#then again he's talking about art and music and magic and he WAS in love with those things ig

[leapinarmadillo]

he's like a theater kid... but he's sooo sincere

[mrclairdycat]

Jayvik Headcanons! ٩( ᐛ )( ᐖ )۶

(You can use these for your fics, art or whatever, I don't mind! Tell me or tag me if you do though 'cause I'd love to see it/read it.)

Jayce is naturally good with kids. Viktor is awkward with them, but for some reason the kids love him. They often want touch or try his cane or ask curious questions and their parents deem it as disrespectful, but he always assures them they can and gladly lets them. He also loves to say playful lies like "Actually don't tell anybody this but I've acquired the powers to teleport. I just have to act like a normal human being among the public." Or, better yet, he tells them he's actually an alien. HOWEVER... Viktor hates newborns. He hates when he's forced to cradle them in his arms. Too much slobber, shit and vomit. You can't even talk to them and know there's some kind of understanding between you and them. Jayce, on the other hand, could have a baby shart in his arms and still be like "awww!" He also loves to play with them theatrically.

Viktor is a HUGE Doctor Who fan. It's basically all he ever watches. Jayce is more of a Holiday Movies guy or series with Comedy, Romance or both, especially soap operas, but he was once forced to watched Doctor Who and now he's hooked too.

Jayce is the only one who finds Viktor's dry and dark humor, especially directed at himself, funny. He finds it so refreshing since posh people's humor is extremely boring. Plus, he understands that Viktor would prefer making light of his bad situation to cope and it's not his place to tell him what to joke and not joke about.

Although they mostly lock in and work hard all night in the lab, the sleep deprivation makes them find ANYTHING funny. Sometimes they end up in an endless loop of laughing fits because both of them are so sleep deprived they can't properly say words anymore.

Speaking of, they probably share all their deepest secrets on a whim but don't remember anything the next day, as if they were totally drunk or something.

Also, they cover each other up if they find one of them has fallen asleep. Often times, however, Viktor finds himself magically spawning in his bed. He never thought much about it, figuring he was so exhausted he probably doesn't remember going home, when in reality it was Jayce that carried him home to make sure his body wouldn't be in pain in the morning.

When Viktor is mad at Jayce he abuses that disabled card. Sometimes he publically humiliates him by pretending he's a bad person that doesn't help his disabled friend with anything. In reality, if he tried to pick something that fell for him, he would be met with the smack of his cane.

Speaking of, acts of service is Jayce's way of flirting. He's an extrovert, but he's not confident at all. He never says his feelings first, just acts especially nice towards someone with numerous gifts, praise and help. Viktor thought he was just being ableist.

Again, speaking of, Viktor is more of a words of affirmation guy. However, when they got together, they have scheduled days within the week where Viktor HAS to accept help and be spoiled. He knows its Jayce's love language by now, so, even if he finds it condescending, he's happy to let him have those days to let it all out.

Sometimes Jayce presents Viktor a complex equation because he loves seeing him explain how to solve it. He just loves listening to him yap.

Viktor has a secret passion for astronomy. Can name you every star. Jayce has a secret passion for birdwatching. Can name you every bird. He'd also love falconry. Tbh he adores animals in general.

Viktor despises Astrology. Jayce loves it. He likes to piss him off by saying "You're acting like your sign right now."

Jayce loves pop and reggaeton, meanwhile Viktor thinks classical music is superior to anything else. He especially listens to it because it is scientifically proven it helps with focus. He hates when he wakes up in the morning to him cleaning and blasting El Taxi or something.

Viktor also loves theatre musicals. His favorites are Ride the Cyclone, Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. He also loves plays like Hamlet or live orchestras.

Jayce is very good at cooking thanks to his mom's teachings. Plus he just really enjoys it. Viktor is the type who finds it a chore and eats only because he has to (he doesn't even do that most days). Jayce often brings extra food when he packs lunch so Viktor can have some too :) he also loves to cook for him.

Jayce is naturally good at dancing. Adores Just Dance and group dances (Viktor always wins Just Dance without even moving his legs). Viktor is naturally good at playing instruments. He likes to focus on what his hands can do so he can feel better about his bad leg.

Jayce loves head massages and scritches. He's a sucker for physical touch. Viktor likes to give him that while he's reading notes or a book.

Jayce is a dog person who has no problems with cats. Viktor is a cat person who kinda hates dogs since they drool all over the place and lick his face.

Viktor never cries, but when he does it's GUT wrenching because of all the bottled up emotions. Jayce, on the other hand, cries for absolutely anything, especially movies. He could see a child with their mom on a random stroll and shed tears saying "they're so happy :("

Ximena (Jayce's mom) adores Viktor. He always tells Jayce to invite him over whenever they can so he can spend less time alone and even encourages him to sleep over. She just can't bare the thought of someone's baby struggling on their own and not being taken care of.

Jayce mostly overthinks when he's trying to fall asleep. The silence is always broken by him spiraling saying things like "do you think I'm annoying?" simply for a stranger not responding after he complimented them or something. The thought of someone hating him drives him insane. He wants to be liked by everyone. People pleaser core.

[star-lights-up]

I'm having thoughts again (it's a very dangerous thing, thinking is): Cherik matilda au, with Jean as matilda. Honestly, it'd probably be a jean-centric fic, background cherik, because i mean miss honey doesn't have a love interest in the original lol. (Oh, right, Charles = miss honey. Erik also kind of = miss honey. they're sharing the role.)

ALSO i'm basing this on the book and the original movie, not the musical and musical movies. I love all incarnations of matilda but I am too tired to work in the whole premonition story thing.

So Jean is just chilling. She's like two years old and already she can cook and clean and pretty much be self sufficient. Her parents are self-absorbed assholes who don't really pay her any mind, and her brother is a little shit who's older than her and never home anyways.

She goes to the library, and she reads. She expands her horizons. She learns. She develops a yearning to see the world outside of her lonely little life -- she may be self-sufficient, but it doesn't mean she doesn't want any friends.

Now, when she's six, she tells her parents that she really should've started school already, and her dad makes a deal with this terrifying man to send her off to Hellfire Elementary (sounds like a great place for kids, amiright?)

There she meets Ororo, who's funny and nice, and then there's Logan, this older kid who's absolutely TERRIFYING (at least he thinks he is, jean's calling his bs). He warns them about the headmaster -- Shaw. The truly terrifying one.

Shaw in this isn't really the kevin bacon shaw. He's like if shaw lost his fucking marbles and became a really buff lunatic. He throws a girl wearing her hair in pigtails over the fence. It's insane.

Then Jean goes to her class. The first years have two teachers -- Mr. Lehnsherr and Mr. Xavier, who tells them just to call him Charles as long as Shaw's not around.

The classroom is kind of amazing. They've got art by students hanging everywhere and cute little posters and vases of wildflowers, the doors opened to the school grounds and filtering in the last of the warm summer air. To Jean, it feels magical. She's finally at school. She finally feels like she's going to get to be in the world. She chats with Ororo and some kid named Scott before the bell rings.

(Now for teaching duo cherik! I'm thinking for them, this is an established relationship fic. )

They've both been hurt by shaw (more on that later) to the point where they've become more muted versions of their personalities.

Charles is kind, as he always is, but in this he's very soft-spoken and stuff. Even as he smiles warmly at the kids, checking on the girl with the pigtails, Jean notices this deep sadness in his eyes.

And then there's Erik. He's quiet, very matter-of-fact when he does speak up, methodical. He's very gentle with all of the children, though, and Jean sees him tracking Charles with his eyes, as though he's sure something awful will happen to him as soon as he lets him out of his sight. Again, his eyes hold some deep sadness, some hidden pain.

As the lessons begin, they're shocked by Jean. Her reading, her writing. Her incredible math abilities.

( found this cute little line from the original book, and i wanted to adapt it (very erik-core):

"It's not fair," Ororo says, "How can she do it and we can't?"

"Don't worry, Ororo, you'll soon catch up," Mr. Lehnsherr says, lying through his teeth. )

After class is over, Charles wants to talk to Shaw, try and get Jean in a more advanced grade. Erik doesn't want him to go. They go together, and Shaw pretty much yells at them and threatens them until they leave.

They decide to think of another way to go -- they can't have jean just sitting in class, learning how to spell r-a-t when she's read shakespeare already.

Back at home, for another week or so, Jean's life continues much the same as it always does. Her parents: the assholes. Then her father takes her and her brother into work one day, telling his son he needs to learn the family trade. Jean's just there.

He shows them all sorts of illegal things he does to the cars before he sells them -- sawdust in the engine, running the miles backwards until the car seems barely used. It's not legal. Worse, it's not safe.

Jean speaks out and gets yelled at.

So she finds some superglue and glues his stupid hat to his head the next day. And so starts her rebellion.

Charles and Erik decide that perhaps it's best to speak to Jean's parents directly. Cue creepy CGI cherik from the last stand. No, no, I'm kidding. They just show up there, try to talk to the greys, who really aren't having it, and before they leave Erik sneaks a book behind a coat rack, Jean smiling at him from where she's hidden on the stairwell, having listened to the whole thing.

Jean plays another prank on her parents for treating her teachers so bad (blabbermouth parrot in the chimney. Mrs. Grey is convinced they've got a ghost).

Meanwhile, at school, Charles and Mr. Lehnsherr give her all these workbooks with more difficult math and language and science, apologizing that they can't instruct her directly or get her into a more advanced class but promising to help if she has any questions (she doesn't).

Anyways. Then we get to the interesting part.

It's been a while, and Jean's seen the horrors of Shaw. He made a boy eat a whole cake in front of the school. he throws kids out windows. And there's this terrible thing called the chokey.

Shaw comes into their classroom to teach his monthly class -- Charles and Mr. Lehnsherr quickly hiding all the art and decorations in the room.

Ororo sneaks a newt into shaw's water. Pandemonium breaks out. Shaw starts targeting poor scott, of all people, who's not capable of breaking a rule.

Something in Jean snaps. And the glass tips over, sending the newt right onto shaw and shaw right out of their classroom.

After class, she explains it to Charles and Mr. Lehnsherr. She shows them what she can do. With just a little bit of anger, she can push the glass over.

The two teachers glance at each other (after being quite shocked, of course), then Charles asks if she'd like to have tea, and talk about this more, if her parents wouldn't mind.

Jean knows that they most certainly don't care where she is, and agrees.

Charles and Mr. Lehnsherr bring her to a small cottage, surrounded by wildflowers. The walls are whitewashed. There are two little windows. Charles spreads cheap margarine on the toast. Mr. Lehnsherr pulls two chipped mugs out -- there doesn't appear to be a third. The kitchen is just a shelf, really, with a little portable stove.

Charles asks Jean if she'd be willing to get them some water from the well out back. She has a wonderful time doing so, never having drawn from a well before.

She and Charles have tea and toast, sitting on the crates that are the only furniture in the whole of the tiny cottage. Mr. Lehnsherr sits cross-legged on the floor, leaning against Charles's crate a little and not eating or drinking anything.

Jean, as a small child -- because, yes, no matter how smart and independent she is, she's still a small child -- asks a few questions that might be a little too personal, inquiring about just how poor their salaries are to live like this.

"Why shouldn't you ask?" Charles says, after Jean apologizes. "You were bound to ask in the end. You are much to bright to not have wondered. Perhaps... Perhaps we even wanted you to ask."

Erik nods his head, saying his solemn voice, "You're our first visitor, after all."

Quietly, a little sadly, Charles begins to tell Jean a story. He once lived in a large brick house in town. His mother passed when he was born, and his father was absent until he died, leaving him in the care of an uncle. The uncle brought with him a ward, Erik.

The uncle was an unkind man. He forced them to work around the clock, doing the household chores and the cooking and anything else he could think of, like they were servants and not young children. He would beat them if they disobeyed -- and even when they didn't.

They managed to go to the teacher's college about forty minutes away when they both turned eighteen. They could've gone to university -- but the evil man wouldn't allow it.

"How did you get away?" Jean asks, equally riveted and in deep sympathy for her kind teachers.

They tell a story of being forced to sign away their salaries to the uncle, since apparently they "owed him thousands" for being just barely fed and clothed for ten years. With the little that they got to keep, it seemed they would never get a place of their own...

But Mr. Lehnsherr, on his early morning walks, stumbled into a small, empty cottage. He went to find out who owned it, and the farmer, after insisting he didn't want to live there, agreed to rent it out for ten pence a month.

Charles and Mr. Lehnsherr (who, at a point, sighed and told Jean just to call him Erik since they're not at school) quietly packed their things, informed the evil man that they'd rented a house, and rushed out the door.

While Jean is happy for their triumph, she's aghast of the idea of the evil man still living in Charles's old home. He says that his father's will was apparently destroyed ("no prizes for guessing who," Jean says, and Erik huffs a laugh) and his uncle produced a piece of paper saying the house was to go to him -- Charles is sure it was counterfeit, but there's nothing he can do.

"He still owns my family property a town over, too," Erik says quietly. "Won in much the same fashion." His hands are balled into fists, his face mournful and angry. He doesn't elaborate, and Jean and Charles are smart enough not to push.

Jean asks who the evil man is.

With a glance at his partner, Charles says the name "Shaw."

After the initial shock, the conversation changes, and Jean eventually excuses herself to go home. Charles and Erik apologize for keeping her so late, walking her to the end of the dirt road and back to the sidewalk.

