You giggle and scream as he pulls you closer to his lap, squirming against his playful hold with no intention to actually break free.

"That's not true!" You pout at him, trying to give him your own version of puppy-dog eyes. "Besides, that's only happened like three times. And it won't ever be happening again!"

"I highly doubt that," he teases, releasing your waist and resting his hands on your thighs. "You're such a lightweight, Mrs. Shen."

It's hard to argue with the truth, so you settle for pinching his face, "Come on. Get dressed. The sooner we leave, the sooner you'll eat."

"Okay, okay," Xavier says, ducking away from your fingers and shifting your legs off his lap, "What's wrong with what I'm wearing now?"

You eye his outfit with an exaggerated frown - gray sweatpants and a white hoodie. "Nothing, if you want to look like you're 12. We're newlyweds and you're supposed to be a brooding author. You could at least try to look the part."

Xavier's laughter is warm as he gets up from the couch, "You know, you're really bossy when you're hungry."

He's already walking down the hall before you can respond, and you watch him disappear into the bathroom with a goofy smile plastered across your face. It still feels surreal to be able to do things like this with him. Every casual touch, every brush of his lips against yours, and every time you wake up in the middle of the night and he's there next to you. It's almost easy to forget the mission - to pretend that you really are married to him and that this is where you belong. You're not sure how you're ever going to be able to give this up, not when it already feels like home.

You pluck at your own clothes and wonder if you should change. The jeans and sweater are cute, but if he's going to look the part then you should probably match. You bite at your bottom lip, considering your options, before heading to the bedroom to pick out an outfit.

Seeing your clothes next to his in the closet still never fails to make you smile. You scan the selection trying to find something between 'small-town wife' and 'hot newlywed.' The latter wins, and you quickly slip into a mid-length black dress before you can change your mind. The dress is simple and unadorned, but it's pretty and the skirt has just enough flair to accentuate your waist. It still needs something though - a little flash of color or sparkle to make it clear that this is a date and not a funeral.

You're searching through your bedside table for a necklace as Xavier enters the room. You glance toward him to see him freshly showered with a towel wrapped around his hips. The way the water droplets trace a path from his neck down over the contours of his chest as he towels his hair nearly makes you forget whatever it was you were doing. The necklace. Right. You choose the first one your eyes land on and begin to fiddle with it, averting your gaze as his hands move to the towel around his waist.

It's probably silly to feel shy about changing in front of each other at this point, but it's still new and the boundaries are unclear. Only Xavier could demand you moan his name one night and then blush when he catches you staring at him for too long the next. It's confusing and adorable, just like everything else about him.

"Let me help," he offers, coming to stand behind you as you struggle with the clasp of the necklace.

He takes it from your hands and gathers your hair to one side, sweeping it over your shoulder to get it out of the way. His fingers are warm against the back of your neck as he deftly fastens the clasp into place. They trail from your neck to your shoulders as he gently turns you around to face him.

"You're so pretty," he says, his voice soft and full of affection. He traces the thin silver chain around your neck, his fingers stopping at the diamond snowflake pendant in the center, "This is nice. I've never seen you wear it before."

"Oh," you say, forcing nonchalance into your tone. "I don't usually have a reason to wear it. It was a Christmas gift."

Xavier's fingers pause against your skin, his eyes narrowing slightly, "From who?"

The urge to lie surprises you for a moment; hadn't you already learned your lesson with the handcuffs? So you settle on the truth, "From Zayne. The doctor you met a couple of days ago."

He snorts as he pulls his hand away from your neck and walks toward the closet. "He gives you candy and buys you necklaces? No wonder he is your favorite doctor."

The pout in his voice would be adorable if not for the tension in his shoulders and stiffness in his arms as he yanks a shirt off the hanger and begins to pull it on. It's hard to resist the urge to tease him as you cross the room and slide your hand along his shoulders, urging him to turn and face you.

"He is my only doctor," you say firmly, finding the first button on his shirt and working your way up as you fasten them, "And we have known each other since we were children. As friends. Only friends."

Xavier looks down at you with dejected eyes as you flip his collar into place and smooth out the blue button-down shirt, "I don't give my friends jewelry."

"Oh, you don't?" You say with a smile, poking at his pouted lips until he laughs, "Then why did you give me a bracelet from the arcade last month?"

"That's different," he argues, pulling away from your playful hands and rolling up the cuffs on his shirt.

"Is it?" You tease him.

He's silent as he tucks his shirt in and loops his belt around his black pants, but you can imagine his excuse anyway. If he weren't so busy pouting he'd say that the arcade bracelet was a toy and not a $3,000 piece of jewelry.

"It is different," he finally says, interrupting your thoughts as he fastens his belt. "We were never just friends."

The earnestness in his voice makes your stomach flutter, and you nod in silent understanding as you reach your hands behind your neck to grasp for the clasp.

"Don't," Xavier says quickly, stepping forward and pulling your wrists away from your neck. "It looks good on you."

You blink confusedly at him, surprised at his change of heart, "You're not jealous?"

"I am," He admits, laughing softly as he raises his hand to trail his fingers along the hickeys that dot your neck, "But you're wearing something of mine, too."

Heat floods your cheeks as you understand his meaning, and you playfully slap his hand away from your neck and adjust your hair to fall around your throat concealing his marks. His eyes follow your movements, and the smile that curves his lips borders on prideful.

"Come on, Mr. Shen. I'm starving," you say, grabbing his arm and leading him toward the door.

The bar is surprisingly packed when you arrive, and the warmth is welcome after the chilly walk from the apartment. You scope out the room quickly, noting the various couples seated at tables and even more people gathered around the bar. There's a rowdy group of guys occupying the pool tables, and the faint sound music is coming from somewhere.

Xavier slips his arm around your waist and guides you toward the empty table closest to the bar. It's the perfect spot to see or overhear something, and that's exactly what you're here for.

"Food first, then work," Xavier says, pulling your chair out for you to sit.

"I'm perfectly capable of sitting in a chair on my own," you attempt to grumble, but can't keep from smiling as you take your seat. He really is the most charming man you've ever met.

Xavier's smile lights up his face as he sits in the chair across from you. He leans across the small table, and whispers, "I'm your husband, remember? I'm supposed to take care of you. Let me."

The amount of chicken wings Xavier orders could feed a family of five, and he digs in like he hasn't eaten in days. You nibble on a French fry while watching him devour his plate. The way he eats is adorable, and you add learning to cook to your growing list of priorities.

You're trying not to laugh as he takes a massive bite of his third wing and washes it down with a large gulp of his beer. You're caught staring as he sets it down with an easy smile.

"Do you want some?" he asks, nodding his head toward the plate as he licks barbecue sauce off of his fingers.

There's no reason for the action to be so hot, but you swallow hard as you watch his mouth close around his thumb and suck the sauce off with a wet pop. The memory of the last time he'd sucked on his fingers plays through his mind, and yes, you do certainly want something. But not chicken wings. 

He looks good enough to eat tonight. He always looks good, but it's so different to see him dressed in anything other than comfy clothes or his Hunter's uniform. The light blue dress shirt is clinging to him in all of the right places, accentuating his toned chest and strong arms. The sleeves rolled back expose his forearms, and he's not wearing a tie - but the open top button and the way the fabric pulls around his broad shoulders make it even better. It's truly not fair that he can be so effortlessly attractive without even being aware of it.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" He asks, his eyes innocent and his brows furrowed. "Do I have food on my face?"

You nod, and lean across the small table to reach out to wipe the non-existent smear from his face. It's just an excuse to touch him, and your fingers linger as you trail them from the corner of his lips up to his ear and give it a small tug.

"Why do I feel like there was never anything on my face?" He says, laughing, tilting his head away from your mischievous fingers.

"I'm your wife," you quip, pulling your hand back and picking up your fork, "Am I not allowed to touch you?"

"You are," he answers, his eyes heating and drifting down to your lips, "As much as you'd like."

Warmth flares to life low in your stomach at the rough, promising tone in his voice. But his words aren't true - not really, a nagging voice whispers in the back of your mind. Things have certainly become more intimate between the two of you, but you have yet to even see him naked let alone touch him wherever or as much as you'd like. There's something holding him back - like there always is when it comes to him, and trying to figure it out is like trying to fit two completely different puzzles together. There's the Xavier who can't ever get enough of you and the Xavier who keeps you at an arm's length.

"So," you say, clearing your throat and your thoughts, "What's the plan, captain?"

He smiles, the heat in his gaze extinguishing, and you can almost see the shift in his demeanor as he slips back into Hunter-mode. His posture straightens and his eyes sharpen as he surveys the room. He's already shifting to stand as he lands on his target.

"I'll get some drinks from the bar. It'll give me an excuse to chat and maybe overhear something useful."

"Okay. I'll stay here." You say, mostly to yourself, as you watch him walk toward the bar.

He doesn't even make it to the counter before he's caught more than just your attention. The woman beside him smiles as he approaches the bar, and leans in toward him as he speaks. 

She's pretty, you suppose, if someone was into that sort of thing. She's slim with long blonde hair, and wearing a red dress that looks like it belongs in a night club and not a small-town bar. Tacky. It's hard to guess what she's saying at this distance, but whatever it is must be funny because you don't miss the way Xavier's shoulders shake as he laughs.