Before they part, Jean asks a few questions: what did Charles's father call him before he passed? Charlie. He hated it. What did charles and Erik's parents call Shaw? Sebastian. His first name. And what did he call their parents? Brian, Charles answers. ...Edie, Erik whispers after a moment of hesitation.

Jean practices her new gift at home. It's not long until she can lift things at whim, pointing at them or staring at them or just thinking of it. She plots. She plans. She practices what's needed for her plots and her plans.

The next time Shaw comes into their classroom, he's startled by the whiteboard chalk floating into the air, beginning to write a message:

Sebastian, give my Charlie back his house. Give him and Erik their wages. Give Erik his land. Then get out of here. If you don't, we will get you. We will get you like you got us. We are watching you, Sebastian.

There is a great commotion as Shaw passes out on the floor in shock. He's carted out of the school. He leaves the brick house within a day. Reportedly, Brian Xavier's will turns up. Charles and Erik move into the great house. Charles is appointed headmaster of the newly christened "Big Friendly School." (Note: this is taken from the source material. I don't think charles would name something after himself in this au tbh). Jean is a welcome visitor anytime.

Then, one day, arriving back from the brick house in the evening, she finds her parents packing up the car. They're moving to spain, they say. Her father has been caught, which they don't say, but is clear.

Jean runs all the way back to Charles and Erik's house. Jean begs them to let her stay -- she doesn't want to leave, and she certainly doesn't want to be trapped with her parents forever in a foreign country.

Charles and Erik come with her back to her house. She takes some adoption papers out, which, funnily enough, she's had since she was tall enough to use the copier at the library! Boss move, Jean.

her parents don't fucking care, so they sign the papers. Charles and Erik are pretty much about to cry. They're parents, now, something they never thought they could be. They hug Jean, something her own parents never did, and don't bother to watch them leave.

Now, they all live in the big brick house together, and it's a house full of reading and laughter and life, all three of them, daughter and her fathers, finding a kind of happiness they never thought they'd be able to have.

and that's it. Why did I spend two hours writing this. 😂

[oceansarepink]

am i the only one who's not intersted in "is stolas good or bad father" discoure because in either cases their relationship seem empty and shollow

the only thing we know about them is they spent time togther sometimes they don't. but what is in they exactly do in that time except singing lullabies and going to parks . like sure when you're a parent you are your child's best friend but you're also their mentor teacher ,nurse and thearpy should i assume that stolas is good at all those things just because he play with his daughter when she was young .

also i'm speaking as somoene who is in age similiar to via's age (today is my 18th birthday if sinsmas is octavia birthday eposide that makes me 2 monthes older than her) even tho the teen/father relationship would be diffrent from family to other , most teenager like to distane themselves from their parents and rather to discouver who they are outside their parents wings and not the other way around espacially if they disappoint them. the fact that via is still too dependent on her father makes me think her needs wasn't totally fulfill as child , but again those relationship diffrent from someone to other so i might be wrong .

(also those who call octavia selfish spoiled child to defend stolas don't realize they're calling out stolas becase he raised her like that)

That’s fair enough. All the relationships are pretty shallow. I can tell stolas was very involved in his daughter’s life when she was little but took a step back when she grew older. And Octavia seems as though she could’ve been depressed even before the cheating, which only made everything worse.

I���d like some idea of their daily routine because my goodness. The three of them just hang around the palace doing absolutely nothing. What is stolas job??

As for teacher and mentor? Pfft!!! Yeah he’s supposed to be teaching her magic, but their spellbook is GONE 29 nights out of 30. I think vivzie forgot that this means stolas cant teach her any spells! I realised this after @arteicetb s video on the subject, the only channel I’ve seen that has properly gone into his problems as a parent in my opinion.

I’d like to see just a few scenes of Octavia engaging in her hobbies and talking to her friends. Example: creating some taxidermy and speaking about why she likes preserving the image of life in something that is dead. It is a strange practice but it is a form of art with an interesting philosophy behind it. Demonic zoology is also just a really cool world building concept? Octavia loves the strange dark and macabre according to Instagram but until that’s put in the show it isn’t properly canon. She’s also trying to write her own music.

This is perhaps random but I’d love a scene like this, Stella teaching Octavia how to hold a royal ball, and all the stuffy requirements that come with it.

- you must wear several corsets and frills

- expressions must be just so

- don’t sit a Marquis above a Duke

- curtsy to royalty, wave to nobility

- do not allow entry of commoners. No exceptions.

While Via struggles with the status quo and traditions of things because stolas has raised her to be a normal gen-z child. However he knows this is a temporary lifestyle until she’s 18 and makes her “debutante” ball. Octavia did not know this. Stella knows that stolas has only given her the childhood he wanted, the life of a commoner, which has set her up for failure. Octavia doesn’t even know her parents had an arranged marriage because stolas insisted on lying to her for 18 years for the sake of a “normal life”

Octavia entering adulthood without her father, and reflecting on both the good parts and the bad parts of his parenting, could be a really interesting direction for her. She is none of the things her father’s fans say she is. His fans are only protecting the flaws of their precious little near-40-year-old boy from his teenage daughter.

[optimistic-violinist]

Hot Take: Magnifico learning magic and learning how to protect the wishes would've been a better plot for Wish.

Think of it. We start with a town on fire and see Magnifico running away. Maybe he gets caught by the villain. "Any last wishes?" Maybe we see his parents or siblings tackle the villain and tell him to run only for him to watch them be killed (off screen of course).

We get a shot of our villain. I'm thinking a very Shan Yu-like from Mulan. Just, evil. Pillager. Bad Guy.

Magnifico escapes. Since he's gonna be voiced by Chris Pine still (of course), we get the ROTG voice over. "I never saw them again. I never saw my home again. And I vowed that that would never happen again. But that was a long time ago." Cue musical sting, pan up to the night sky and wishing star, title.

Fast forward, Magnifico is now a teenager. Has an adopted mother, living in a cottage in the woods or something near town. He's trying to study magic in his free time, his mother is worried about him getting in over his head. He wants to apply for the magic school in the town. Cue song a la "When Will My Life Begin."

He takes the magic exam and isn't bad, but isn't good enough. Maybe they're snobs, maybe it's really that he failed fair and square.

Note: Amaya also lives in this town. They're friends.

Breakdown that night. Cue "So I Make This Wish," almost verbatim and summons... STAR!

Humanoid Boy Star from the concept art, specifically.

They get talking. Magnifico is obviously starstruck (ba dum tish).

M: "you're, you're---"

S: stupendous, extraordinary, splendiferous?

M: magnificent

Cue discussion about why he's out there wishing, the magic exam, why he wants to learn magic, and Star offers to teach him.

Not sure what happens here. Probably mini-quest to get magic books or items. Upbeat montage song. At the end, hint that the bad guy is coming to destroy this town now.

Somewhere in here, we befriend Amaya more and Magnifico starts to fall in love with her. Cue cute romantic song, something about wishing for each other. Star in the background a la Eponine from Les Mis. NOW we can either go romance or friendship route: either way, there is pining about how he is a cosmic entity, ageless, can't stay forever, and Magnifico is going to grow up and do great things without him.

Oh no!! Bad guys are suddenly a lot closer! We've got to prep and do something! Potentially an ensemble/town song. Culminates in Star asking Magnifico what his wish really is. We see his wish is founding Rosas with Amaya at his side. Star reassures him that that's exactly what he's going to do and teaches him how to take and protect wishes. We got a duet a la "For Good" between them. Star tells him that he's going to be magnificent.

Big battle against the bad guys! Magnifico with his really cool sorcery powers! He takes the Bad Guy's wish to harm people and makes him forget it. Magnifico also gets a cool "Defying Gravity" song here with some line about promising to protect people's wishes and if he should ever fail or use that power for evil, may he be cursed or something. Foreshadowing, y'know?

We get one last goodbye as Star goes to leave. Do they kiss? Maybe. Do they have A SUPER TIGHT TENDER HUG FULL OF LOVR AND CARE. ABSOLUTELY. I LIVE FOR THAT. Probably a reprise of one of the songs here.

Fast forward once more to Magnifico as a young adult with Amaya, sailing on a ship as they discover the island that will become Rosas.

Fin.

[beneathsilverstars]

Dunno if you're only interested in thinking about ISAT related sillies, but I've been thinking of Siffrin's love of plays and poetry mixed with my love of musicals! It's got a script and there's stage settings so people walk the same paths and say the same things every time, but it's still performance art! There's still a magic in every moment and potential for new meaning and change- and that's before you think of how the people times and places also inherently shape things. Do you have any thoughts about what the ISAT party + newly adopted Nille feel/think about traditional plays?

Mirabelle enjoys them as much as any other sort of media, I think! She's more concerned with genre and character than format. It's too bad you can't easily re-experience a play like you can a book, but! That just makes it all the more special to see one! She took an acting class once, and even though she was only a minor background character, being on stage made her so nervous that she messed up her only line. But! That just makes it all the more impressive how brave and talented professional actors are!!

Isabeau loves them as a visual medium. The costumes! The set! The blocking! In the past he would've just said the play was pretty, but these days he will come out of the theater gushing about the visual symbolism. Mira's like "What did you think of the plot though?" and he's like "Oh, the plot? Yeah it was great, it was really clever how they foreshadowed the fall of the prince by tearing his cloak directly through the royal insignia in act one, especially because the blow would have killed him if his servant hadn't intervened; it's just like how holding onto the throne would have led to his death, meaning his servant saved him once again by removing him from power!"

Odile's fine with them. She prefers the private experience of a book, but going out and doing something with friends is a different kind of nice! It's fun to tease everyone about their reactions afterwards. And if she cried at one too once no she didn't. :|

Bonnie likes the action! A story you can watch! Except sometimes Siffrin picks boring ones that are mostly people standing around and talking to themselves and Bonnie isn't even allowed to run around instead. So, hit or miss for them. Every couple of years the kids in Bambouche put on a play, and last time Bonnie got to be a pirate, and it was awesome even though they had to be so careful to not actually whack the other kid with their sword.

Nille likes them a lot! Plays are maybe her favorite way to be told a story; it's so direct and clear and multi-sensational, you really get to immerse yourself in it. She often does gestures and voices while telling stories herself, it just makes it easier to follow! She was so proud of Bonnie when they got to be a pirate and only actually whacked the other kid with their sword for real during practice a couple times.

Siffrin loved the escapism. Stories are so grand, and everything that happens in them is so meaningful. A play ends the same way each time you watch it, yet you're still on the edge of your seat, swept up in the world the actors have conjured! Plus, seeing a play was the best way to kill an evening, sitting somewhere safe and comfortable while getting a little more familiar with the local language and culture. They liked experiencing unique small plays! They liked seeing how a world-famous play would get translated and adapted for different countries! They liked attending the same production three nights in a row and seeing if they could catch any little differences!

Post-canon... He's definitely not going to watch the same one three nights in a row. And not any that he has basically memorized, either. And maybe not the entire thing yet, maybe he has to leave closer to the beginning than the intermission a couple times. But!! Siffrin loves plays, he remembers that about himself, and even after everything, he can't help but love the familiar. So. He's working towards being able to be himself again.

Loop would rather get crushed by the king again than step foot in a theatre~!

[inkbagel]

Some thoughts I have about the tøp lore bc it gets inconsistent at times

I think Clancy and Torch were best friends growing up, and Torch managed to escape way before Clancy could even think about it. However Clancy thought Torch died after leaving (oooo brainwashing the bishops don’t want Clancy trying to escape toooo) I think the handshake they do in natn is proof of this bc CLEAARLY they know each other well enough to have a secret handshake which is something not a lot of ppl do without someone they’re very close to

This one’s (I think) 100% canon but I never hear anyone talk about it, Clancy writes a lot of music. (I was thinking as a full time job but my siblings think he does it as a hobby) even outside of sai era he wrote that one note where he said he went along with what the bishops did to him bc “at least he’s finally creating again” this basically confirms it to me.

^ but also he writes music specifically for the Banditos. That’s why every time they go to save him he plays music for them. He’s like the voice of the Banditos. The party isn’t started without their weird little music man from the concrete city.

He wrote music initially just to create art and stuff in the city but over time he started to realize what vialism actually was and started to speak out against it (neon gravestones) before meeting the banditos and trying to stay with and write music for them.

Torch definitely always wanted to go back and rescue Clancy, but didn’t know how. He was prolly still a kid when he escaped and didn’t have the time or resources to go back. He eventually became the leader of the banditos and while he still wanted to try to find Clancy he has way more responsibilities so he tried to keep himself from doing anything rash by convincing himself Clancy was dead.

That is until the jumpsuit mv where he saw Clancy just walking around outside but getting chased by Nico. After he got captured again torch decided to just go after him and stop being so cold hearted

I wanna say the jumpsuit mv is also when Clancy found out torch is still alive, but it’s a little hard to recognize torch there. (I think Clancy still does recognize him through the power of love)

Clancy being canonically a music artist makes everything way funnier to me. The chosen one with the magic power to seize bodies and in return get seized despite still being alive, who’s leading the Banditos into battle, who befriended the Neds, creatures thought to be extinct, who is constantly chased down by the bishops with eyes on him at all times, with the most main character energy out of anyone, is a singer? That’s hilarious to me.