Irritation coils around your spine and makes a home there as you rigidly sip your drink and watch the interaction play out. You wonder if this is how he feels when you tease him with jokes about other men. It's a new feeling - a bad feeling - and suddenly his pouting and jealousy make a lot more sense.

The blonde woman's hand lands on his arm, and lingers there as they talk. He could move, he could step away or shrug off her touch. But he doesn't, and your glare turns murderous as he bends his head down so she can whisper in his ear. Your nails dig into the armrests of your chair and you're imagining all of the ways to dispose of her body as the bartender finally hands Xavier a tray of drinks.

When he turns back around, his eyes find you immediately, and the bashful smile he gives you melts away some of your desire for homicide. It's silly to feel like that, especially when he looks so excited to make his way back to you.

"I wasn't sure what you wanted," Xavier explains, carefully sitting down the drink-laden tray on the table, "so I ordered a little bit of everything."

Your eyes drift over the two full bottles of wine and the half-dozen cocktails, widening in shock. There's enough alcohol here to fuel an entire frat house.

"Xavier! This must have cost a fortune," you scold, gesturing toward the tray. "This is too much! Are you trying to kill me?"

"I don't come to places like this very often," he admits, a slight blush dusting his cheeks, "I didn't know it would be so expensive. But it's fine. I got it. Besides, you don't have to drink it all."

You raise your eyebrows at him and give him a wolfish smile as you snatch a vodka cranberry from the tray and take a sip. It's crisp and strong, and it's probably your imagination, but you could swear you already feel warmth running through your veins. It's immediately soothing and familiar, and dulls all of the pesky thoughts you'd rather not be having.

"Well, now that it's here, it's not like we can let it go to waste," you tease, draining the glass and reaching for another.

He groans, shaking his head at you, as he pours himself half a glass of wine, "Take it easy. Don't force yourself to drink or you’ll make yourself sick."

He has a point, but you have a habit of not listening to good advice. You know it really isn't a good idea to drink this much. After all, alcohol is a potent neurotoxin. Dr. Zayne would not approve. But Zaynie isn't here; Xavier is. And he has his own habit of letting you get away with things.

"How was your special chat?" You ask, feeling braver with a little liquid courage in your stomach.

"Special chat?" He repeats, brows furrowing as he tentatively sips his wine.

"Yeah, you know," You say, gesturing toward the bar, "the one with the hot blonde who was apparently very, very funny?"

A knowing smile curves his lips as he returns his glass to the table, and his eyes sparkle with obvious amusement.

"She was not very funny," He says softly, reaching across the table to place his hand over yours. "And she also didn't have any useful information."

You snatch your hand out from under his childishly, and tip back your second drink.

"So she wasn't funny," you mutter, "No comment on whether or not she was hot though?"

He laughs and rolls his eyes at you, and then grabs your hand again and holds it firmly, unwilling to let you pull free from his fingers this time. He rubs his thumb over the top of your wrist as you glare at him.

"Are you jealous, Mrs. Shen?"

"No," you answer quickly, your eyes snapping to him, "Of course not."

"Right. Of course not," He says, smiling as he lifts your hand up and presses his lips to your palm, "But if you were jealous, and I know you're definitely not, but if you were...then you should know that I don't even remember what she looked like, and you're the only person I ever want to see."

His words soothe some of the sharp edges of your irritation, and your pout transforms itself into a smile against your will. It's impossible to stay mad at him when his voice is so soft and he looks at you like you're the only thing that exists.

"Good," you say quietly, squeezing his fingers before drawing your hand back to your lap, "That would be good to know, if I were jealous. Which I’m not."

The two of you continue drinking and trying to eavesdrop to the best of your ability. It's difficult because you have so little information about your suspect and it's hard to know what to even listen for. The chatter around the room is mostly poor attempts at flirting and, from what you can tell, complaints about work.

The room begins to feel overly warm as you sip your fourth drink. It's hard to concentrate on the distant voices, and you don't have even a shred of detail to offer Jenna for your status report tomorrow. It's important that you find a way to give her something - you're worried that she might decide this mission is a waste of time and cancel it altogether. And that can't happen. You're not sure that whatever it is that exists between you and Xavier will survive once you return home, and you can't give it up. Not yet. 

"Come on," You command, gripping the table to steady yourself as you rise to your feet. "Let's mingle. I can't hear anything from here. Want to play pool?"

"Only if you're ready to lose," Xavier says, his tone light. But a frown creeps onto his face as he watches you sway as you stand.

"I never lose," You chirp, and tug on his arm, trying to lead him over to the pool tables and the gaggle of people gathered around them.

Xavier halts halfway there, and looks between the sign for the bathrooms and the pool table. You feel the tension grow on the arm you're tugging at as he stops moving forward, and it forces you to turn back and look at him with a question in your eyes.

"I need to run to the bathroom," he says, "Do you need to go?"

You shake your head and release your hold on his arm to set him free. But he hesitates, his eyes shifting from you to the bathroom and back again, looking torn between choices.

"What? Are you afraid to go alone?" You joke, flashing him a cheeky smile.

Xavier sighs and shakes his head, "No. I'll be right back. Just...stay out of trouble, okay?"

He sounds so serious, and the concern in his eyes is cute. But not necessary. You are plenty capable of handling yourself for a few moments without him.

"I'll try," you answer with a roll of your eyes, turning on your heel and walking toward the pool tables.

There are several guys in various stages of drunkenness playing a round of pool. One of them is bent over the table lining up a shot, and the others seem to be enjoying giving him a hard time. You smile politely as they glance over at you, and then breeze past them to select a pool stick from the stand on the wall. It's been a while since you've played pool, but you're pretty sure you remember the basics Zayne taught you.

The pool table nearest theirs is free, and perfect for stealthily listening in while they talk. You're awkwardly fiddling with the coin slot on the side of the table when you feel a warm hand slide from your neck down to the small of your back. The caress is familiar, and you lean back into the touch as you turn to ask Xavier if he has any change.

Your question dies in your throat as you're met with dark, shaggy hair and a face you don't recognize. You instinctively flinch away from the stranger, but his hand at your back doesn't leave much room to escape.

The man's gaze rakes down your body, and a smirk tugs at his lips as he meets your eyes again. He's tall and broad, and smells distinctly of whiskey and stale cigarette smoke.

"You look like you want to play. Need a partner?" He offers, his tone suggestive, as he leans in closer to your face.

You'd rather fight 100 wanderers back to back than spend a single moment with this man. You know the feeling must be written all over your face as you force a tight smile and try to pull away, glancing desperately toward the bathrooms.

"No, thank you. I'm waiting on someone."

"Ah, don't be like that, sweetheart," he says, bringing his free hand up to tilt your face back to his. "The more the merrier."

Tendrils of fear and irritation battle and knot in your stomach as his hands tighten against you, preventing you from moving. Irritation wins out, and you push against his chest hard. It's not enough to move him, but his cocky smile fades into a frown as his eyes harden on yours.

"Get away from me," you bite out, glaring up into his eyes.

You're wondering how much trouble you'd get in if you broke his nose as Xavier steps in from the side and shoves the guy hard enough that he stumbles backwards.

"Don't fucking touch my wife," Xavier says, his voice is quiet but his tone promises violence.

Relief floods your body as Xavier wraps an arm around you, but it's short lived as the other man takes a step closer, glaring at Xavier and rolling his neck to the side. There's too much alcohol and testosterone in the room, and you can practically smell the fight that's simmering between the two of them.

The other man is taller and broader than Xavier, but you almost feel bad for him as Xavier steps in front of you and the air in the room begins to feel electric. This isn't going to end well for anyone. Particularly not this asshole.

"Why don't you go back to your friends," You suggest quickly to the man, grasping Xavier's arm tightly in your hand. "They're waiting for you."

"Why don't you shut the fuck up?" the man spits at out at you, his glare on your eyes now rather than Xavier's.

It's hard to keep up with how fast Xavier moves, but in a blink the man is laying on the floor groaning, his nose bleeding, and the rest of his group is yelling and starting to gather around you.

"Xavier!" You yell, grabbing onto his shirt and trying to pull him backward as the man on the floor gets up.

Xavier is tense and unmoving, his eyes locked on the group of men beginning to crowd around their friend. The hair on your arms stands on end as static pulses around him. You're not sure if he even realizes that he's about to use his evol, and if he loses control there's no way that you'll be able to hide it. Everyone in the bar will see, and your cover will be blown.

"Xavier, come on." You urge him, "I don't feel good. Let's go home."

He turns to you at that, his eyes softening slightly as they focus on your face, and the crackling energy dissipates from the air. He nods silently, slips his hand into yours, and begins to pull you toward the exit, ignoring the shouts of the men behind you. 

The cold Autumn air stings your lungs as you make your way out the door, but it's a welcome change from the stifling heat and tension from inside of the bar. Xavier is still tense and pulling you along behind him as you try to keep pace.

"I cannot believe you just did that," you say between breaths, your head spinning and the world blurring around you as you stumble over the sidewalk.

Xavier stops as he feels your wobbly gait, and turns to steady you with his hands. His gaze is soft and worried as he searches your face, like he's finally able to really see you for the first time in the last few moments. His shoulders sag and he reaches up to brush your hair out of your face.