I love when protagonists are actually just anyone. Like Jonathan sims. That guy was an asshole nobody liked and he never wanted to be the main character OR friends with anyone involved and yet he was. Clancy is like that. How many music artist main characters are there. How many main characters are just pathetic guys who also play music as a job. I love him.

[justheretop0st]

At First Sight

Inspired by this wonderful person's art. Check them out! @substellaris

Word Count: 7.5K

Triggers: None that I am aware of

He’d never know that he had such a talent. Not until he’d met Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. He was an excellent flyer and seeker, but that was something he felt needed to be saved for his own time. As a way to unwind and relax. What he eventually found out was he was able to pick up the bass quite well. Ron’s older brother, Charlie, had picked up a bass and only used it when he remembered he had it. It was a broken and put together bass, but with a little elbow grease and a little magic, it worked beautifully. 

It was long and grueling work for such little pay off, but with Ron, Hermione, and Luna, they’d managed to entertain the local area. Playing little one offs with little to no tips. But that didn’t matter. The kids dancing in the street with their parents scolding them yet bobbing their heads to the music. The cute elderly couple who would have preferred softer and melodic music, still stopped to offer their respects and a couple of suggestions. 

They had kept this going as a pass time. Every weekend they would drag heavy cases down the road to the main town, entertaining muggles, witches, and wizards alike. It didn’t matter with music. Because as long as he saw a smile, he knew they were doing good. 

So, when they had an offer from a club in London to play opening for a larger band, they had said yes with the upmost energy. They had no idea what this would lead to, but they knew it was an experience they could not pass up. At eighteen, they packed up Harry’s van, this being the beginning of a wonderful career. 

Now they stood on the largest stage in the wizarding world, surrounded by thousands of fans on the first night of their tour. Luna was adored for her angelic voice. Hermione was applauded for her skills on the guitar and piano. Ron was beloved for his passion and control. Harry knew he was cherished for his simple yet powerful amplification of his part in the songs Luna wrote. They worked in perfect harmony and years later from that fateful invitation, they stood loved by witches, wizards, and muggles alike. 

The lights in the concert hall shone brightly, illuminating face after face. Occasionally he would smile and chuckle at preposterous signs of “Marry Me!” And other declarations. He always tried to read the signs, smile at fans, and show just how grateful he was to be standing where he was. He started with nothing. They all did. But now, they stood on stage, performing for the people of this city. 

As he played his rifts and rhythms, he looked up from his own fingers and in a moment, time stood still. There was no sound of music. There was no sound of cheers. He could only hear his Instead of a bright blue, red, or green strobe light, this man was illuminated by a simple white light. Harry took in the angelic sight before him. Platinum hair that had was neatly styled. His grey eyes widened in realization, as if he realized that Harry was focused solely on him. 

A heat spread across Harry's face as things began to play again. Harry heart the hall chanting his name as his muscle memory took over, playing his own mini solo in the time that pasted. His eyes roamed the hall for a moment but searched in the crowd of shadowed faces for the man he had seen. He tried to keep up the energy, but his shoulders slumped in disappointment. 

After the performance and an encore, they had finally completed the finale and settled backstage. Ron and Hermione stood talking excitedly about the performance while Harry was slumped on the couch provided. His arms were crossed as he stared at the floor, the mystery man’s face completely engrained in his mind. He had never experienced this feeling before. He had never made time stand still. Though, he could compare the experience to the first time he picked up a bass. 

A cool feeling crept through his skin. He usually felt an obsessive heat under his skin the drove him in every decision, but this chilling embrace, offered a refreshing feeling. It wasn't any less, but a new form of passion that he had never experienced again. Until now. 

He snapped from his thoughts as there was a bounce of weight next to him. Luna was sat sideways and facing towards him, smiling in the knowing way that she always did. “So, what does he look like?” 

Harry was startled by the blatant question but was not surprised. Luna was keenly perceptive in the best possible way, but it often left her blunt and with no filter. “He’s an impeccable beauty. He’s got these grey eyes that just seemed to shine Luna. I mean really shine. He’s got blonde hair, but it was so neat and just framed his face so well. I’ve never seen anyone look so... well, it too bad there is zero to zero chance of anything happening.” 

“Well of course nothing will happen,” Luna said this in a cheery voice and a smile that made her eyes appear closed. 

“Eh, well thank you for pointing out the obvious.” 

“No, I mean of course nothing will happen. You’re just sitting here instead of going out to look for this mystery man!” Harry cocked an eye at Luna. While people had assumed that living as a band meant total freedom, there were certain restrictions their manager had placed hoping to sell more tickets and backstage visits. “I can’t just leave Luna- “

She quickly grabbed his hand and gave a squeeze, smile on her face. “Yes, you can.” 

Normally he wouldn’t think twice about running off to do what he wanted. But this was their job. He wouldn’t put that at risk. “But- “ 

“You should go mate. Well keep things covered here.” Ron had leaned against the back of the couch between the two and looked over at Harry. “You’re so caught up with everyone else. Go.” 

“Ehem, I’m sorry Harry but it would seem our first group of people are here.” Just as Harry was getting up to grab his jacket, his shoulder slumped in disappointment. He just had permission from his friends and technically coworkers. He was willing to search, but the sound of their manager opening the door and walking in with a group quickly broke his hope to at least try to find this man. 

“Well best get prepa- “Harry’s eyes widened as his eyes met a familiar set of grey ones. 

——————

Draco did not want to go to this concert. He didn’t. He had better things to do that his father had expected of him. Surely Pansy and Blaise would understand? 

They didn’t. He sat in front of the mirror and styled his hair as Pansy sat beside him putting on make-up. “You know you could say thank you.” 

“Why? Because you both are forcing me to go to a concert. I believe it should be the other way around.” He grabbed a choker necklace that held an S and patted it snugly against his skin. 

Pansy rolled her eyes as she finished applying dark lipstick. Blaise put a hand on Draco’s shoulder and leaned over him with a smile. “You deserve a break. It’s hard being a ‘Nepo Baby’. Besides, your father will never hear of this, I promise.” 

Draco only stuck his nose up as he scoffed. Of course it was about that. He had secret pleasures such as this. Of course, he was so thankful that Pansy won the radio call-in for three floor seats and backstage passes, but he had built a reputation by direction of his father. No one in his position would be caught dead at a concert like this, mixed with muggles. But he did want to go deep down. 

So, when they were sat cheering and taking photos for their own personal records, it took him by surprise to meet bright green eyes. His face suddenly felt hot and though he was positive it was meant to be a general glance out to the crowd, he found it wasn’t. 

He’d seen the Famous Harry Potters eyes in magazines Pansy let him borrow, the pictures did not do him justice. He’d always found the Potter boy to be quite handsome but seeing him in person was a whole new experience. Their eyes remained connected through the song and Draco couldn’t break the heat that spread across his cheeks and under his skin. It sent chills and comfort through his body. He wanted to feel that more. He kept contact with Potters green eyes. They were so still and focused on him. Draco half wondered if it was even directed with him at all. But the focus in Potters eyes was enough to tell him that it was.

Suddenly, Draco didn’t care that he had come against his better judgement. Potter had ended up breaking the connection first as the song came to an end. Draco felt the icy feeling creep back into his body as he wanted to catch Potters eye again. But he stood patiently staring at him and his precise fingers that pressed and played his bass. 

Before the end of the concert, Pansy had pulled him and Blaise to the meeting location to the meet the band. Draco had almost forgot that Pansy had backstage passes. While waiting outside the door, Draco stood slicking his hair back only for it to fall back into place. Darn his hair product for working so well. Blaise, who was leaned against the wall, chuckled at his vain attempt to look better. “Doubt it’s going to do much.” He said in a sing-song voice. Draco glared at him, but knew it was in vain. Potter was some famous superstar while he was just a politician’s son. Still didn’t mean he couldn’t make a good impression. He wasn’t some superfan like Pansy. 

The door shot open as a tall wizard with sunglasses checked their passes and brought them in as the first group. They had a fifteen-minute backstage meet n greet so he would try to make the most of it before he returned to his boring and strict life. They followed him in succession and finally, they walked past the threshold. 

Pansy tried hard to hold it inside. She so desperately wanted to ask for autographs, but opted to hold it in. Blaise played it cool and smiled at the band before them. He just had to be the epitome of cool. Draco, however, searched the room for Potter, only to be surprised that Potter was already looking at him. 

“Alright gang, here’s the first group! Have fun!” The door shut behind them as Luna and Hermione walked to the group with smiles and talking to the group. 

Ron stayed by Harry and leaned down to whisper in his ear, “Bloody hell, is that- “ 

Harry could only nod, his eyes not leaving Draco’s even though he was being polite and responding to Luna and Hermione. “Harry, that Lucius Malfoy’s kid. Draco, I think- Right sorry, I forget you don’t keep up with that stuff. Lucius is a politician; he has poured money into Draco becoming the next minister. My father works in a different department and has told me how much Lucius harps on Draco.” 

Harry took in the information with a frown but moved to stand as he gestured to Ron to follow. “Don’t know much about that. But something changed. I can just feel it.” 

As they approached, Harry smiled at the small group, but stopped in front of the grey eyed beauty. “Hi there, thanks for coming to the show. It was quite magical I hope.” Harry glanced at Draco when he said this and noticed his cheeks grow red, but Draco didn’t look away. 

“It was amazing! Thank you so much for setting this up. I never thought I would have the opportunity to meet you guys.” Pansy seemed to not be able to hold it in anymore as she gushed about how much she loved their music, breaking down their performances and ranking them. Blaise stood idly with Ron as they had a simple conversation. Harry really couldn’t hear what about, but he held out a hand to Draco and smiled softly. “Hi.” 

Draco let out an airy snort before reaching out and taking Harry’s hand. “Hello.” Harry gestured to the couch and the two departed from the group to take a seat and just talk. It wasn’t a long conversation, after all, they had fifteen minutes. But Harry immediately felt that cooling sensation he had before. This time it was more intense. Draco enjoyed every minute of their conversation. Despite the prim and proper nature of his conversations with those in the ministry, he didn’t feel the need to fake himself. After all, they would never meet again. But Draco would surely treasure this moment. 

As the door opened with new people to meet the group, Pansy and Blaise stood for one last photo, asking for Draco and Harry to join. They stood and before they joined the group, Harry took a chance. “Draco, um,” well he should have had something planned. He began to fidget with his bracelet, then it clicked. “Here., I want you to have this. If not as a promise we can meet again, but then as a thank you for coming to the concert.” 

Draco felt Pansy and Blaise’s eyes on him as he grabbed the bracelet and held it in his hands. It had a red leather band with braided leather strips with little gold chains. Draco then held out his arm, offering the bracelet back. “Would you help me?” 

Harry smiled and proceeded to clip the bracelet in place. His hand stayed a little longer than needed before the let go. Draco returned the smile briefly before turning to return to his friends, casually throwing over his shoulder a, “I’m in touch.” 

—————

The two began writing every day. Sometimes it was as simple as good morning and good day. Other times, there were pages and pages of each other’s story. Harry didn’t hesitate to disclose himself to Draco while Draco seemed hesitant. When Draco wrote, he often tried to leave names out his correspondence. However, a few missteps lead Harry, Hermione, to hypothesize that Draco was likely being careful because of his affiliation to his father. It wasn’t hard to believe. 

Harry’s time was often filled with practices and other work that demanded his attention. However, he made the time to reach out and even offer to come to Draco, after all, he could easily ask for forgiveness than permission if he missed something with work. Draco couldn’t it seemed. 

Draco responded at least twice a day, an initial greeting and a quick written explanation that he was too busy to chat. Harry once asked if he could visit Draco. This was shut down in record time. Harry was grateful for the time he was able to get from Draco. His letters alone made him feel better after a hectic day. He kept every single letter and re-read them when Draco happened to be busy. He’d often read the Prophet in hopes of catching a glimpse of Draco, but it hadn’t been successful. Draco hadn’t disclosed much about his job, what he wanted to do, or anything else. 

Ron noticed how much Harry began to sulk about Draco and as the great friend he was, offered a simple solution. “Just go see him?” Harry scoffed and tossed the cushion that he had been holding tightly against his chest. 

“Sure, seems easy when you think about it. But I can’t just barge in and expect he’d be ok to see me. Especially when he’s told me, and I quote, ‘You shall not come and visit. I forbid it.’ Sure Ron, should go swimmingly.” 

“Alright, no need to chomp off my head for it. Just gets depressing seeing you wallow in self-pity. Boo-hoo, can’t see your boyfriend. Either do something about it or accept that you two are just too different to really make whatever it is you’ve got work.” Ron sat down on the other end of the couch picking up the daily Prophet. 

Harry didn’t retort but sat there going over what Ron had said. As much as he hated it, he knew Ron had a point. And so, he acted as he normally would, as ‘calm and rationally’ as possible and he set to work. 

———

Draco sat at his desk with droopy eyes. Gosh did he want to sleep, but the work needed to be done. His father had demanded it and, well, what his father wanted, he got. He lived alone, but still the flat held his father’s presence. Neat and devoid of any life. He had to fight for his own space, arguing that it would make him more relatable to others when it got closer to elections and such. But even then, this wasn’t his own. He hated the marble counters that were trimmed with gold and black. He hated the columns that dotted the flat. Even the black colored floor that screamed elegance, but it wasn’t him. 

Pansy and Blaise had tried to spruce up the place with friendly pictures and small tokens of their friendship, but it all disappeared with a flick of his father’s wand. Draco shook his head and refocused on the work in front of him. If he completed it and grabbed an official position in the ministry, then his father would certainly stop being as strict as he was. Even with his mother’s protection, it didn’t spare him from much as he grew up. 

Small tapping caught his attention as he looked around. Perhaps it was a neighbor? He shook his head and refocused. Work to do. 

But it happened again, this time with a barrage of taping that he then realized came from his window. He turned and rose from his seat. Who would be writing this late? He opened the curtains but couldn’t see anything. Against his better judgement, he opened the window to take a better look outside. 

This time he was hit with a barrage of pebbles that fell to the floor and through his shirt. “What the- “ 

“Draco!” A forced scream whisper sounded through his very chest. Certainly, it wasn’t- “Draco!” 

He leaned back out the window and looked down to see none other than the famous Harry Potter. He frowned but crossed his arms against the window seal. “And what are you doing here Potter? Didn’t I expressly forbid you from simply stopping by?” 

Harry flinched at the tone, but it was worth a shot. “I know. But I just wanted to see you.” The candor of the statement shot through Draco’s icy exterior as his eyes widened with shock. “I will leave if you want me to. But I was going to invite you out flying.” 

Draco loved flying. He was a natural when he was young, but when his father’s tutors came, that all came to a stop. He bit the inside of his cheek. He could afford a break, right? Opting to not seem too eager he waved his hand out the window, gesturing for Harry to come up. Harry took notice of a certain bracelet Draco was wearing. 

———

Though he was dressed in his formal wear, he still flew with ease. Harry laughed as they both circled each other and raced along the night sky. Draco was as serious and calm as he could be. The air rushed through his hair, and he certainly felt more alive and aware than he had an hour ago. He’d free fall a couple hundred feet and catch himself before he could break the line of the sky. 

They’d finally found a comfortable spot to simply hover and watch the stars. Harry was able to lean back with his hands in his pocket, while Draco leaned forward with his arms folded against the wood of his broom. 

“Thanks. For inviting me out. But don’t expect that you can just show up like this again.” Harry looked over at Draco and smiled. 

“I mean, I missed looking at your face. You have a nice smile when you’re doing something you love.” Draco tried to push down the blush that spread across his face and to his ears, but he knew he failed. 

“Suppose it would be easy for you to say that. You get to do what you love every day.” 

“Well tell me than, what would you be doing then? Because I know it isn’t whatever it is you’re doing now.”

Draco stayed silent. He’d thought of it. But there wasn’t much he could do to make the dream a reality. He’d love to be an alchemist, healer, or potioneer. He wanted to create, and he knew he was good at it. He wanted to fix things; he’s done it before. But it was just a dream. Nothing more. “What makes you think I don’t love what I’m doing?” 

“Draco,” Harry sat forward and ducked to try and look at Draco directly, “You never look happy. You’re always busy. And even though this is the first time we’ve met up since the concert, you look exhausted in a bad way.”

“Like there is a good way. It’s work.”

“Well, yeah. I get exhausted most days. My shoulder, arm, and hands get sore. There are some days my fingers bleed. But it’s not a bad thing. It’s something I love doing. Creating music with my friends and sharing it with the world. You deserve that too Draco.” 

Draco finally looked over at Harry, his eyes soft. Once Harry took a second look, he leaned his broom closer to Draco’s and hesitated for a moment before wrapping an arm around Draco’s shoulders. Draco never let himself really feel. He never had a choice but to feel thankful for the opportunities his father provided. Hearing Harry’s passion for his work, it just shows how much he was missing. Draco let a tear fall. Then another. Until he was fully leaned into Harry’s embrace. It was messy and wobbly given that they were in the air still, but Draco didn’t care. 

Harry rubbed Draco’s shoulder as he began to quietly weep. He’d known sadness before. Not like this, but he’d sometimes get emotional when Sirius or Remus told him stories about his parents. He wished he could have had a life feeling wanted as a child. But seeing how Draco’s shoulders rose and fell with sputtered inconsistency, Harry understood what it could have led to. 

The flapping of wings interrupted the moment between them. When Draco looked up, his eyes widened at the sight of a pure white barn owl with striking black eyes. It landed on the tip of Draco’s broom and held out is leg expectantly. Draco didn’t dare move to grab it, mentally degrading himself for letting this go on for more than an hour. 

Harry, as curious as he was, reached for the letter and opened it. Sure, it wasn’t for him, but he knew a panicked response when he saw one. He read the letter, which was written in fine dark green ink. His nose scrunched up while reading the letter. The consequences of Draco’s lack of ambition would result in the falling of the Malfoy name because no Malfoy man shouldn’t be in a position of power. And this failure would not come from Draco. Signed, Lucius Malfoy. Harry turned to Draco who only stared at the owl, arms wrapped tightly around himself. 

“Draco, you deserve to be happy too. Surely there is a better way to- “

“Shut up Potter. You wouldn’t know what is better or what makes me happy.” Harry was left speechless at the quick retort, but not for long. 

“Draco, all I’m saying is you’ve been surrounded with his mess all your life. There is more than this darkness that your father is filling your head with.” 

“Shut up, Shut up! You don’t know Potter! Just- leave me alone. Don’t write to me. Don’t come knocking. Obviously, this was a bad idea. You’re becoming a distraction. Yes. That’s what it is.” With that Draco turned sharply on his broom back to his flat. Harry quickly followed, passing the owl as he did so. 

“Draco waits!” He sped beside Draco and tried to pull in front of him. He reached and grabbed Draco’s arm, pulling them both to a sloppy stop. Draco didn’t fight but didn’t look at Harry either. “Is that what you really want? I’m not a distraction if I’m someone you want. Give yourself some slack! This is your life. Not your fathers, not your family’s, but your life. Please Draco. Make a choice for yourself.” Harry knew that he had deep feelings for the blonde in front of him. They’d hardly spent more than three hours with each other, but there was something inside him that made him feel normal. Even if Draco didn’t want more with Harry, he would still stay beside Draco like he would with Ron, Hermione, Luna, or any of his other friends. 

Draco’s other arm gripped his broom tighter as he jerked his arm from Harry’s hand. His eyes were still wet, and his neck was a dark red. He hurriedly unclipped the bracelet that Harry had given him and chucked it in a fit of frenzied anxiety. 

When Draco turned back to Harry, his eyes rose to meet the usual bright green ones. Grey eyes swirled with shadows of melancholy and turmoil. His icy interior seemly melting with his deep desire to feel wanted for himself. To be able to choose his own destiny. He only wanted peace, but that would only ever be a dream. With one last look, Draco tried to convey his remorse for his action, but he knew that it was over. Their friendship. Whatever could have happened, was no more. He took off again, this time not hearing Harry shout after him or the rush of wind from his speed. 

----------

“Harry? Rons told me that you’ve been shut up in your room since you last spoke with Draco. We’ve respected your solitude long enough. Either open the door or we are coming in.” Ron grabbed Hermione’s shoulder with a shake of his head. 

“Mione, we aren’t going to do that.” 

“Oh yes, I am. He certainly would do it for any of us if- “

“Oh, hello Harry.” Lunas soft voice quelled the bickering between Ron and Hermione. They turned to see Harry with an armful of papers. 

“Oh, hey guys, sorry. Didn’t mean to worry you, but I just got busy with this. I hope you’ll like it. I’m going to talk to our manager to get him to set up another performance. I think we should be able to get these cleaned up and good to go.” Harry passed out the scribbled down parts of the music he crafted. Ron drums. Hermione keyboard. Luna guitar and backup vocals. Harry bass and lead. 

“Harry this sound like it’s wonderful. But what prompted this?” Luna pulled her wand from her hair and began to clean up the scribbled writing and sheet music. 

Harry looked away, “I don’t know why it really matters, but I want to try and get to Draco the only way I know how.” Harry turned his gaze back to his friends and scratched his face. “I know I must sound crazy, but- “

“Bloody hell, of course you are. Just didn’t want you sulking away. Give us time to practice and we will meet up in a week?”

Hermione hmphed and pointed a finger at Harry, “Next time you want to make new music, at least involve us,” she turned and followed Lunas lead by clearing up the paper as best she could while muttering under her breath. 

Ron shrugged at Harry and followed the girls to walk them to the door. He locked the door and accio’ed his sticks, opting to use the couch pillows as a practice set for now. 

Harry was thankful to have such understanding friends. But he could only hope the letter he’d sent to Blaise and Pansy would prove they were too. 

-----------

Draco did not want to go to this concert. He didn’t. He had better things to do that his father had expected of him. Surely Pansy and Blaise would understand? Especially if he just told them the truth about what happened. However, they did not understand and instead began shoving clothes onto him and brushing out his hair before he finally gave up and dressed himself. 

This time Blaise was fortunate enough to win some tickets, apparently to some new debut. Draco really didn’t care, but his friends wouldn’t let him just stay home. He’d been sulking since the flight. His hand kept trying to fidget with the bracelet Potter had given him, but of course he just acted. He wished he could have just given it back to Potter, perhaps there could have been some salvage of friendship. Draco kept his head down not caring who was playing, the conversations around him, or even the cheers when the openers arrived on stage.

“You know that he’s right.” Pansy’s voice was almost drowned out by the music and cheers. Draco looked over at her and shook his head. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” That was a lie. He had learned quickly to tell fibs when they best suited him. Unfortunately, Blaise and Pansy wouldn’t learn to accept it.

Putting her a hand on her hip, the other rose to pinch his cheek. “You’re being dumb again.” He almost yelled in protest, but an arm on his shoulder grabbed his attention. 

“Shh, focus.” Blaise smirked and pointed to the stage. At some point they seemed to have changed out. Center stage with his Bass and an earpiece microphone was none other than Potter himself. Draco suddenly felt sick and wanted to just run. How could they bring him here? He thought for a moment and sighed. He really didn’t give them much information about what happened. The depression he’d fallen into was more than just breaking off whatever Potter and him had. 

Potter had seemed to really fight. Blaise and Pansy did, sure, but they grew up with him. They understood the life he lived. Because they lived it too. Potter was the first stranger to fight for him. To really want to talk to him and even laugh with him. Even in the brief flight, Potter didn’t hesitate to compete with him. It wasn’t fair. 

Guitar and Bass started; it was a different pace than their usual music. But when Potter opened his mouth, Draco felt shivers down his spine. The melodic and almost effortless vocal was enough to bring the crowd to their senses as fans around them screamed and cheered their praises for his official debut. But Draco heard something more. He saw something more. Potter stared directly at him. Though he swayed and almost bounced in spot, his voice remained clear with the clarity of a crystal. Each tone he hit and played sparked a type of passion in Draco’s heart. His eyes watered, but he didn’t cry.  He listened to each lyric with bated breath. 

“It breaks my heart that you can't let go

You say you're fine, but oh, I know

You've been dancing, dancing, dancing with your shadows

When the days get hard, and your lights burn low

Don't go far, just hold me close

We'll go dancing, dancing, dancing with your shadows

Dancing with your shadows,” 

Instead of making this song a confessional of the desire he had, instead, Harry had poured his person into it. Draco could tell because it screamed Harry. The deep emotional connection that Harry had developed to Draco pierced through Draco’s core. Some one feels for him. It hurts Harry to see him so troubled? Harry sees the façade that Draco spent so long building and perfecting? His hand reached for the bracelet that Harry gifted him, but remembered it was gone. Draco deserved to live and linger among the shadows. He was nothing but a tool and puppet for his family. He’d known and accepted this fact long ago. But Harrys simple offer to pull him close seemed to strike a new feeling inside him. Desire. He had been a tool and built so much, so why was he not proud of it? Did he truly deserve to be? Would Harry stay by his side and continue to fight for Draco? With Draco? It became too much as Draco broke from his seat and pushed down the crowded aisles to the lobby. He ignored Blaise and Pansy’s calls despite them following him out.

------

Harry paced the room as he heard the openers nearly completing their set. He’d no idea if his idea worked, but he had to try. He’d written to Draco’s friends and asked that they bring Draco to the concert, if not to say sorry, then to see Draco one last time. Despite never feeling the way he did with anyone else; he still felt his protective urge to help and guide Draco to his happiness. Ron, Hermione, and Luna tried to talk to him, but he couldn’t hold a single conversation. His throat was tight with anticipation. But it didn’t stop them from offering their words of encouragement. 

“You’ll do amazing Harry. Don’t ask how I know. Careful now, your heads full of wrackspurts.”

“We’ve practiced day in and out. You’ve composed a wonderful set. Whatever happens, we are right here.”

“It’s not like you’ve done this before mate, besides, I’ve had to listen to you sing for the past some odd years while cleaning or whatever, you’re fine.” 

As they prepared to get on stage, Harry suddenly felt a sense of calm surround him. It was a familiar sensation that he could not place. He shook his head and tried to focus as people attached and connected the earpiece to him. Just as they made their way into place, his eyes landed on the primary spot he’d chosen for the Blaise, Pansy, and Draco. He wanted to know for sure if Draco showed, and it seemed that he had. Harry watched as Blaise pointed him out to Draco, who looked up at the stage to see him. Harry wanted to wave, but the same look flashed across Draco’s face. Was this the right choice? 

As Luna and him began to play, Draco’s expression faded from shock to fascination. He didn’t blink and though he might have wanted to run, he stayed and stared. Not an icy glare or the same look from the other concert, but something new. Next his eyes seemed to water like that night, but no tears seemed to fall. Draco’s eyebrows rose as a hand rose to cover his mouth. 