"Are you okay?" He asks softly.

"I'm okay," You laugh, "But I don't think that guy is. What were you thinking?"

His fingers tighten against your cheeks and his eyes narrow, "He shouldn't have touched you, and I won't let anyone talk to you like that."

You smile up at him and shake your head, "I was fine. Really. I was thinking of breaking his nose myself before you got there."

"That's my girl," He says, a smile tugging at his lips.

You laugh, and it's impossible not to feel safe and warm as he wraps his arm around you.

"Why is it that you and trouble always seem to find each other?" He asks, his breath warm against your ear.

"Maybe it's because trouble follows you," You answer, poking at his side, "And I just happen to be there, too."

Xavier sighs dramatically, and releases you from his arms. You watch with furrowed brows as he takes a step back and then kneels on one knee. The confusion must be clear on your face because he laughs as he looks up at you and says, "Hop on. You're too drunk to make it all of the way back without breaking an ankle."

"What? I most certainly can-" you start to argue, but he cuts you off.

"Get on. Let me carry my wife home, just like I said I would."

[outlanderanatomy]

Good day, Diana fans!

On Sunday at Surrey International Writers’ Conference (SiWC) I was privileged to enjoy a long private  lunch with Diana!

Details about our “date” are posted below but first a bit of history. The first time I lunched with Diana was 2015, almost 10 years ago!

We met in Beaverton, OR, after she spoke at a fund raiser. We have met for lunch or drinks many times since then.

The last time we lunched was at 2022 New York Comic Con.  We began our outing by riding in a golf cart through the bowels of the Javits Center!

Posted onNovember 3, 2024

2024 SiWC – Diana Gabaldon “Endings”

Hallo the house!!! 😉

Greetings Diana fans! 🤗

Friday, October 26, was the first day of 2024 Surrey International Writers’ Conference (SiWC) in British Columbia. This is a wonderful gathering of seasoned writers and budding authors.

This is my fourth SiWC over the years. I attend to report on the events and see Diana. I do not plan on becoming a professional writer.

This post is about Diana’s SiWC workshop on Oct. 25, titled “Endings.”

Now, no need to panic. Diana’s presentation was not about the end of the Outlander book series –  not yet, anyway!!! 😱  

It was about how to write endings to all aspects of story telling including those of sentences, paragraphs, conversations, chapters, books, etc.

I found it extremely informative and I wager most in the room felt the same. Diana remains a fountain of imagination and information. 🤩

Diana entered the room with her favorite beverage in hand! 😄

Understand, these workshops are 1.5 hours long wherein she is the only speaker.  I suspect this wee “pick-me-up” helps her stand (mostly) still, essentially immobile and focussed while being pummeled with attendees’ queries! 😎

Unfortunately, I had some technical difficulties with this video recording so it is divided into three segments. 🙄

The first video is the introduction. She tells attendees that she is not going to teach the mechanics of how to write their stories but rather how to write about what happens in a way that keeps readers turning the page. 📖

She began by telling us she recently reread James Clavell’s 1975 book, Shogun. She selected this book because Clavell is a highly regarded author.

Upon opening the book, she immediately read both the first and the last sentences! She didn’t do this to spoil the book but for a scholarly reason: she is now writing what she expects will be the final Outlander book and she is putting serious thought into that last sentence of her epic book series. She is researching good examples. Hankies out! 😥

In the next segment, she talks more about Shogun. She considers its last sentence to be an excellent ending to this classic novel so listen to her read it.

In this third and final video segment, she talks about Shakespeare’s tragedy, “Romeo and Juliette.” Starting to weep, she explains that this story was not about crime or political power but about “Juliette and her Romeo. It is about love.” 🥰

She points out and explains that there are four types of book and chapter endings:

Resolution of conflict

Food for thought

Cliff hangers

Echos (e.g. epilogues)

She encourages writers to include pauses in their sentences, to use short sharp sentences in conversations, and try not to shake people out of the story with anything that might distract from the tale.

If your work presents a question, answer it rather quickly to keep readers engaged. (Now, I could make an issue here because upon occasion, Outlander readers have to wait 10 years and two or more books to get answers, but I won’t!) 😂

Question: Are your characters ever influenced by the show’s characters or do you keep them separate? Do you like the show’s characters better? No, she never confuses the two sets of characters and she likes hers best because she writes better dialogue. 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

Question: How do you decide what your characters will say? Her answer is she never tells her characters anything – they tell her what they will say, think, and do.

Question: Are you conscious of alliteration when you write? She said she was when first writing but incorporates it automatically now. Sometimes she goes back and grooms the alliteration if needed (alliteration is the occurrence of the same letter or sound at the beginning of adjacent or closely connected words – e.g. the sweet birds sang softly).

This video segment stops when she begins reading an excerpt from book 10. It is an intimate exchange between Jamie and William! ❣️

She asked me specifically to remove this part before posting, so I have. I am very sorry that I cannot share it because it is tender, moving and poignant.😢

I feel sure she will share this as daily lines when she is ready. 💙

I hope you enjoyed Diana’s one person workshop. These are always worthwhile and I considerate it a privilege to attend them. 

The deeply grateful,

Outlander Anatomist

Follow me on:

Twitter: @OutLandAnatomy

Facebook: OutlandishAnatomyLessons

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Video and Photo credits: Outlander Anatomy,

Posted onOctober 30, 2024

2024 SiWC Lunch with Diana!

Good day, Diana fans!

On Sunday at Surrey International Writers’ Conference (SiWC) I was privileged to enjoy a long private  lunch with Diana!

Details about our “date” are posted below but first a bit of history. The first time I lunched with Diana was 2015, almost 10 years ago!

We met in Beaverton, OR, after she spoke at a fund raiser. We have met for lunch or drinks many times since then.

The last time we lunched was at 2022 New York Comic Con.  We began our outing by riding in a golf cart through the bowels of the Javits Center!

We enjoyed a delish lunch at Hudson Yards. Her nails this day were a beautiful dusty blue. BTW, these are her natural nails, not gels!

After lunch, we parted near The Vessel. It was a beautiful but windy day.

I had not seen Diana during 2023 because I spent that year rehabilitating a shattered ankle and didn’t go anywhere. 🥲

All of that changed at 2024 SiWC!

We had a wonderful two hour lunch on Sunday.

As we waited in line to be seated, author Michael Slade walked up and asked in a booming voice why women’s conversations were more interesting than men’s. I said I thought it is because women talk about everything while men have a fairly narrow range of acceptable topics. I was thinking sports, hunting, fishing, etc., for the guys. What do you think?

Diana and I ordered lunch. We were joined for a while by her youngest daughter, Jen. Hi Jen! 🤗

Jen lives in Scotland with her hubby and Diana’s two grandsons. She flew over just to attend SiWC.  Sadly, she had to leave after a few minutes to catch her flight home. A delightful and very personable young woman. Mum was rightfully proud of her lovely daughter.

For the next 2 hours, we engaged in our usual discussion of far flung topics. Diana is very excited about Blood of My Blood (BOMB) and has written a couple of scripts for the show.  She also gave the writers the ideas for it (of course)! 🤗

I asked her why it has taken 1.5 years between 7a and 7b. She answered that they were timing the releases of BOMB and 7b so there would not be issues with overlap.

We talked about our parents, our children and our lives growing up, our homes, property and pets. She shared photos of her darling grandsons (she is hoping for more).

She then commented on the beauty of the red and black bracelet I was wearing.

I make my own jewelry and she has received a number of pieces from me in the past, such as this one from 2019! 🎁

Sorry the photo is grainy. This is the piece on a form before I gifted it to her!

Back to my story. I removed the bracelet and said “Shall we try it on you?” I put it on her and asked if it was too big. She said it fit perfectly so I said “It is yours.” She was pleased! ☺️

This felt uncanny because that very morning as I put the bracelet on, I thought, “I bet Diana is going to like this bracelet.”  Then, I asked myself,  “Do you want her to have it?” 🤔

Of course, the answer was “yes” as I can make myself another one. 😁

It made her happy! 🤗

She let me photograph (a tradition of mine) her new nail color, a beautiful lush red. She usually wears lavender, blue or green. I think the color looks great on her. She wears jewel tones very well! 😍 Psst….Isn’t her top lovely?

After two hours, she was tiring and I understood why. In just three days, she had done multiple events: Michael Slade’s Shock Theater, a library panel event, two solo workshops and an author’s panel. She also had done blue pencil events where she helps new authors with their work.

Her last 1.5 hour workshop occurred just before lunch and she had yet another event to attend that evening. The woman is a power house but she does need to rest sometimes! 😉

So we hugged and said farewell, until next time! 👋🏻

But wait! I have more. I will end my post with the next video.

Some of  you are aware that during SiWC Diana does philanthropic work in the British Columbia prison system. She teaches a master class on writing to the inmates. This year she was unable to work with them because the contact she needs to help her access the system sadly passed away. So, in the future, she must find a new sponsor.

Although I made this video in 2018, it gives you an idea of the important work that Diana does for people whose lives are impacted by incarceration. She teaches her class and then listens to their questions and comments. Based on these, she buys and donates books to the prison library to help them with their goals.