“It's hard to hear your words

When you're so afraid to speak 'em

Somethings on your mind

But you're hiding it away

If you're running through the woods

Yeah, I'll search all night to find you

When the wolves are at your door

I'm gonna drive them all away” 

Harry wrote this song with every intention of sharing to Draco that it didn’t matter what happened between them. He just wanted to stay by his side, even if it was to take the hurt or protect Draco from all of his inner turmoil. The song portrayed it so well he felt, even with the help of his friends who offered better alternatives to make it the best it could be. He was so fortunate, why wouldn’t he offer it to someone who needed it? 

While the song came to an end, Harry watched in defeat as Draco ran. But he couldn’t show it. He had to keep on with the show. He had to continue playing even as Luna picked up her usual que as lead vocalist. He kept up the energy as best as he could. But he knew he would collapse after all was said and done. 

Luna finished the set, bidding the fans a great night as the closers began to usher people safely from the hall. Ron was the first to lead Harry off the stage. He didn’t make any comment, he didn’t thrash Draco, but he did rub a soothing hand down Harry’s arm as Hermione and Luna followed slowly behind. Harry could hear Hermione’s concerns of Harry shutting down and retreating into himself. Harry knew what she was talking about. Before he found music, his temper was horrible. He’d snap at his friends and despite their efforts to help him, he pushed them away. He knew they didn’t want that to happen, but he often did when he failed or felt alone. This wasn’t their fault, and he secretly vowed not to allow it to happen again. 

As they reached the backstage room, Ron ushered Harry to the couch while Hermione rushed to grab water for everyone. Luna sat next to Harry as they had last time, but this time she held his hand and wrapped it in-between both of hers. “I’d be second-guessing everything right about now, but I’d like you to remember that you’ve done everything you can Harry,” Luna looked into Harry’s eyes and smiled, “You’re so wonderful for trying to help him, but remember that you cannot internalize his decision. I don’t know what you might be feeling right now, but I know we are all here. We will walk this path together. Ok?” 

Harry felt like a failure, but he knew Luna was right. Draco made his choice and while Harry would have loved to see what Draco could have been, he understood that Draco was gone in his family’s misery. He opened his mouth to respond, but shouting caught his attention. Everyone in the room was put on alert as they grabbed their wands and pointed it at the door. The shouting grew closer as spells and the shield charm were cast. 

The door swung open as their manager fell back with his own wand pointed at the intruders. “And I said that I didn’t care if you ‘know’ them. You shouldn’t be back here!” 

Stepping through the door, Draco pointed his wand down at the man and scoffed. “How else was I supposed to reach out tonight? Seriously, you’ve met me before stupid, arrogant man!” He blocked a stunning curse and stepped over the man on the floor.

Draco looked around the room and watched as Harry lowered his wand. “Draco?” 

“Pott- Harry,” Draco suddenly looked to the side and put away his wand, unsure of what else he would say, but he still opened his mouth refusing to look at Harry. 

“Look, I have always been guarded and trained to hold my cards close to my chest. I don’t know who I can trust and even now it sucks to be in this position. Before you, things were fine. But you were the first stranger in my life to make me feel wanted and fought for. I lov- appreciate how you light up about what you’re passionate about. I’d like to feel that too. If you can forgive me for the last conversation we had, I’d like to learn.” Draco finally looked at Harry with cautious and guarded eyes. His nose was pointed high as if Draco prepared to dismiss the entire situation like he would dismiss a servant. 

Harry walked over to Draco slowly. “That’s all I’d like to do,” Harry grabbed Dracos hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, “and perhaps when you’re settled and on your own, we could pick up where things left off.” Draco squeezed Harrys hand back and nodded. 

“I fully anticipate problems. I’ll expect you to stay by my side as I suffer through them.”

Harry smiled, “By the end of it, you will not suffer anymore. But I will help you through it.”

------

Epilogue

“Mate, you could have bought a better place yeah?” Ron bit the side of his lip as he peered around the building that held dust, spiderwebs, and broken furniture. 

“Not exactly in my ‘budget’ Weasel. Besides, its perfect. It’s mine.” Draco stepped into the decomposing building and stood firm in what used to be the lobby or main entrance. 

“That’s the spirit Draco, this isn’t something a little elbow grease can’t fix!” Hermione pushed up her sleeves and put down the cleaning supplies she brought. 

“Oh? I thought this was your intentions Draco. I think it is lovely.” Draco raised an eyebrow at Luna and opted to not say anything. 

“Of course, it needs to be cleaned and repaired. Once I am finished with my apprenticeship with Severus, I will be able to open my own shop. It needs to be ready by then.” 

“Well, good thing you’ve got great support.” Draco turned to see Harry breathing heavily as he walked through the door. “Sorry I’m a little late, got caught up.” He took his time looking around and smiling. “It’ll be great Draco.”

Draco grimaced, “Well it better be. I didn’t leave it all behind for it to fail.” He crossed his arms and looked around the space and sighed.  

Luna chuckled, “Failure is inevitable, it’s your reaction that dictates success.”

Ron frowned, “Impossible, it’s how much profit you can make. Trust me, George and Fred have made it perfectly clear now that they’re successful.”

Hermione, who had set the broom to sweep scoffed and placed her hands on her hips. “Both of you are ridiculous, you won’t fail if you prepare, and money doesn’t mean everything. It is about the accomplishment.” 

Harry rolled his eyes as he picked up a duster and began to manually dust, idly listening to his friends bicker as they began to help clean. Draco was focused on repairing the roof as he noticed a large hole that had attributed to the damage in the building. He began to repair it until he noticed something gold falling onto him. He backed away with a small gasp and watched as familiar red clunked to the floor. 

Draco picked up the bracelet he’d thrown so long ago and could not believe his eyes. Thinking back, he supposed that they had flown all over Wiltshire and it was possible. But the odds were astronomical. “Hey what’s up?”

Draco turned quickly not hiding the object in his hand. “I-,” He couldn’t believe it and yet he held it in his hand. 

Harry wasn’t prepared to see the bracelet ever again. It wasn’t anything to special, but he’d given it to Draco as a promise. He reached out for the bracelet and held it in his hands. He wanted to slip it back onto his own wrist but looked back at Draco with a shy smile. “May I?’ He held out his hand. 

Draco felt his face get warm as he placed his hand in Harry’s. “Another promise for me to break I suppose?”

Harry chuckled as he latched it. “I hope not. But I have a feeling when all is said and done, there is only one way for this to go.” Harry inwardly cringed, but he knew what he would like to happen. Since the first concert, the feeling that Draco gave, his drive, and eventual passion. He would like to be more than a tool in his journey, but a part of it. 

Draco rolled his eyes as the bracelet fell into place. “I don’t think a bracelet is a good way to promise that,” Draco grabbed the front of Harry’s shirt and pulled him close, smashing their lips together in an explosion of new sensations. Harry was shocked but rested his hands on Draco’s hips. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry’s shoulders. They’d stay like that for as long as they could, but when they pulled away, they didn’t separate. They pressed their foreheads together in a silent promise to make it work. 

After another moment, Draco smirked, “Besides Potter, you’re better than that. But if you need reminders, I suppose I will oblige and remind you.” 

They both laughed and pulled away to finish cleaning. Both were eager to start something more serious. But of course, life was more chaotic. There wouldn’t be a perfect time for their relationship to start. But at first sight, they knew that they had every chance. 

[quilloftheages]

Chapter 1: A Night in Vienna - Hans Landa x OC (1st Person)

Premise 

Set in the Inglourious Basterds universe, Elizabeth Acton, the daughter of an Oxford diplomat, is studying history at the University of Vienna in the 1920s. After an unexpected encounter with the enigmatic detective Hans Landa, their lives intertwine in a passionate romance. Despite a loving marriage and idyllic life together, Elizabeth's world is shattered when Hans mysteriously disappears, leaving only a note. Heartbroken and alone, she embarks on a journey to Paris to rebuild her life and confront the haunting question: why did Hans leave? And will she ever see him again?

Story: 

Chapter 1

Vienna, in the late 1920’s, had a certain magic to it. It was a city of art, music, and intellect, where the streets echoed with the footsteps of philosophers and dreamers. I had arrived here from Oxford, together with my family. My father’s career as a diplomat meant he was stationed in the city, and though Vienna was a world away from the rolling green hills of England, I found myself captivated by its allure. The university of Vienna was renowned for its history program, and studying here seemed the perfect way to carve out my future. 

But if I’m honest, I was just drawn to the idea of escape. Oxford, for all its charm, had always felt like a cage. My father’s expectations, the stifling formality of our lives – it all felt so scripted. Vienna, on the other hand, promised something different. It was a city alive with possibilities, and I was determined to take advantage of every one. 

In the evenings, after long days of lectures, I’d attend French lessons with my friends, Elise and Margot. The lessons were my ticket to the next dream: Paris. I’d always imagined myself walking the boulevards, teaching history at a lycée, living among the poets and artist. It was a romantic vision, perhaps, but at eighteen, I had no reasons not to dream big. 

One night, after our French class, we decided to stop at a bar near the city center. It was a cozy little place, dimly lit with a warm glow from the gas lamps and the gentle hum of conversation in the air. The scent of tobacco smoke mingled with the sharp aroma of schnapps and beer, and the clinking of glasses felt like the pulse of the room. We took a seat in a corner, practicing our French while laughing at Elise’s attempts to order wine In the language. 

It was then that I saw him for the first time. 

He stood near the bar, dressed in a dark, tailored coat, his posture straight and confident. There was something striking about him – sharp cheekbones, piercing eyes that seemed to take in everything around him without giving anything away. His gaze moved across the room and paused on us, or more specifically, on me. 

I tried not to look back, but curiosity got the better of me. our eyes met, and a flicker of smile played at the corner of his mouth. Something about it unsettled me, though I couldn’t quite put a finger on why. Still, I felt drawn to him. 

Elise noticed my starring. “He’s a handsome one. Though I must say perhaps a little too old for you.” She teased. Margot noticed what we were talking about and chuckled. “Good for you, Liz. He’s handsome and older. Every woman’s dream” she teased. I chuckled at both of them. Margot was the flirt of the group. Every man wanted her, and every woman wanted to be her. 

“Not interested,” I lied as I took a sip of my glass of wine, trying to escape the conversation. Elise sent me a small smile while Margot just chuckled, “If you say so,” she teased back. Our conversation flowed until suddenly I noticed a presence standing by our table. I looked up and spotted the man from before. Up close he didn’t seem tall, but he had a commanding presence. 

“Good evening, ladies,” he said in flawless German, tipping his hat politely. My German was rudimentary, but I caught enough to understand his greeting. His voice was smooth, carrying an air of authority. “May I join you?”

Elise glanced at me a bit unsure. But Margot, always the bold one, nodded. “Of course,” she replied. 

He pulled out a chair, sitting down with ease, his attention now fully on me. “Hans Landa,” he introduced himself, extending his hand. 

I shook it, trying to suppress the shutter of nerves. “Elizabeth Acton,” I replied in English, my German too weak for conversation. 

“You’re not from here,” he said, switching effortlessly to English. It was more of a statement than a question. 

“No,” I smiled, a little surprised at his fluency. “Oxford, originally. My father is a diplomat, stationed here for now. I’m studying at the university.” 

“Ah, a student of history in the city of history and culture.” His smile widened, though there was sometime about it that remained enigmatic, unreadable. 

“How did you know I studied history?” I asked baffled, not having told him that. He sent me a wolf-like smile. “Intuition,” he replied, making all of his chuckle. 

“What brings you to Vienna? Aside from your father’s work?” he asked. 

“I wanted to study here. It seemed… different. And I’m learning French. We all are, actually.” I paused, feeling self-conscious under his intense gaze. “I’d like to go to Paris someday.”

“Paris is beautiful,” he said, leaning back slightly. “But Vienna has its own charm. You may find it hard to leave once you lived here long enough.” 

Our conversation drifted into safer topics – Vienna, my studies, the little things about the city that charmed me. Hans listened attentively, nodding at all the right moments, his dark eyes never leaving mine. There was something magnetic about him. He was older, more worldly, but that only made him more intriguing. 

As the evening wore on, I found myself relaxing in his presence. He had a way making you feel like you were the only person in the room, as if your words mattered more than anyone else’s. And yet, there was something guarded about him, something he held back. 

I was drawn to that mystery. ______________________________________________________________

It had only been a few days since that night at the bar, but Hans Landa had already lodged himself in my thoughts. There was something about his presence that lingered, like a faint scent you couldn’t quite place but couldn’t forget. His attention was exhilarating.

After another evening of French lessons, my friends and I decided to take a different route home. The bustling square near St. Stephen’s Cathedral was vibrant with life – street vendors packing up for the night, the smell of roasted chestnuts in the air, and couples hurrying off to their favourite cafés. And then, as we turned the corner, I saw him. 

Hans stood leaning casually against a lamppost, his hat tipped slightly forward, watching the world pass by. His eyes flicked toward me, and I felt my heart skip. 

“Good evening, Miss Acton,” he greeted me with a slow smile, ignoring my friend, focusing solely on me. 

I was momentarily stunned that he remembered my name. “Mr. Landa,” I replied, hoping my voice sounded steadier than I felt. 