Her works are a good lesson in kindness to all of us. 🥰

Isn’t she the best? 🤩

The deeply grateful,

Outlander Anatomist

[guywrestlingaddiction]

That Wrestling Moment: Kasee owns you (undergroundwrestler.com)

One of the things I love about gay wrestling is that mixing two guys together always leads to an unpredictable combination.  A friendly match may begin in one direction but watch out, because you just might get owned.  

Kasee POV (undergroundwrestler.com)

SPOILER ALERT: I highly recommend viewing this match in its entirety before reading this post.

The Backstory

We open on our very own professor Kasee teaching us the ropes.  Better still, we have Kasee all to ourselves - this must be our lucky day...

First the rules... wait he deliberately didn't mention any rules, that's odd.

You: I really want to be dominating guy.

Kasee: You want to be a dominate wrestler? You want to learn to be dominate? Then you have to take control.

Stripping down you're already intimidated as it's clear Kasee is twice the man you are with those muscles.  But damn, you gotta get your head in the game cause you've wanted to be a wrestler all your life.

Latching up, it's clear that Kasee can outmuscle you.

You: Aw shit man, you're strong!

A simple lock up and suddenly you're violently pushed back.  That should've been your first clue that this wasn't what you signed up for...

The Action All that nervousness you put aside to come here today has reemerged.  Kasee is not the trainer you thought he'd be, in fact there really hasn't been anything instructive about any of this.

This fight has taken you into so many directions.  He seemed friendly enough but your instincts are telling you something is off.  You could put up some challenge if he'd only let you up, show him you're not some simp.  

Your head is telling you to stay back but your body is drawn to that powerful body.  This lesson is gonna hurt, but you need this...

Suddenly a bearhug you didn't see coming.  It all happened so quick, you had no time to react and now the only thing in front of you is that powerful chest crushing you.  

In fact, your only view is that epic chest squeezing the life out of you like python crushing its prey.  Wait were you setup to be Kasee's prey all along? 

This is so humiliating but oh wait, he's planning something...

Fuck - you figure it out too late and before you know it all those devastating muscles come crashing down on you.  All you're left with is a view of that body crushing you.  Was he always this heavy?  Did he somehow get bigger over the course of this match? 

The Moment  You suspect that Kasee is enjoying this a little too much.  You've seen his other matches where guys take him down and now he's grinning until his face hurts cause he gets to beat on you.  

And now you've met today's moment.  The point where Kasee owns you.  I'm sure you heard of his reputation as a jobber and figured you'd sail into victory but make no mistake; Kasee might lose to other wrestlers but you are going to be his bitch today.

Talking trash and telling you how worthless you are.  To prove his point, the man makes you crawl up the very powerful body that dominated you. 

Then a choke.  As if this guy needed to underline his point, he chokes you out and then things slow down and everything goes dim...

You wake up covered in sweat and see that muscle stud is posing and distracted.  You use this chance to run like a coward out of here.  You make it to the door and smell the glorious air of freedom only to be carried back to the ring on his shoulders.

Kasee: Worship that bicep ...

It wasn't smart to run away, but what choice did you have?  Kasee is pissed now and needs to show you exactly what little coward bitches deserve.  They deserve to be put down and humiliated.  Kasee declares you will be put out by worshiping him.  

The next thing you know you have his pit shoved in your face and you fight not get too turned on.  The last thing you need is to let him know you secretly love this beat down.  

You can't believe this is happening.  Kasee is going to force you to worship him while he suffocates you with that pit. 

Kasee: That wasn't smart trying to get away and now you're going to be put out...

Laying on your back a few other wrestlers find you unconscious.  They ask what happened but you don't have the words to describe what you're feeling.  It's all a mixture of soreness, exhaustion, but above all humiliation - so why can't you stop grinning to yourself?  Oh maybe it's because you finally admitted to yourself that you never wanted to be a wrestler after all and that all you really wanted was to be owned by one.  

[magicalmanhattanproject]

I would love to hear about your tma au pleaaase spill the beans

There is an Archivist on the island. The Host has informed Cucurucho of this. The Archivist is to be identified, located, and eliminated. Cucurucho has not been given a time frame in which to accomplish this task, as the Host understands that such tasks take a great deal of time to be done correctly. However, it is a task of utmost priority.

Cucurucho first suspects Island Resident Cellbit. This is a reasonable suspicion. Cellbit spends a great deal of time going around and asking other Residents to describe events, even appearing to derive pleasure from this task. However, pleasure is not sustenance. Cucurucho even kills Cellbit itself to ensure that the Resident is not merely a burgeoning Archivist close enough to manifestation to appear as a full fledged one. It is not. Cucurucho maintains suspicions that Cellbit is an Avatar of some sort, but the Island can sustain several Avatars without excessive impact on the overall happiness of the residents.

Cucurucho knows this for a fact because there were already several Avatars among the Residents before the Brazilians arrived. Resident Missa is an End Avatar, Resident Fit is a Desolation Avatar, Resident Slime is a Flesh Avatar. The Angel and the Devil serve the Powers in their own way.

Regardless. None of them are Avatars of the Eye.

It quickly investigates and then just as quickly discards Residents Phil and Etoiles. Phil is determined to turn a blind eye to most of the happenings on the server and while Etoiles has the curiosity to range far out, it seems more in service of the Hunt.

Hmm. Cucurucho informs the Host that it would be beneficial for the happiness of the Island if Etoiles were allowed a perilous dungeon. The Host provides Etoiles with a dungeon so perilous that it also permits him security items that would be illegal in other circumstances. Cucurucho and the Host agree that the dungeon has proven moderately perilous. Cucurucho and the Host agree that it is worth being cautious around Etoiles.

Cucurucho works its way down the list of Residents. Some could become Avatars. Some could serve the Eye. Many collect information. None are Archivists. Yet there is an Archivist on the Island that the Host wants off the Island.

It is pondering the possibility of expanding its search to villagers when it is distracted. The Host instructs Cucurucho to give Fit a job offer, as Fit has requested. Cucurucho complies. Cucurucho refiles the report that Fit is a Desolation Avatar. Cucurucho refiles the report on Fit's past griefs of Federation properties. Fit provides exemplary and highly on topic references. Fit gets the job.

On the first day of work, Cucurucho offers Fit a meal at lunchtime. Meat. Unidentifiable.

"No, thanks," Fit says, with a light laugh.

"Why?"

"I'm not hungry."

Cucurucho does not expect Fit to feed on meat. However, the Island does not permit the calamities that a Desolation Avatar would require to remain satiated for so long.

"Why?"

"I had a big breakfast! Look at this, the Big Daddy Breakfast!" Fit tosses half a stack of Big Daddy Breakfasts to Cucurucho. "Just one of these bad boys will keep you full for a week!"

"No."

"Okay, maybe not literally a full week, but you know what I mean."

"I don't know."

Fit looks up from his mop and laughs. "Don't worry about it. It's not a big deal."

"I don't know. Maybe." There is still a Desolation Avatar in Cucurucho's office. An Avatar that should be ravenous by now.

"What, you think I'm hungry?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's very nice of you to be worried about me, Cucurucho."

"No."

There's something in Fit's eyes then. An understanding. "Ah, you think I'm gonna eat you?"

"Classified."

"Don't worry about it. I got the Big Daddy Breakfast. I'm fine."

"What was your occupation?"

"I'm a janitor. You gave me this job, Cucurucho. You were there for that."

"No. No. What was your occupation?"

"Oh, you mean before the island?"

"Yes."

"I was a griefer."

It is not Cucurucho who selects the voice line. "No."

Fit doesn't reply for a long time. Then he shrugs and puts his mop back in his inventory. "I mean, I came here for a vacation, you know."

"Yes."

"Do you know what a vacation is, Cucurucho?"

"Yes. Maybe."

Fit sighs. He sits down on the newly cleaned couch. "Here, lemme show you something." He fiddles with his camera for a few moments, then tosses Cucurucho a photo.

[ID: Extremely, illegibly blurry photo of a file folder. End ID]

"You know what this is, Cucurucho?"

"No."

Fit laughs. "That, my friend, is what I call a much better meal than a Big Daddy Breakfast. Six years of their lives' work, all gone in an instant. All because of that."

That is. Discomforting. Cucurucho does not want to lose six years of its life's work in instant.

"Why?"

"Because once the coords leak, it only takes one guy with a grudge and bit of duped TNT and there's really not a whole lot you can do about it. Now, that one is a special case. That's IMPS-2. It wasn't a coords leak, per se. I mean, obviously. You can't read the damn thing. But it was enough for a skilled enough base finder to work off of and track down the coords anyway. That was the leak that did them in. Isn't that fascinating? Just holding a piece of history in your hand like that?"

Cucurucho throws it in the floor. "No."

"No? Aw, that's a shame. I got more, if you want 'em."

"No."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Here, sit down."

Cucurucho sits.

Fit pulls out another photo. "You'll recognize this one." Cucurucho does. "Church build. Not bad, not bad, but not much history to it. World edited in. So was IMPS-2, to be fair, but that isn't possible for just anyone on 2b. Makes the whole thing a lot tastier. And here's the grief."

Cucurucho pulls its gun on Fit.

Fit raises an eyebrow. "What do you think that's gonna do to me? Tickle me?"

Cucurucho shoots Fit.

"Aw, didn't even manage that much."

Cucurucho shoots Fit again.

"You know, the more you shoot me, the longer I'm gonna have to be here to clean up the floors."

Cucurucho's finger hesitates on the trigger. Cucurucho puts the gun away.

"That's what I thought. Anyway, the grief. We just filled the place with melons. Pain for the admins to clean up, but not too damaging. But destroying it completely isn't the point. I'm on vacation here. I'm having a good time. I'm playing nice."

Fit stands up. Fit walks over to Cucurucho. Fit smiles almost as wide as Cucurucho does.

"If anything happens to my beautiful baby boy, Ramón, anything that hurts him, anything that makes him sad, if he gets one more crack on his precious little eggshell, I'm not gonna play nice anymore. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes."

"Good." Fit claps Cucurucho on the shoulder. He scuffs the blood on the floor with his boot. "Ehh, it's tile. It'll be easy enough to clean off when it's dry. I gotta go see Ramón now, so I'll catch you later. Stay alive out there."

"I hope you enjoy the island."

"Yeah, I'll bet you do."

[pinkeoni]

Writing Byler into the Narrative: Chekhov's Lie

Am I making a post about a topic that has already been talked into the ground and needs no further explanation? Yes! Because it's my blog and I get to talk about whatever I want.

So when discussing whatever the biggest "byler proof" is, the easiest and best answer is simply "the narrative." But what exactly does that mean?

Well aside from the characterization and themes tending to point in that direction, there's also a major literary rule at play— Chekhov's Gun

So this is Anton Chekhov.

Famous Russian playwright. Prolific short story author. Very important to the dramatic and literary world.

Chekhov sees one of his colleagues plays and writes him a letter that says "Hey, if you're gonna go through the effort putting a gun on stage, just make sure it goes off, okay? Otherwise, don't put it there." or something to the effect of that.

"Chekhov’s gun is a dramatic principle that suggests that details within a story or play will contribute to the overall narrative. This encourages writers to not make false promises in their narrative by including extemporaneous details that will not ultimately pay off by the last act, chapter, or conclusion. Chekhov’s gun has become a highly influential theory of effective writing that mandates noticeable details are integrated into the plot trajectory, character development, and mood of the work."

Here's a simple example of Chekhov's gun used in the show:

Chekhov's Purple Palm Tree Delight

While burying Hero Agent Man in the desert, Argyle get's stressed out and Jonathan tells him in supposedly a throwaway line to smoke some Purple Palm Tree Delight to help him feel better.

And then later in the Piggyback when they need to distract the Argyle clone in the Surfer Boy Pizza, BAM. Jonathan pulls out a fresh Purple Palm Tree Delight.

What serves as a small detail in one episode, serves a larger purpose in a future episode. It's a very simple yet effective plant and payoff. The gun has been Chekhov'd.

What happens if the gun does not Chekhov?

For this I'll use an example from a different show, here's a scene from Euphoria season 2. (spoilers, btw)

At the start of the scene, the character Nate loads a gun from inside of his car as he is going to confront his dad. We have seen this gun before. Oh my god, is Nate going to kill is dad? The audience may wonder.

Nate then puts the loaded gun into his right pocket as he enters the building where his dad is staying.

Later in the scene, we see Nate reach into his right pocket and pull out the gun he just loaded.

We then see Nate put the gun away into his left pocket, reach back into his right pocket, and pull out— a flash drive?

Granted this flash drive does have pre-established importance, but why the fuck did Nate have that gun with him, if he wasn't going to use it? The most basic rule of a Chekhov's Gun?

I know that it was likely there just to build suspense for the audience, but considering that Nate's gun has already been established (and used) earlier in the season, the show didn't need to build-up the importance of the gun earlier in the scene if it wasn't going to payoff. If we saw Nate putting his hand into his pocket in a threatening way, there might be enough there for the audience to suspect he has his gun in there before doing the twist with the flash drive. It would have given the same effect of suspension and subversion of expectations without it feeling like a shitty non-payoff.

I can only speak for myself, but when this happened I was just baffled and annoyed. What was the point of all that? When a Chekhov's Gun doesn't go off, it feels super unsatisfying.

Another good example of a gun that never Chekhov'd is the Jules-cheating storyline that became inconsequential, was not the reason Jules and Rue even broke up, was seemingly forgotten and forgiven by the end, and did nothing but give fans a reason to hate Jules.

And Now: The Van Scene

We've all seen it and we all know it. Will gives Mike the painting we saw earlier in the season, the one that's supposed to be for someone that he likes, which was a Chekhov's Gun in itself. We saw the painting earlier in the season and now it's being revealed. The gun is Chekhoving.

Really the painting itself has already payed off, but what this scene does is establish a new Chekhov's Gun that has yet to go off, and that's the lie that Will told Mike— that the painting was from El, not him.

Even if this wasn't the "friends don't lie" show, I mean, a lie in a tv show that goes undiscovered and has no major consequences? I mean come on. It's almost too obvious.

Did this gun already Chekhov?

Technically there is still somewhat of a payoff to this lie being told, even if the reveal that it was a lie hasn't happened yet. We see the consequences of Will's lie in this scene here:

Ah yes, the monologue. You know the one, where Will is over Mike's shoulder the whole time, the one spawned by Will remarking "your the heart" which is a reference to the van scene we all just witnessed in which Will pours his heart out to Mike under the guise of it actually being El's feelings? Yeah that monologue.

Contrary to popular belief I am of the opinion that Mike's monologue is NOT the reason El lost to Vecna, however Mike finally confessing immediately followed by El losing does not make it look any better for them. I don't think that the lie had world ending consequences, but it definitely had emotional ones.

The reveal of the lie can lead to one of two things happening (not all once)

Mike finds out that Will lied to him about El commissioning the painting. Mike and El stay together despite it all, Will accepts that Mike doesn't love him back.

Mike finds out that Will lied about El commissioning the painting. El and Mike do not stay together because the feelings of love are not genuine. Mike and Will, despite Will's expectations, end up together since that what Mike's feelings of love are in response too.

The biggest difference between the first scenario and the second scenario is that the first one is already happening right now.

Mike and El are still together by the end of the season, and Will already thinks that he doesn't have a chance with Mike.

Why cock the gun if setting it off is just going to keep things the way they were?

Of course this Chekhov's gun isn't the only "proof" working in byler's favor, and I wouldn't have suggested the second scenario if the show didn't also give Mike an arc where he couldn't say I love you to his girlfriend, make him act weird around Will, actively push themes of non-conformity, among other things.

Combined with everything else, I do still consider Chekhov's Gun to be the biggest proof of byler. Not following through with one of the most popular rules of dramatic writing just to hold together a weak relationship? OK

tl;dr: Byler canon because a Russian playwright said so

[lossie92]

When Winter Comes - Emperor Madara AU

Ever since I posted this comic last year for @wisiaden's MadaTobi June Bonanza, I've been toying with the idea of making this AU into a fic, not just a short comic.

Thanks to Wisia and @kooriicolada who have graciously lent me their ears over the last few weeks, this fic is now officially a work in progress!

Hope you enjoy a small look into the story ahead. Please let me know your thoughts - I'm very curious! 👀

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Warnings: a/b/o dynamics, descriptions of injury, implied/referenced abuse

-

Without saying anything, Madara approached the kneeling man, curious despite himself. Since the omega had his head bowed, it was impossible to see the expression on his face, but the trembling of his curled shoulders was more than enough to give Madara an idea about what the man was feeling.

In the background he could hear the crowd become lively again as it regained its ability to speak.

Madara listened to the cacophony of various complaints about the apparently cursed young man by the name Tobirama who, according to the whispers, was nothing but trouble and couldn't be trusted with anything. 

A blight on the lives of the other servants.

A demon child with mud for blood.

A disgrace.

Somehow Madara highly doubted any of these claims were true. 

Although he could see the evidence of Tobirama's apparent clumsiness in the form of broken dishes, spilled food, and a beaten up wooden tray lying nearby, he suspected Tobirama hadn't done it on purpose. The tray looked heavy and, considering the vitriol thrown at his head, it wasn't too hard to imagine someone actually tripping the man either. 

Madara couldn't say why he was so sure of this, but there was something about this obviously scared, beaten man, which made him believe he wasn't looking at a troublemaker, but a victim instead.

"Silence!" 

His voice cracked through the air like a whip and in an instant all was blissfully silent.

Perfectly aware that everyone was paying attention and probably wondering what he would do, Madara hooked his fingers under Tobirama's chin and gently lifted the man's face as he said, "Don't be afraid, Tobirama. You may look at me."

Tobirama resisted for a moment or two, clearly hesitant, before he looked up. 

Madara's breath left him in a rush. In all of his life he had never seen a pair of eyes more beautiful. Their almond shape and the long lashes surrounding them were more than enough to inspire awe, but it was their colour that truly made them mesmerising.

Red.

Red like the fresh blood dripping over Madara's fingers from the cut on Tobirama's chin.

The red of the Uchiha clan mon.

These were the eyes of the sun goddess herself, Amaterasu-okami. She, who had been the patron and guardian of the Uchiha family for generations; the one Madara prayed to each morning at sunrise. 