“Vienna is small, after all,” he said, his English accented but fluent. “We seem to be crossing paths again.” 

He gestured toward the street. “May I walk with you? Unless, of course, I’m interrupting.” He glanced briefly at Elise and Margot, but it was clear he was only asking out for politeness. 

I hesitated, glancing at my friends. Margot just smirked, while Elise gave me a knowing look and whispered. “Go ahead. We’ll see you tomorrow.” 

And just like that, I found myself walking with Hans through the twilight streets of Vienna, the atmosphere between us buzzing with curiosity. We talked – well, mostly he asked questions, and I answered. I found myself telling him more about my studies, about Oxford, my father’s work, my childhood. He listened with an intensity that made me feel seen. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he said as we neared my street. “How are the French lessons going?”

I smiled sheepishly. “I understand much more than I can speak. My accent is… rather terrible.” 

He chuckled, and the sound warmed me. “Perhaps I could help.” 

I looked up at him and smiled. “I would like that very much.” 

The next week, Hans appeared outside the university as I was leaving my class. His presence was becoming less of a surprise and more of an expectation – one I wasn’t sure how to feel about, yet undeniably looked forward to. 

“Miss Acton,” he greeted, falling into step beside me. “I’ve been thinking about your French. If you’d like, I could assist with your lessons.” 

I raised an eyebrow. “You speak French?”

“Fluently,” he said, with a touch of pride. “After all, I’ve spent some time in France during my travels for work.” 

I was hesitant at first. Hans was a detective, a man with a mysterious aura, and this offer felt oddly personal. But I agreed. 

And so, our meetings took on a new routine. We would meet after my French lessons, and Hans would quiz me, correcting my pronunciation with gentle patience. It was strange – he was often so sharp and perceptive, but with me, he was careful, as though he didn’t want to rush anything. 

One evening, after correcting my imperfect “R” sound for what felt like the hundredth time, he looked at me with a teasing smile. “If you wish to speak with Parisians, you must soften your tongue. Let the language move through you like music.” 

His voice was so close, his breath warm against the evening air. I tried to phrase again, and he nodded approvingly, his smile lingering just a bit longer than usual. 

A few weeks later, after one of our informal lessons, we stood on the street corner, neither of us quite ready to say goodbye. 

Hans shifted, his eyes narrowing in thought before he spoke. “Elizabeth,” he began, using my first name for the first time, the sound of it unexpected and somehow intimate. “I’d like to take you out. Properly.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “You mean… as in a date?” 

His lips quirked into a half-smile. “Yes, a date. Tomorrow evening? There’s a small café near the Danube. Quiet, warm…I think you’d like it.” 

I hesitated for only a moment before nodding, with a smile. “I’d like that.” He smiled charmingly back which made my heart flutter. ______________________________________________________________

The café Hans had chosen was quaint, tucked away from the busy streets of Vienna. It had wooden tables, candlelight flickering in the soft breeze, and a view of the river that was simply enchanting. We sat by the window, the city reflecting off the water in soft hues of gold and blue. 

Hans seemed more relaxed than usual, the guarded air he often wore like amor fading in the candlelight. We talked about everything and nothing. I told him about my life in Oxford, about my younger brother, James, who was still in school. In return, he shared snippets of his life – he’d grown up here in Austria, in the Alps to be precise. He had travelled widely for his work, but seemed to evade anything too personal. 

As the evening drew on, there was a brief silence. Hans reached across the table, gently placing his hand over mine. 

“Elizabeth,” he said, his voice lower, more serious. “I enjoy this. Being with you. I… don’t often feel this way.” 

I felt my heart quicken. “Neither do I.” 

We walked along the Danube afterward, the stars reflecting off the water. When we stopped by the river’s edge, Hans turned to face me fully, his eyes dark and unreadable. For a moment, he simply looked at me, his gaze intense, as if weighing some unspoken decision. 

Then, without a word, he leaned down and kissed me, his lips warm and soft against mine. 

The kiss was gentle, tentative, as though he was testing the waters. His hand came up to cradle my cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across my skin. I responded instinctively, letting my eyes closed as I melted into the warmth of his touch. The city seemed to blur around us, and for that brief moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the world. 

When we finally pulled away, the air between us was thick with unspoken emotions. I looked up at him, trying to gauge what he was thinking, but Hans, ever the enigma, simply smiled softly and took my hand, guiding me away from the river. ______________________________________________________________

The weeks that followed were filled with long walks, secret glances, and quiet conversations. Hans was unlike any man I had ever known – intelligent, mysterious, and yet gentle with me in ways I never expected. He was thoughtful, bringing me books from his personal collection, surprising me with small gifts like pressed flowers or an ink bottle from Paris, knowing I dreamt of going there. 

Our time together felt stolen, as if we were living in a world apart from everything else. We would meet in the afternoons after my classes, sit in a café or stroll through the gardens. There was always a tension beneath the surface, something deepening between us that neither of us could ignore. 

It was late one evening after dinner, and we were sitting in a quiet park beneath the glow of the streetlamps. Hans had been quieter than usual, his mood more intense, his eyes following me with a kind of hunger. I felt it too – the pull between us, the unspoken desire. 

We talked, but it was the only surface-level, both of us skirting around what we were really feeling. Finally, as the conversation died down, Hans turned to me, his expression unreadable. 

“I’ve been holding back, Fräulein,” he admitted, his voice low and raw. “But I don’t think I can anymore.” 

Before I could respond, he kissed me again, but this time there was nothing tentative about it. His lips pressed harder, his hands pulling me close, and I felt the full force of what had been simmering between us. I returned the kiss with equal intensity, my arms wrapping around his neck as the world spun around us. 

When we finally broke apart breathless, the air between us had changed. We didn’t speak, but there was no need. We both knew that things had shifted. I smiled up at him, and he smiled back. And in that moment, he seemed to me to be the most beautiful and charming man, I had ever met. ______________________________________________________________

It didn’t take long after that before Hans suggested to meet my family. My parents were cautious, particularly my father. He was sceptical of Hans, though polite. 

Dinner with my parents was a formal affair, and Hans, to his credit, handled it well. He charmed my mother with his knowledge of art, and even managed to get a laugh out of my younger brother, James, who was typical shy around strangers. My father, however, remained distant, his questions sharp, probing Hans’ background and intentions. 

After the meal, when Hans and my father retreated to the study for a private conversation, I was left with a knot of anxiety. My father was protective, and though he rarely interfered with my life, I could sense his concerns. 

When they finally emerged, Hans looked calm, though my father’s expression remained unreadable. Still, when he shook Hans’ hand, there was a sense of grudging respect. 

I followed him to the door, and while I really wanted to kiss him, I couldn’t with my parents lingering close by. He smiled at me and winked as he left, making me chuckle. 

That night as I went to bed, I had a smile on my face and dreamed of Hans. 

We continued like this for months. He would help my study, take me on walks, to see museums and art galleries. He had come over a couple of more times to dine with my family, and in time my father seemed to like him more and more. 

Even after all of this it still took me by complete surprise. I came home one evening after class, expecting the house to be quiet. Instead, I found Hans sitting in the Parlor, his hat resting on the table beside him, his coat neatly folded over the chair. My heart raced in surprise. 

“Hans? What are you doing here?” I asked, stepping into the room, confusion clear on my face. 

He stood, walking over to me with a serious expression. “I’ve just spoken with your father.” 

My stomach flipped. “About what?” I asked in concern. 

Hans took my hands in his, his grip firm but gentle. His eyes locked onto mine, and for the first time since we’d met, I saw something like uncertainty in his gaze. 

“My liebe, Elizabeth,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve asked your father for his blessing to marry you.” 

The air seemed to leave the room, and I stared at him, trying to process what he had just said. 

“I love you,” he continued, his hands tightening slightly around mine. “And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If you’ll have me.”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and all I could do was nod. 

Hans smiled then, a rare, genuine smile that made my heart soar. He pulled me into his arms, and as he held me close, I whispered, “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

We kissed again, and this time, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty - just the promise of a future together. 

Just a few short months later, I graduated from the University of Vienna. Hans was there, sitting in the audience with that same proud smile that made my heart flutter. The diploma in my hands felt like a culmination of years of hard work, a symbol of the life I had dreamed of building. But the moment I walked across the stage, my eyes found Hans, and I realised in that moment that the future was no longer just mine – it was ours. 

Our wedding followed soon after. It was a small, intimate ceremony in a charming Viennese church, attended by my family and friends, and some of Hans’ friends. My mother fussed over every detail, while my father walked me down the aisle, his expression soft with emotion. Hans waited at the altar, looking more handsome than I’d ever seen him, his dark eyes flowing with affection and promise.

The ceremony was simple but perfect. The moment we kissed as husband and wife, I felt a swell of love so strong that it left me breathless. I knew my life had changed forever. ______________________________________________________________

After the wedding, I moved into Hans’ apartment – a beautiful, sunlit space in the heart of Vienna. The rooms were filled with the warm, earthy scent of wood and leather, and large windows overlooked the bustling streets below. It was smaller than my family’s home, but it felt infinitely cozier. We spent our first days as newlyweds either in bed or arranging the apartment to make it our own, combining our lives piece by piece. 

Life settled into a peaceful rhythm. I found work as a teacher at a local girls’ school, a position that fulfilled me more than I could have imagined. The students were eager to learn, and I found myself pouring my heart into every lesson. 

Hans’ work as a detective kept him busy, but when he was home, we filled our time with quiet dinners, long walks through Vienna’s parks, and cozy nights reading together by the fire. He would often surprise me with flowers or a new book, and I loved the small ways we cared for each other. We were happy – truly, blissfully happy. 

A year or so into the marriage, my father received word that his posting in Vienna was coming to an end. My parents were being re-stationed back to England, and though I knew this day would come, it still felt like shock. 

The evening before their departure, my family gathered for a final dinner at our favourite restaurant. The air was thick with emotion – my mother trying to hold back tears, my father quieter than usual, and James, now taller and more mature, struggling to say goodbye. 

“I’m proud of you,” my father said, hugging me tightly. “And I know you’ve made the right choice.”

I watched them leave the next morning, waving until their car disappeared from view, tears streaming down my face. Vienna felt emptier without them, but I still had Hans. And that was enough.  ______________________________________________________________

Hans I had tried to start a family, but as the years went by, our hopes began to fade. Each month brought fresh disappointment, and I started to fear that the fault lay with me. Doctors confirmed my worst fears – something about my body, something I couldn’t fix, made it difficult, perhaps impossible, for me to conceive. 

I wept often during that time, feeling a deep sense of failure. Hans, ever gentle and patient, would hold me, his hands stroking my hair as I sobbed into his chest. 

“We’ll be fine,” he whispered, though I could hear the sadness in his voice. “We heave each other, my darling Elizabeth. That’s all I need.” 

He never blamed me, not once. But I couldn’t help but feel like I had let him down. 

To lift our spirits, Hans surprised me with a trip to Paris – the city I had always dreamed of visiting. We arrived in spring, the city blooming with life and colour. The air was warm, the streets lively with music and laughter. Paris was everything I had imagined it would be – romantic, vibrant, and a full of history. 

We spent our days strolling along the Seine, visiting art galleries and historical landmarks. Hans took me to a charming little café, the same one we had spoken about on one of our first dates, and we sat for hours drinking wine and watching the world go by. 

One evening, as we stood on a bridge overlooking the river, the lights of the Eiffel Tower sparkling in the distance, Hans pulled me close. “I promised you Paris,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “And here we are.” 

It was a perfect moment. I felt as though all my dreams had come true, even if the path was different that I’d imagined. 

Years passed in a contended blur. We had settled into a comfortable life in Vienna, one filled with love, even if it wasn’t the life I had originally planned. I was happy teaching, and Hans was content in his work, though he often spoke of darker times looming in the political sphere. 

One day, I came home from work, expecting to find Hans waiting for me, as usual. Instead, the house was eerily quiet. On the dining table, there was a single note, written in his familiar, neat script. 

I’ve been called away on urgent business. Fear not, I will return soon. Trust me. I love you, mein liebe, Elizabeth. 

I stared at the note, my heart pounding in my chest. Hans had never left like this before. His work as a detective sometimes required long hours, but he had always kept me informed. Now, he had disappeared with only a cryptic message. 

As I ate my supper I could not shake of the feeling of loneliness. I spent the rest of the evening reading but found myself often looking at Hans’ chair and felt sad. As I went to bed that night, I wore one of Hans’ shirts in hope that it would quench my longing for him, but it did the exact opposite. I only found myself missing him more. ______________________________________________________________

The days without Hans turned into weeks, and those weeks into months. At first, I tried to carry on as if nothing had changed. I went to the school, taught my students, and returned home to an empty apartment. I pretended I wasn’t watching the clock, that I wasn’t waiting for the sound of his footsteps on the stairwell or the creak of the front door.

But the silence grew unbearable. 

His note lay where I had left it, on the mantle above the fireplace, the ink faded but still legible. I must have read it a thousand times, hoping that somehow, if I stared hard enough, the words would change, or that they would reveal some hidden meaning. But there was nothing. Just the same cryptic message, and the same growing fear gnawing at my insides. 

Where had he gone? Why had he not told me? And – worst of all – was he ever coming back?