Like every Uchiha, Madara has heard the stories of how their clan came to rule over the Land of Fire. It was Amaterasu's Mandate that granted them this divine right and power. 

What was lesser known was the fact that every once in a while the goddess of shining heavens would send a blessing to the earth. The red eyes were believed to signify its arrival. The Uchiha considered people born with them a sign of good luck and of prosperity, and an encounter with a blessed individual was said to herald the arrival of a particularly opulent era.

Although Madara had always been a sceptic at heart when it came to legends, believing most of not all to be nothing other than hearsay, but he couldn't quite shake off the feeling that his meeting with Tobirama wasn't a mere coincidence.

Such beautiful eyes in a face this fair…

Even the still bleeding cuts and the distraught expression couldn't distract from their appeal. Part of it was for sure Tobirama's overall beauty. The few tendrils of hair, which pulled silver when light hit them a certain way, framed his face, only further adding to the enchanting picture he made. His features, Madara noted, were well-balanced and delicate, though sharpened by his unnatural thinness, and his skin was impossibly soft under Madara's fingers, feeling almost like the richest velvet.

To put it simply, he was a vision and Madara would be a liar if he said he wasn't thoroughly charmed.

Extending a hand to help Tobirama stand up, he asked, "Are you alright?"

The omega stumbled as he stood, hissing in pain, but Madara caught him before he could fall again. He was surprisingly tall, a bit taller than Madara himself. A curiosity for sure. Not many people grew to such a height and it was certainly an impressive feat. However, there was also no denying that Tobirama's height made it even more obvious how worryingly thin he was. 

His condition was a cause for concern to say the least and the way he was now leaning on Madara made it abundantly clear. There was really no point in denying that Tobirama was injured on top of being severely weakened and cold, his fingers like ice against Madara's own. It begged the question how on earth the man had been able to work up until now.

Without doubt he needed a healer and rest. Possibly food and sweet lemon water as well.

"Tobirama?"

Blinking owlishly, the man finally whispered, "I… I'm f-fine."

There was little doubt in Madara's mind that this wasn't the case, but it didn't feel right to question him further so publicly.

By all accounts he had been through enough already.

"Good," Madara said as he brought Tobirama's hands to his lips before blowing warm air on them to warm them up bit. When they felt less freezing to touch, he pressed a lingering kiss to each before placing them against his chest, right over his heart. "Now let us find you a healer, beautiful."

[telomeke]

POLL TAG – FIVE FAVORITE CHARACTERS

I was tagged by @lurkingshan (at this post linked here) and @pickletrip (at this post linked here). Thanks dearies! 🥰

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Challenge: make a poll with five of your all time favorite characters, and then tag five people to do the same. See which character is everyone's favorite.

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I'm sticking to BLs as well, because the field would be far too wide otherwise (can you imagine a poll with Dolly Levi, Buffy Summers, Joe Rossi from Lou Grant, Lady Deathstrike from X-Men 2, any one of the Golden Girls, Erik Killmonger from Black Panther the movie, the Beastmaster and cartoon Aladdin? 🤣).

Anyway, I don't watch all that much BL (not compared to the majority of people here on BL Tumblr, who have watchlists longer than Babe's wig when he was Wansarat in The Sign). So that narrows the field considerably for me – and my list has some likely suspects, including an unbreakable pairing, and also one highly unusual choice. But I'll explain my choices after the poll itself:

Why these characters? Here's my spiel:

PatPran (Bad Buddy)  I've combined these two as a single choice, because obviously they go together (and so well too). But really, I would have loved to have listed them separately, because I have different reasons for loving them. Pat is just an all-round good guy, hopelessly optimistic, generous and so giving; he thinks of others before himself (and if both partners in a couple do that, well, you then have a mutually-reinforcing relationship). Pran I love because I can see so much of myself in him, from his tics and foibles, his interests, to his struggles finding his courage and growing into his own identity.

Li Ming (Moonlight Chicken)  In a lot of ways, what Li Ming was going through in MLC paralleled some of my own experiences when I was a teen his age. If only they'd had MLC or something similar for teenage me to have watched growing up! Li Ming was somehow able to navigate the pressures of becoming someone true to himself (something that Pran, and I too in my teens, struggled with) while dealing with real world issues at the same time (economic hardship in Li Ming's case, while in mine it was general teen angst and family stress). He didn't let life get to him, and he stayed the course, knowing his own self-worth even when others were telling him to scale back his expectations (Uncle Jim and Heart's parents). Lessons in there for all LGBTQ+ teens, and Khun Noppharnach's socially-conscious BLs should be given more credit for the positive role models they portray and how they help the younger set. Plus Fourth did an excellent job bringing Li Ming to life (thanks in part I think to Director Aof's guidance; Fourth's Atom in My Love Mix-Up Thailand is a lot less grounded and authentic, at least from what I've seen in the first couple of episodes).

Porsche (KinnPorsche)  This entry is just for fun. KinnPorsche was a wild ride, whacking us with whiplash at every turn, and Porsche was emblematic of that experience. Cool, sexy martial arts fighter in one episode, total buffoon at the mercy of sprinklers, piss-allergic carp and mermaid costumes in others. Apo gamely played along, and he can do both slick action and slapstick comedy well, so watching Porsche always brought a smile to my face. Whether it was seducing Kinn with pappy supermarket bread, or warding off ghosts with a penis amulet, you never knew what craziness was in store next with this character. Pure entertainment.

Adachi (Cherry Magic)  Adachi charmed the briefs off me the moment the lift doors went CLANG!!! on him while he was distracted with whatever it was that was speedrunning through his head again. Such a lovable doofus, always surprised by whatever situation he managed to stumble into. Eiji Akaso is really good-looking, but he didn't care about image and happily took all the pratfalls in his stride. He somehow managed to imbue Adachi's clumsy clownery with a strange sense of dignity (helped along, I suppose, by the fact that we could also hear Adachi's inner monologue, allowing us to see the innocent good-heartedness within).

Dissaya (Bad Buddy)  This is the odd one out. Pran's mom was hated by so many fans during Bad Buddy's run, who blamed her for ruining Pran's life in many ways. And it's true her own hang-ups wrought havoc on Pran's relationship with the world outside. But for someone with so few scenes, I think she's actually one of the more complex characters in Bad Buddy, with a turbulent backstory that explains how her own relationship with the world got so warped. My read is that everything she did, including sending Pran away in high school, was done out of love for her beloved only son and motivated by a desire to protect him at all costs. She was a smothering, over-protective mother to be sure, but I think the lady just didn't know any better, and the last two episodes of Bad Buddy really do invite us to rethink our earlier appraisals of her. It wasn't easy doing Dissaya's character study based on the fairly scant details we got (write-ups linked here and here), but they were enough for me to glean an understanding of who I think she is. And I think in the end she is someone worthy of respect, so I do tip my hat out of respect for her. It's also obvious Pran loves her dearly, as much as she loves him back. And I think I trust Pran's judgement of character on this one. 😍

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Onward tagging:

@neuroticbookworm, @colourme-feral, @airenyah, @wen-kexing-apologist, @solitaryandwandering

I really want to tag more, but this game limits us to five so these are just five people tagged at random. If I haven't tagged you but you'd like to play, please do so (knowing that I want to tag everyone and then some)! And please tag me if you play, so that I can read and vote on your poll too. 😍

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[man-down-in-hatchet-town]

THE CASE OF THE GREATER GATSBY EPISODE NINETEEN: SCREENWRITER'S BLUES

Wow. What a last minute stunner in this episode, huh?

Full stunned reaction under the cut.

After nineteen episodes, we finally locate the eponymous Greater Gatsby… in Wilhelmina’s book club book? Who’d a thunk? The fact that the script showed up in there implies that whoever had the script had access to the Grapes set. And if the person who stole the script is the same as the murderer—a HUGE “if”—that clears both Vivian and Barnaby of the murder. It could also potentially clear Mo Beats, though Mel does let him onto the production lot.

But let’s put aside the “who” in favor of the “why.” Fig says that whoever gave Willy the script likely wanted to frame Wilhelmina, but I’m not sure I buy that theory. Anyone who’s ever met Willy would know that there’s absolutely no way she was involved with any of this. I think the real question is whether or not the person who gave the script to Willy actually wanted to pass it off to Fig. Giving a highly suspicious item to Fig’s air-head best friend would be a good way to make sure it ends up in her hands without risking direct contact. And everyone on the lot apparently knew about Wilhelmina’s bookclub, so it wouldn’t take a huge leap for someone to realize that Fig would be presentthe next time Wilhelmina pulled out The Beautiful and Damned. But if someone is trying to give the script to Fig, why? Is the script thief/keeper a different person than the murderer, and hoping to bring the true bad guy to justice? Or is it the murderer trying to send her down the wrong path? Was there more symbolism than the obvious behind putting the script inside The Beautiful and Damned?

And then there’s the question of timing Does the discovery of the script mean that Fig and Ford are getting close, so close that either the bad guys are panicking or a mysterious benefactor is willing to slip them a final clue? If so, how would the anonymous script-dealer know? The most recent suspects to interact with Fig and Ford are the Nightingales, who likely didn’t have access to the Grapes set, the Farnsworths, who I really can’t see having anything to do with anything, and the Hammermeisters. The Hammermeisters, or at least Mel, probably have the best sense that Ford is making progress, but either of them secretly holding the script simply doesn’t make any sense. And we can’t overlook TD’s reaction to Willy and Fig’s discovery—he certainly reacts the most out of everyone else in the room, so either he was overacting to compensate a lack of genuine surprise (unlikely), or he was truly shocked by this latest development. Is he just excited to tell Mel that the script has been found? Or is he afraid of what the script will reveal?

On the Ford sign of things, he gets to match wits with two very different sparring partners: Mo and Vivian. We don’t get too much from Vivian, but Mo has an interesting reaction to Ford’s various guesses about his relationship with Mel. He understandably laughs off Ford’s attempts at silly distractions, but then gets genuinely angry when Ford calls him Mel’s puppet. While this could be due to injured pride, may Ford also be right on the money? I mean, that’s more or less what I’ve been assuming this whole time.

And how about Vivian’s song? “Adapt Or Die,” the perfect sultry tune for a show deeply preoccupied with Hollywood’s adaption preoccupation (same, Persauds, same). It gives further insight into Vivian’s relationship with Barnaby, and a melodious look into her potential character motivation. But how and why is she adapting to survive? By framing Barnaby for murder to get around the pre-nup? Or does Mo perhaps have something on her? Did F. Scott’s death ruin some plan of Vivian’s for the future? On a less speculative note, Mary Kate Wiles genuinely has one of my favorite voices EVER, and I’m so so so happy every time she sings in this show. She always knocks it out of the fucking park. More numbers for Vivian, please! Please!! PLEASE!!!

And Fitzgerald was apparently strangled by two different items. What does this mean? Was the first item not doing the job, so the killer had to switch? Was he strangled unsuccessfully by one person, and then successfully by a second person mere minutes later? Did two people strangle him at the same time? Or was he strangled with an item that would look like two separate things (a necklace with two different types of chains latched together, for example)? I’ve been trying to think of a plot relevant item that would fit that description, but so far I’ve come up empty…

Stray thoughts: -TD’s thoughts on grief—his passive aggressive way of telling Rex to shut the hell up, made me laugh and filled in a lot about how he and Mel became an item in the first place. He’s capable of just as much bitchery as she is, it turns out -Once again, Dash shows up at the same place as Wilhelmina. I might be wildly off base, but with every passing episode I’m becoming more and more convinced that he’s doing something involving her.

[ijustkindalikebooks]

Anyone else a Yoongi bias? August has been a long month for the Suga biases in my life, but life indeed does goes on, and the reading is an excellent distraction from the media frenzy about falling off a scooter (cos you know there aren't more important things to discuss right now smh).

I had a goal this year to read 365 books and I suspect I will complete it around the beginning of October going by current reading speeds, of course this depends on some people's view of what reading is, but this month I read novels, novellas, manga and poetry that accumulate to over 30 books and I will be sharing those I loved the most over the last thirty days or so.

The Bloodaxe Book Of Contemporary Poets edited by Jeni Couzyn - A collection of eleven poet, this book covers a good range and though I think it lacks diversity (I mean no Jackie Kay? No Claudia Rankine?) I think this is mainly due to when it's published than anything else. A fantastic array of styles and poetry, I really appreciated reading this while working on the counter in the shop I volunteer in and definitely a collection I need to back and tab as I loved so many entries in this book.

Blue Exorcist by Kazue Kato - As this series nears its end (and I feel like it's in the right space to do so at this point) it has really got to a point in the plot that keeps you reading it, I won't deny that. Though I feel the story sometimes well, dawdles I do appreciate the real moments of emotion that appear in this series and the development of Shiemi's story arc within this series. There are things that I find frustrating, but volumes 27/28 were in particular, very very good.

Bloom Into You by Nio Nakatani - I really appreciate the representation in this book from Maki as an aro/ace person as an ace person and of course LGBT stories that do not end in someone dying, that's always great - keep that happening. I do feel there are elements of what the hellery in this book, and I would check on triggers for this as in reflection there seems to be some issues around consent but as the series goes on I feel alot of this is unpacked in the story and makes for a wonderful ending.

The Girl From The Other Side Vol. 6 by Nagabe - I am not going to talk much again about this as we're now at the mid point of the series and if you've not read it then it will be spoilers for you, but this series tells a story I can never ever predict where it's going ever and an art style that is reminiscent of Grimm's Fairy Tales in the best way possible - it's a dark fairy tale told at it's very finest and if you enjoy manga I do highly recommend picking this one up, I trust Seven Seas so much with the series it picks up and decides to share.

Finger Bone by Hiroki Takahashi - A novella about Japanese soldiers fighting in Papa New Guinea, Finger Bone isn't a book you love, it's a book that lays around in your brain and makes you think about it for days. The story of a Japanese soldier relaying the experience of a warzone that for them is sinking into despair, hunger and misery, the ending of this book left me feeling so many things. Named after the bone that doctors remove when a soldier passes away, this was 97 pages of a creeping sense of dread that reminded me of 'All Quiet On The Western Front'.

What have you been reading this month? Do you have any recommendations for me? I always love to hear feedback from you!

Thanks again for reading,

Vee xo.

[red-the-ghost]

A Helping Hand- Shigaraki x Reader

This is mainly just a fluff story, but i think its very sweet. This is heavily inspired by Anigomi’s YouTube video ‘Shigaraki reverse comfort’ so i highly recommend listening to that!

(Everything in *__* is like an inner monologue! Kinda like a thought)

You were perched in the back corner of the League Of Villain’s hide out, you sat alone- observing as the chaos roared in front of you. The scene that was playing out felt uncomfortable to watch, it was disturbing to see such a bizarre group of abnormal people prance around as if they were normal. Over to your left, atop the bar stood Mr Compress displaying a range of magic tricks, bewildering Magne, Toga and Spinner who sat below intricately watching his show. A few stools down sat Dabi (clearly not one easily impressed by magic) hunched over the bar lost in his thoughts. *Probably scheming some fucked up revenge plot* You imagined. Then, in the back far corner sat Shigaraki. You could practically feel the irritation radiating from him from the other side of the room, you stared, glancing down at his hands, watching them reach to his neck, arms, or face-wherever he could reach before they began scratching. Kurogiri had previously asked if he was to any use to Shigaraki at all, to which he received no response. You let you eyes glance back towards the group, slightly distracted by Compress’ magic trick because, when you looked back, Shigaraki was gone. 

You examined the room, wondering his whereabouts before spotting a door closing, *Where is he going?* you questioned. Without hesitating you jolted up, grabbed you bag and followed his trail. Kurogiri glanced your way as you approached the door. “Y/n, everything alright?” You threw a quick smile his way “Need some air” you remarked before going through the same door he had exited from. This door was the entryway to the stairwell which led to the roof, you paused. You waited and just as you guessed, you could hear the faint repetitive clang of his shoes climbing the stairwell, he was already a floor ahead of you so not being seen shouldn’t be an issue. You begun your ascent up the stairs, carefully shifting your body weight from each foot to try and stay quiet.

-You had been apart of the League for a while, though you cant seem to remember why, you suspect it was from being outcasted due to your quirk but you cant seem to remember the exact moment you decided to join. There was something about this found family dynamic that you seemed to enjoy, it made you feel wanted. You had always seemed drawn to Shigaraki though, since the day you joined. You couldn’t decide what it was, but there was something about him that you wanted to protect, that you vowed to protect. And thats been your self decided job ever since-

After getting lost in your thoughts again you made it to the top of the stairs, you pressed open the door and took a few steps onto the roof, the occasional wind was bitter and nipped at your skin but it was still pretty light out, you might even be able to catch the sun setting. You stopped in your tracks. *Where is he?..* you glanced around but there was no sign of him. After huffing and groaning for a moment a voice called from behind you. 

“Why are you following me.” There. That tone of voice, you could tell he was pissed and so, you began doubting yourself, *maybe it was a bad idea after all to follow him*, you are aware of what he’s capable of, his capacity for evil and destruction was something you’d never seen before. You shrugged the thoughts away but remained quiet, waiting for him to say something else. “I never gave you orders or permission to come out here.” You winced and opened your mouth to respond but continued anyway “You know, i came out here to get away from everyone, all those people, and yet, now you’re here.” Nervously, you watched as he started scratching again. You shifted your bag on your shoulder,  adjusting its position before saying, “What’s got you so riled up?, like, what’s bothering you?” He stared at you for a moment, feeling a mixture of confusion and anger. He was sceptical about you asking about his feelings. No one ever asks about his feeling or opinions. Letting out a sigh he turned abit, slightly facing away from you. 

“Them. The noise. It royally pisses me off. It makes me itch, fuck, its making me itch now just thinking about it” he raised his left hand to his throat and began scratching “they irritate me, i just, i could just turn them all into dust. I could just remake this league. I dont need them, i dont need their annoyance. I could make a whole new team, better than this shitty league filled with all these indecent people.” You switched your gaze from his face to the floor. *does that mean he wants to get rid of me too?* you wondered before stepping a few steps closer to him. You know you should be scared, terrified of the very thought of him disposing of you within a few moments but, you didn’t feel scared or nervous, you couldn’t really decide what you felt. You just wanted to know why you want to protect him, what part of this cold and callous man could you ever want to like or protect? He was now stood in the shade so naturally it was a bit colder, making you shiver. Oblivious of your movement he continued his rant. “I want to just press my fingers against their faces, and feel the tension of their body fade away as they crumble, their muscles and veins slowly decaying just so i can finally get my qui- HEY. WHY ARE YOU WALKING CLOSER?!” He raised his hands up, surprisingly not pointing at you though, and jumped back a step. “And then what?” You question as you finally reach arms length away from him. 