I had tried to remain strong, but Vienna no longer felt like the vibrant city I had fallen in love with. Every corner of the apartment whispered of our life together – the quiet breakfasts by the window, the evening spent reading by the fire, and the late nights when Hans would pull me close and hold me as if I was the most precious thing in the world. Without him, those memories were like shadows, haunting me with their absence. 

It wasn’t just his disappearance that hurt. It was the not knowing. Hans had always been so careful with his words, so precise, and yet this time, he had left me with nothing but uncertainty. His work as a detective had always involved secrets, but this felt different. This felt personal. 

One evening, I visited his office, my hope dwindling with every passing day. His colleagues gave me nothing but blank stares, polite refusals, and vague promises that they’d look into it. But they didn’t seem to care. Hans was just another name on a list of officers, one who had apparently gone off on some undisclosed mission. I was his wife, yet it seemed as though I knew the least of all. 

Trust me. 

How was I supposed to trust him when he had left me like this? ______________________________________________________________

I began to write to him. At first, it was just a few words on paper, trying to make sense of the chaos in my mind. But as the weeks went by, the letters grew longer, filled with everything I couldn’t say aloud. I told him about the school, about my students, and how they were thriving in their history lessons. I wrote about Vienna, the city we had both loved so much, and hot it now seemed to reflect the emptiness inside me. 

I even wrote about my dreams – the ones we had shared, the life we had planned. I told him how much I wanted to see him, to hold him, to hear his voice again. How I missed the warmth of his touch, the way his eyes would soften when he looked at me. 

But there was no address to send the letters to. no place where I could reach him. So they remained in a drawer, growing in number, waiting for the say when I might have the chance to give them to him. 

After months of waiting in vain, something inside me snapped. It wasn’t an act of anger or frustration, but rather a quiet, aching realisation that I could no longer stay here, trapped in a life that had once been filled with love and now felt like a prison. 

I began to pack my things, carefully folding away the clothes and trinkets that had once made up our home. The books we had collected together, the small souvenirs from our trips around the city – everything seemed to carry the weight of what had been lost. I left the ring Hans had given me on the bedside table, the one reminder of the love we had shared, but I couldn’t bear to wear it anymore. 

My final goodbyes were said to the few friends I had made, those who had watched me as I slowly crumbled under the weight of Hans’ absence. They offered me sympathy, but no one had any real answers. Vienna had become too painful for me to stay. 

Paris had always been my dream, and now, in the absence of everything, it seemed like the only place I could go. 

I booked my passage on the next train to France, leaving behind the life I had built, the one I had hoped to share with Hans. The city I had once loved felt foreign to me now, its streets empty without him by my side. As the train pulled out of the station, I looked back one last time at the skyline of Vienna, the domes and spires that had been the backdrop to my happiest moments. 

But I knew there was nothing left for me here. Not anymore. ______________________________________________________________

Paris was everything I had imagined it to be – the cut of lights, of romance, and art. But it was also a city of ghosts, filled with reminders of the life I had once dreamed of having with Hans. Every corner café, every bridge across the Seine, every street vendor selling flowrrs – all of it reminded me of the promises we had made to each other, the life we were supposed to build together. 

But Paris was also where I began to heal. 

I found a small apartment near Montmartre, not far from the artists and musicians who brought the street to life with their creativity. It was nothing like the apartment Hans and I had shared in Vienna, but it was mine. A space where I could start over. 

Teaching had always been my passion, and I found work at a local school. The children here were different – more worldly, more curious. They asked questions about the world beyond France, and I found myself telling them stories of Vienna, of the history I had studied so passionately. In a way, it felt like I was teaching them about the life I had lost. 

Days turned into weeks, and slowly, I began to find some measure of peace. The ache of Hans’ absence never truly left, but it become more bearable with time. I still thought of him often – wondering where he was, whether he was safe, and if he ever thought of me. But I no longer let those thoughts consume me. 

Paris became my sanctuary. It wasn’t the life I had planned, but it was a life, nonetheless. And for the first time in months, I felt like I could breathe again. 

I still had the letters, tucked away in a small box at the back of my closet. I hadn’t written to him in a long time, but I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away. They were a record of my grief, my longing, my hope. 

Sometimes, late at night, I would open the box and read through them, imagining what it would be like to see Hans again. I wondered if he would still recognise the woman I had become – the one who had been broken by his absence but had somehow found strength to go on. 

Perhaps one day I would find the courage to let him go entirely. But for now, I held on to the memories, the love we had shared, and the hope that somewhere, Hans was thinking of me too. 

I wasn’t sure if I would ever hear from him again. But I had learned to live with the uncertainty. After all, life in Paris had given me something precious – myself. 

Everything was getting better – until the war began. 

[aardelea]

Whatever works

Here’s a little romantic and also sad story featuring Zenji—around 2.3k words. The story contains major spoilers, so it’s best to skip this if you haven’t read the Hotarubi chapter yet. The MC is named 'Nao' in this story, as I prefer having a specific name for the character I’m writing about. Otherwise, enjoy the read!

You can't remember the last time you felt this good since meeting Zenji. The eccentric poet has completely turned your life upside down since you met him a few months ago.

You had a lot in common: your love for poetry, music, art… and your shared romantic streak. Not a day went by where you didn’t see each other, philosophizing together about the most meaningful and meaningless ideas and creating new stories, which you both brought to life on paper. By now, you’d even had the honor of relieving Haku from his duties as cameraman from time to time, stepping into his role yourself. Of course, Zenji could sometimes get lost in his enthusiasm, making it hard to bring him back down to earth, but that was exactly what you loved so much about him. He always gave himself completely to the moment and his emotions without ever seeming forced. Every feeling he expressed was always genuine and sincere.

Often, the two of you would spend hours talking in bed before sleep finally took you. Most of the time, Zenji was gone by the time you woke up in the morning, but he always left a little note on the table, wishing you a magical day and saying how much he looked forward to seeing you again.

To avoid making you feel suffocated, he let you fulfill your daytime tasks and spend time with your friends before you’d meet again in the evening. Even though you’d told him countless times that you’d be happy for him to visit during the day, he insisted that you should enjoy your life on campus as much as possible. So, it was always up to you to visit him in Hotarubi after your duties were done for the day. It apparently never occurred to him that he was the one who made life in Darkwick so enjoyable in the first place.

During the day, you usually spent your free time with Luca and Kaito, with whom you shared many classes. You quickly grew fond of both of them and always had a great time together, both on and off-campus.

Today, you were out with Kaito on your way to the diner to kill some time before the next class. On the large lawn in front of the main building, you saw Haku and Zenji talking in the distance. Seeing Haku with his phone in hand, you assumed Zenji was working on the video idea he’d told you about recently. A sad smile crossed your face as you thought about how he just couldn’t—or wouldn’t—understand that he would never appear in those videos. But you would be the last person to force that reality on him, so you, like Haku, just played along.

Haku quickly noticed you and waved with a tired smile. When Zenji turned and saw you, it was as if the sun rose, his face lighting up so brightly. He waved excitedly and smiled at you with that dazzling smile that always made your heart flutter.

“You really seem to get along well with Haku, huh?” Kaito commented as you waved back happily at the two of them. The joy of this chance encounter must have been written all over your face.

“Hm, what? Haku? Uh… yeah, sure. We get along well. He’s a good friend,” you replied, a little confused. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, your eyes always light up when you see him. And you do seem to spend a lot of time in Hotarubi,” Kaito said, looking at you with an almost sad smile as he waited for your reaction. “I-I’m really sorry, honestly! I didn’t mean to be nosy or anything.”

“No, no, Kaito. I’m sorry, I just hadn’t noticed. When I see Haku, it’s usually because he has good news for me. That’s all.” You chuckled a bit to yourself at the double meaning of your words. As much as you liked Haku, your good mood was never solely due to him when you saw each other.

Kaito suddenly stopped and looked down at the ground, embarrassed. You stood in front of him, watching him with a mix of concern and confusion. “Is everything okay, Kaito? Not in the mood for the diner today? We can always do something else if you’d like.”

He sniffled softly, tears beginning to form in his eyes. “You’re always so damn kind, Nao. And I don’t deserve it, not with how careless I am.”

Oh no, there it was again. Kaito’s never-ending insecurity. You always did your best to build him up and boost his confidence, but his negative feelings about himself ran too deep to be chased away by words alone.

You squeezed his hand tightly, concerned. “Kaito, what on earth is wrong? Everything’s fine. You haven’t upset me or anything like that.”

“Please forgive me. I’m such an idiot, and I doubt that will ever change in this lifetime. But I have to say it now, or I’ll lose my mind. I like you, Nao… I mean really like you. Not just as a friend.”

You’d already suspected it but had pushed the thought away as much as possible. Kaito couldn’t hold back his feelings, which was one of the things you liked about him. And it wasn’t exactly a secret that he felt more for you than friends usually did. You’d always made an effort not to give him false hope, and you valued honesty with him to avoid misleading him. But as you knew all too well, you can’t choose who you fall in love with. So, this day had to come.

“That’s so sweet of you, Kaito. I really appreciate your words, and they mean a lot to me. But as much as I’d like to, I can’t return your feelings. I’m sorry.”

Although tears fell to the ground between you, a tired smile spread across Kaito’s lips. “It’s okay. It’s not like I expected anything different. I don’t stand a chance against charming, good-looking guys like Haku anyway. I just needed to get it off my chest. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine soon enough. Idiots like me always bounce back quickly. Excuse me…”

Before he could turn and walk away, you took the initiative and hugged Kaito tightly. You could feel his wet cheeks against your neck. “Don’t even think about just walking away.”

Kaito seemed too surprised to move. Before he could say anything, you continued, “You’re my best friend, Kaito, and I mean that. You’re an amazing, warm-hearted person, and you mean the world to me. Don’t ever forget that. And no chance against men like Haku? You’re at least as lovable as him, if not more! Don’t you dare have such terrible thoughts again.”

Kaito tried to pull away, but each time, you held him even tighter. “Then why him and not me…?”

“Why do you keep bringing up Haku? I don’t have any deeper feelings for him. I promise. I’m just not ready to be with someone right now, you know? It’s just not the right time.”

You stayed like that for a while, and you could feel that you were starting to attract attention. But the stares didn’t bother you. At least no one was close enough to overhear your conversation. The last thing you wanted was for Kaito to be teased for being rejected.

When you were sure he wouldn’t suddenly turn around and run away, you slowly loosened your grip on him, placed your hands on his shoulders, and looked into his eyes. His cheeks and eyes were still red, but at least he had stopped crying.

“You’re too kind, Nao. I’m sorry for always causing you so much trouble.”

You laughed warmly. “Life here in Darkwick definitely wouldn’t be the same without you, Kaito. I wouldn’t give up these ‘troubles’ for anything.”

You let him go, pulled a tissue from your pocket, and handed it to him. “I understand if you’d rather be alone right now. But if you still want to go to the diner with me, I’d be happy to have you.”

He looked down, embarrassed, thinking for a few moments before looking back at you with a smile, even if it seemed a bit forced this time. “Sorry, but I think I’d rather be alone for a bit. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

You nodded understandingly and watched him walk off toward Frostheim. You sighed quietly and continued on your way to the diner in silence. A short break would be best for you, too.

After finishing up the day’s tasks, you decided not to visit Zenji in Hotarubi this time. Too much was on your mind to pretend everything was fine. You got ready for bed and lit a few candles to reflect your melancholic mood.

You stood in front of the mirror, looking at yourself with your head tilted. You felt honored that someone had taken you so deeply into their heart. Even though Kaito was the type who typically chased after every more or less pretty girl, you knew that his feelings for you were genuine.

“Stunning as always. Even in your pajamas.”

You saw Zenji standing at the end of your room. He smiled at you, but there was also something sad in his expression.

“I’m sorry I didn’t visit you today. It was actually quite hectic.”

“Don’t worry about it, my dear. I noticed what happened today and figured you needed some time for yourself.”

“Oh, really?” you began cautiously.

“Of course! The magical love that flickered in the air when I saw you back there was hard to miss.” Zenji seemed to be back in his element, brimming with enthusiasm.

“Eh… that’s not exactly how I would have put it, but if you say so…”

“No need to hold back, my dearest! It was only a matter of time before this day came. I simply couldn’t resist congratulating you in person.”

You stared at him in confusion. “I think you might have misunderstood.”

“It’s truly very noble of you, but you really don’t have to consider me! The dream was lovely while it lasted, but I was always prepared to wake up and face reality eventually. One day, I would have to make way for someone who deserves your time more than I do.”

“But that’s not how it is…”

Zenji was quick to interrupt. “Shh, my dear, you really don’t have to explain anything. I truly appreciate your concern and I feel like the luckiest guy in the world that I had you for as long as I did. Believe me, these wonderful memories will stay with me for the rest of my life. But as they say, one should leave when it’s at its best. Oh, and how wonderfully beautiful it was!”

“Wait, farewell? I would never…”

“It’s just as hard for me, believe me! But maybe we’ll still see each other here and there if you happen to wander back to Hotarubi.”

The man was unstoppable.

“Zenji…”

“Or, if fate is kind to us, we might run into each other on campus like today.”

“Zenji!”

You knew you had to stop him before he got completely carried away. After raising your voice, he froze for a moment.

“Thank you. So, let’s start over. What exactly do you think you saw?”

“Kaito confessed his love to you, and you reciprocated it while hugging him. Oh, what a wonderful scene that was! Kaito taking matters into his own hands and forging his own destiny! Such commendable action!”