 “What.” His voice dropped lower, colder. You shrugged and continued “Blah blah blah so you finally get your-“ you pause. “Quiet? That’s what im presuming anyway.” He stayed silent for a moment, watching you, trying to understand you. “We’re you even listening?” He began, his voice raising again “I could kill you with my hand, my mere fingertips, in a split second, and you’re walking towards me?” You heard his voice shake at the end, causing a slight laugh to emerge from your mouth. You both stared at each other in silence for a few moments before he spoke again. “That’s not right.” You tilted your head slightly, confused at his words. 

“What?” You replied, awaiting a response. A brief moment passed, “I dont think i could kill you” you freeze. *where was this coming from?* you raise your hand to interrupt but he cuts you off before you could even speak. “Down there- the bar. When i get angry i want to destroy something or someone, i itch and it’s annoying, it hurts pretty bad too, but-” he looked past you, refusing to meet your gaze. “Why is it that when im with you i dont itch, and i dont want to..kill..you? It pisses me off.” You slightly smirk before joking “im such an awesome therapist thats all” before raising a thumbs up in his direction. He groaned and you laughed before walking away a few feet, heading towards where the sun was setting, there was something about the subtle beauty of the sun that captivated you. You could be out in nature or sky gazing for hours. You could tell he was watching you, wondering what you were doing. You sat down cross legged before patting the floor to your right “Sit” you called out, waiting for his arrival, and sure enough, he followed and sat next to you, surprisingly not arguing with your word.

“So, what, you gunna be my therapist again?” His voice was a lot lower but you could tell his irritation was still there. “Hmmm” you hummed. *does he actually want me to or am I just pissing him off?* your thoughts were loud, clouding your mind, you weren’t scared of him, you knew you weren’t. You got lost in your thoughts for a moment and you felt unsure as to what to do next. Your body felt like it was on autopilot and without thinking you started raising your hand towards his face, slowly, cautiously, delicately. “I dont really care do whatever you-HEY WHAT ARE YOU DOING” he shrieked as you grabbed a piece of his hair and began twirling it around you fingers, it was softer than you imagined. This brought you back to reality and you realised what you were doing, “Im playing with..your hair?..” you replied warily. He turned his head slightly to face you, but not too much as to release his hair from you hand. “I can see that.” Shigaraki’s voice was blunt, but not hateful- for once. You stared at him, and you swear that for a moment you saw his gaze soften, just for a moment. After that moment had past he turned his head back, gazing into the distance “Whatever.” He grunted. You paused, letting the hair slip from your fingers, 

“Sorry” you began “Do you want me to stop?..” Shigaraki flinched, repositioning his hands onto his legs. “No. Dont.” Even after hearing it you were hesitant. Wether you wanted to believe it or not you knew Shigaraki was a ticking time bomb. He was unpredictable, of course you were nervous. “Please” he added, his voice shaking and breathless, *was he nervous? Why?* you lifted both hands again, sorting through different strands and areas, running your fingers through his hair, gently, precisely, being carefull not to cause discomfort to him. Slowly he shifted and turned so his back was fully facing you. As you entangled your fingers in his hair you swore you could hear a sigh of relief or enjoyment from him, “Is this okay?” You asked, wondering if you were doing a good enough job. “Mmmhm” he hummed from in front of you, you couldn’t help but giggle, you enjoyed this calmer side to Tomura.

After a few minutes he sighed again, this time it was a sigh of..annoyance? You paused, you hands allowing his hair to slip from his fingers “This is stupid.” Those words froze you, *stupid?* this was the unpredictability of his personality shining through, but before you could analyse further he continued. “Not stupid, but, my hands. This is dangerous. Why are you doing this, one wrong move- from either of us, and you’re gone. Dont you fucking understand? Why do you keep getting close?” He was facing you now, his hands clenched in fists. He was angry, but not at you. 

“Shigaraki” You smiled for a second before turning to get you bag which laid to your side. You opened it and stated searching “i got these, for you. I dont know, maybe they’re dumb. It was just an idea.” You pulled out a pair of gloves, but 2 finger gloves. They were made of a black silk and comfortably fitted upon the pinky and ring fingers as well as the palms. You handed them to Shigaraki. He didn’t move. You looked up, his expression was unreadable. “I-“ he began before carefully taking the gloves from your hands. He slipped them on and touched his jacket, his trousers, his shirt, then your bag, checking, touching everything he could reach. Nothing decayed. A faint smile grew on his face as his eyes met yours. “Oh and this” you began again, once again searching in your bag before pulling out a strong moisturiser.

 “It might help, you could put it on whenever. Or i could show you? If you’d let me.” He nodded cautiously and you shuffled closer, he winced for a moment, throwing his hands away from you, clearly scared of disintegrating you. Carefully you raised you hands and grabbed his palms, now covered by the gloves and brought them down to you, stretching his arms out. You opened the moisturiser and rolled up his jacket sleeves, he drew a breath, a long, heavy breath before holding it for a few seconds. You put a small amount of moisturiser on your fingers before slowly rubbing it into his arms, slowly brushing down the scratch marks and breaking skin from his irritation. After a few seconds you saw goosebumps rise along his arms and you looked up at him. 

“I- stop looking at me” he said, embarrassed but content non the less, you dont think you could remember the last time you saw someone touch Shigaraki, if anyone in the League has touched him at all to be fair. After finishing his arms you rolled down his sleeves, before asking “Is there anywhere else, you think you would be able to let me do?” He looked at you for a moment before opening his mouth, hesitating, then saying “my neck, and my face. They would be okay, if you’d want to” once again his breath was shaky. You let your arms drop for a moment and just watched, watched his hair slightly move in the now minimal wind, you watched the colours of the sunset rest upon his completion. The hues of orange and yellow settling on his hair, sliding down his cheek. This was a whole new side to him you’d never seen before. This is what you want to protect, you’d finally found it. 

“Dont be scared” you added, in an attempt to reassure him, watching his cheeks redden as he turned away quickly. “Shut up, im not scared.” You shrugged your shoulders before acquiring more moisturiser on your fingers. “Move your hair please.” You spoke softly, and he complied, swiftly moving the shaggy ends of his hair from his neck, and that was your queue, you began rubbing in the moisturiser, hoping this could bring some peace to him- getting rid of some of the inflammation and pain should help make him feel better. 

“Cold” he managed to mutter before he swallowed. You could see his Adam’s apple bob with his action, you could tell how anxious he was. “You’re a wreck.” You teased, before moving your right hand down to get more moisturiser. With your left hand, you turned his jaw and positioned his face to where you could easily reach the inflamed area. You watched out the corner of your eye as Shigaraki struggled to make eye contact with you, looking then looking away in swift motions. You finished with the moisturiser but your hand remained hovering over his cheek, you moved you head back, allowing him to regain his space and to your surprise he lifted his hand to meet yours before removing it from his cheek. “Thanks..” he managed. “You should head back, no doubt Toga will be missing you.” 

“And what about you?” You replied as you handed him the moisturiser and began picking up your bag. “Dont worry about me, ill be down soon enough.” You started heading to the door but stopped in your tracks. *But I want to stay here* Eagerly, you spun on your heels and marched back to Shigaraki. Puzzled, her looked up at you and watched you sit down without saying a word. 

You looked over at his hands, he was creating circular motions on his legs-he seemed happy nothing was decaying. *i did something right* you thought before placing you hand on the far side of his head and guiding his head onto your shoulder. Surprisingly he didn’t move away.

“I will be your helping hand Tomura. Im on your side.”

[sunbadger]

i'm moving which means getting distracted by all the stuff hidden in piles of paper. i have unfortunately come across the tic training i was put into when my tics worsened at 16 years old, and dear god it is bad.

having prominent tics later in life sounds more rare than having them in childhood, so all of the material was for children. my psychologists said they couldn't do anything about it, but having to read instructions made for children is very infantilizing as you may suspect.

literally all of the training is to hold in tics. there is one mention of counter movements - the rest is just about holding them in. and at the bottom of the pages, there's a big red sign that says "it's not dangerous to hold the tics in!" like. ok. but it's still incredibly painful. holding tics in is both physically painful for me and mentally draining, and I was supposed to do this for 30 minutes every single day, while constantly keeping track of how many times i tic per day. it literally trains you to be ashamed of your tics and feel like a failure when you're not able to resist them. I knew better at 16 and immediately dropped out due to discomfort, but if I was put into this training as a kid, I highly doubt it would help my self esteem.

Sweden's system for therapy is awful when you're underage, because you go to the same places whether you're 7 or 17. Not only are the waiting times horrible, but it leads to this crap where I have to do exercises aimed at children. I really wish the sessions they offered me actually helped instead of forcing me to mask 24/7. I hope it helped any kids who had to do it, but it sure doesn't look like it.