“That’s not what happened, Zenji. Quite the opposite.”

“What…? How do you mean?”

You sat on the edge of the bed and gestured for Zenji to sit beside you. Then you told him everything that had happened, in minute detail.

“Oh… that’s truly sad. I hope the honorable gentleman remains strong and recovers quickly. And all because you happily waved at us. I will demand that Haku apologize to Kaito.”

“Eh…? How many times do I have to say it? I’m not glowing because of Haku, but because of you, Zenji. And only because of you.”

He stared at you in silence for a moment, before suddenly exclaiming in shock. “Oh my goodness, then I need to apologize to him!”

“First of all, it would be nice if everyone could calm down. No one needs to apologize for anything. That’s just the way things go, and disappointments are part of life. No one did anything wrong.”

Zenji stared thoughtfully at the floor. He must have started to understand what you were getting at.

“Believe me, I wish I had fallen for someone like Kaito or Luca, but that’s not how it works. It can’t be changed that someone else is involved.”

Zenji looked shocked again. “So you lied to him when you said you had no feelings for Haku?”

“I abhor violence, but I swear, if anyone mentions Haku again, they’ll get one. No! But I couldn’t exactly tell him I have feelings for a ghost instead of him.”

Zenji’s expression shifted from cheerful to melancholic.

“I’m truly flattered that a simple fool like me has a place in your heart. And I can’t exactly say that I don’t cherish every single second with you and long for your presence when we’re not together, but…”

“No ‘buts’, Zenji. You mean a lot to me, and I don’t regret a single second spent with you instead of anyone else. I want to enjoy countless more moments with you, as long as fate allows.”

He looked deeply into your eyes. Sadness marked his delicate features. “But you should be with the living, my dear. It’s no use wasting energy on me. Unfortunately, we just met too late.”

“Maybe we did. But I won’t let anyone take the remaining time from me. Only when you’re here do I feel truly alive. Nothing can change that.” You raised a hand and held it in the air between you, as if pressing it against an invisible wall. Zenji mirrored the gesture and placed his hand against yours.

Even though you couldn’t physically touch each other, you could almost feel his warmth.

“I’ve never been good at saying no to you.” Zenji’s smile made your heart race.

You smiled warmly back at him. “Let me be your heartbeat until the end.”

[nightdustfallen]

Finally made a ref sheet lol if any of ya'll needed a bit more of a full view to draw em here it is, as well as the accurate non-shadowed colors By the way, you can use the tag "nightly.art" to see all of my art if you dont want to dig thru all of the other art (of lovely and talented people) that i regularly reblog

Which i suppose also segways into an introductory pinned post? perhaps

Well im Nightdust!! my main fursona is this guy above me, he is called Nightdust Fallen, he is a breed of a husky and a wolf, making him extremely fluffy and puffy! The reason for his name is by the fact that (in my head canon or lore) he came from a bunch of fallen space star dust, hence why he likes space so much and staring at the stars, he also has some sort of ice magic i havent fully fleshed out yet, one thing i can say tho is that when he sneezes, he does it softly and he puffs out small ice snowflakes and can freeze things he touches he is also supposed to wear glasses like me but i suck at drawing those and forgot to include them here anyway so

He is very shy, doesnt talk much but is very protective of his very close friends and would do anything to protect them and make sure they're safe, he is a femboy (of course), enjoys listening to calm relaxing music and high octane electronic music at times, is a gamer, likes cuddling up in bed and i think that's it

It also doubles up as a self description of myself so yeah lol Still tho feel free to send me an ask if you have any questions or anything, with that said onwards to more personal stuff

I enjoy drawing obviously, but i also enjoy cooking stuff and origami, i play a lot of roblox usually to pass time but a game i really got into is "Voices of the Void" i really recommend but it's not for everyone, i like the game's concept and how detailed the space is there. For some reason, a lot of the time i am cold, my hands, feet, nose and limbs overall are very cold which is why i thought about giving my oc some ice magic thing. I am taken, in a relationship with my cutie bunny bf, and my sexuality is bisexual. As said before i do not talk much since im not the social type and usually freeze up or dont know what to say, hence why sometimes i take a long time to respond to something or my response is "dry" or not full of much emotion since i dont really know what to say or feel like im annoying if i talk too much. If you read thru all of that and get here then reply with the word bean so i know you're a true one hehe. I also often wait for others to start the conversation rather than me starting since i again, feel like i would bother the other person or like i could distract them if they are doing something

Anyways i believe that is pretty much it, thank for reading all of this if you did, and i probably didnt mention lots of details i should have but they arent coming to my mind right now

[demeterdefence]

Thinking about your "Rachel bashing og greek myths" post, methinks she believed herself to be making greek culture a favor similarly to the author of The Phantom of Manhattan, the unofficial sequel to The Phantom of the Opera

In the preface, the author begins by saying that Phantom, unlike Frankenstein or Dracula, barely made a dent in world culture until Andrew Lloyd Webber came along to make the musical, which he considers the "true" version even tho like...it wouldn't exist without the novel! He bashes Gaston Leroux and basically states that his attempt at writing failed miserably and it's like DUDE, again, the musical and your problematic sequel wouldn't even exist without it, and just because it was bigger in France than in the usa it doesn't mean it had zero impact in culture

But of COURSE unless it's usa-approved then it doesn't count and isn't worth anything *sarcasm*

PHENOMENAL point, FANTASTIC point, absolutely true and correct

i can't be a total dick and say this is an issue solely created and implemented by rachel, because we've seen non-western cultures and religions absolutely whitewashed to hell and back - like, people have been drawing jesus of the bible as white for centuries when he was a middle eastern palestinian jewish man, and good god look what the west has done to the religions of india, china, and japan. but it's the way these kinds of stories drip with a sort of smugness in removing the original culture, in depicting it as backwards and broken.

rachel wants to claim she's making a feminist retelling, but the original myth was already feminist. ancient greece didn't pretend their society was not fiercely male dominated and patriarchal, and hades stealing persephone was absolutely in line with the traditional myths - the twist is that demeter wins. demeter punishes the male gods who stole her daughter, and the ferocity of her rage and grief forces hades and zeus to give in. if persephone hadn't eaten the pomegrante seeds, she wouldn't be in the underworld at all! this is a story that is so clearly a triumph for the mothers and daughters of ancient greece, of many worlds over, because it depicted explicitly that a mother's love was more powerful than even the gods. and rachel pisses all over that.

literally even going beyond that, looking at the society that is olympus and the underworld - all the technology they use, all the innovations they have. who exactly is making these??? where exactly is the material coming from??? you can handwave away most of the inventions by saying it's magic, but we've seen demeter talk about algebra, which was invented in the ninth century by a muslim scholar from persia. in speedrunning to this so called perfect modernized world, rachel actually erases the cultural offerings and developments of dozens of other ancient worlds, and kind of just gives the credit to the underworld, which is run by a slave driver.

persephone constantly bemoans the dullness of the mortal realm, and prefers to literally lounge around doing nothing, when the mortal realm is inventing the olympic games, the democratic forum, FOOTBALL. you have thousands of things to show the gods involved in - largely because the gods were the patrons!!! why do we never see zeus looking over the olympic games??? they happen in his sanctuary!!!

like the disdain rachel has for ancient greece is insane. she can't even bother to research the food typical of the time period, seeing as she writes persephone being looked down on for being vegetarian when vegetables were a key and staple diet of ancient greece. one could argue that a vast majority of ancient greece were vegetarian by general habit. she's baking cheesecake and french desserts and having fast food and carrot cake and maybe - maybe - she'll mention baklava. the ancient greeks are FAMOUS for their art, but we sure wouldn't know that from lore olympus. the only character who even references ancient greek music is apollo, with his lyre, and that's not exactly a ringing endorsement.

and this is not to say that an adaption has to follow the ancient text to a t - that's just not feasible and no one is expected to do so. but there's really something to how rachel does dismiss or ignore the canonical importance of so many of these stories to replace them with a western interpretation. even the therapy speak is grating. in episode 227, when persephone is talking about the concept of virginity, she's absolutely correct in pointing out how that's largely a social construct - but in light of the world she lives in and the world she helps control, the same idea could have been reached through means other than americanized psych talk.

so often, people will look back at the ancient world and think we are morally superior because we do not have the same views, or we have seemingly "developed." that is a view i abhor, because it removes the very act of learning and developing and understanding. rachel really talked big about how removing the incest of ancient greece made the story better, but incidentally, she managed to also take out the feminism, and literally the entire lgbt culture of ancient greece. apollo was even considered the patron of homosexuality! he was called to bless same-sex unions! zeus had DOZENS of male lovers; ares, hephestus, and hermes had known male relationships, and several of the ancient heroes and gods of greek mythology were described in terms we would refer to as transgender in modern times.

if rachel had gone "i'm writing a love story that's originally inspired by the myth of persephone and hades but it's very much modern and removed from the myths" that would be one thing, and i would not be bristling at that; myths have inspired countless stories over the centuries and will continue to do so for centuries to come. the problem is rachel wants to claim a rooting in these myths with zero understanding of how they work or why they work, and absolutely lets her contempt for the ancients shine through in every single aspect of her comic. it's gross and it's petty and she deserves none of the self-appointed "mythology expert" she's given herself.

[paddingtonfan69]

Hi! I’ve just read your ‘moments in the woods’ series and am now hugely obsessed with the music from into the woods! Do you have any other musical recs?

Ty if you answer!

oh my god anon you have made my day with this ask!!! writing fanfic is a con to get people into MUSICAL THEATER !!!!!

okay if you like into the woods, no one does it like stephen sondheim!!! one of the best to ever do it, I truly believe he is one of the greatest artists of the 20th century and we owe so much to him! i’ve gotten super into a few of his shows but feel like i’ve barely cracked the surface. some bangers:

Company — a gorgeous meditation on singledom and the odd intricacies of the hetero relationship. “being alive” is one of the best songs to ever make anyone feel. the full version of the 2006 revival with raúl esparza in full on youtube here. also once you watch, I highly recommend watching the documentary about recording the cast album, and then the documentary now episode that parodies that doc! I watched all of these in succession last year and it was a truly delight! 🥰🥰🥰company🥰🥰🥰

sweeney todd — the show, NOT the movie!!!!! I think the movie being bad made me wait forever to get into the show but it’s so good, a perfect eerie gothic tragedy. this concert version w emma thompson as mrs. lovett (!!!) is also all on youtube to watch!!

merrily we roll along — okay don’t have a good version to watch of this but the new broadway cast album RIPS!!! famously considered a flop and it’s changed over the years and had its redemption arc with this new success. another perfect tragedy and the telling of it backwards it’s just sooooo genius to me (which, if you read the moments in the woods series, similar structure to the third on). an exploration of old friends falling apart sounds so simple but it’s such a good story, and I think jonathan groff, daniel radcliffe and lindsey mendez were put on this earth to be in this new production

this is a good reminder I need to deep dive into more sondheims!! there’s so many I don’t yet know! and one more non-sondheim rec:

natasha, pierre, and the great comet of 1812 - saw a local production a couple years ago and it changed my LIFE!!! a piece of art made with such love and intention. it sounds so crazy to adapt one small section of war and peace into a fully sung through musical, but god it works so well!! dave molloy is a freak (affectionate), josh groban and denee benton’s voices are magic, one of my fave expository opening number of all time! just tremendous, you can prob find a bootleg or just listen to the OBC and read the wiki lol. (i am once again mad at the 2017 tonys!!!)

okay i’m ALMOST done, but if you want to see some good movie musical adaptations that actually work, I would say chicago is the best to do it this century and other great ones include hairspray, mamma mia, tick tick boom, and most recently, wicked!!!

NOW i’m done!!!! thank u sm for the ask I love talking about MUSICALS!!!!

[rubypasha1]

I’m going to be honest and say I had some bad experiences in the Transformers fandom. I wrote fics for it, admittedly very bad but they were my first. Had to learn somewhere. Thing is I enjoyed the writing, actually I loved it and it made me realize my passion for writing fiction.

But that didn’t stop the bad experiences. Mostly people. I won’t go into detail but for the love of god please don’t ask or encourage a 12 year old, who has clearly stated they are one, to write smut. And don’t send them very explicit, dead dove do not eat fics without at least staying “hey, there’s some messed up stuff in here so just be warned” instead of “Here’s some inspiration!” And constantly asking when smut will be written.

I swear Ao3 saved my creativity. I pretty completely left Wattpad after that, didn’t touch transformers content again till recently this year.

And I’ve made a decision. I’m going to write a transformers fic. Not now, only next year it’s my last year of school and stuff is hectic. But I’m going to write it. To prove to myself I can write a good transformers fic with good characterization. And a reader or oc that has a bit more depth.

Anywho, @ss-shitstorm fic “Breaking Bread” heavily inspired me and actually was the reason I got back into the Ttansforemrs fandom. I highly recommend it it’s one of my new top favorites and has a terrifying attention to detail. Great characterization, hilarious reader insert that’s basically a very stressed out certain magical princess who’s got a knack for science and baking. And a crazy dog. And sassy bird. Who likes Fluttershy. It’s amazing.

Did I mention there’s actual science stuff in it? Stochiometry my nemesis.

And it’s got me thinking about making my own. Maybe more of an oc fic but still written like ny other reader ones.

I’m thinking of doing one where a human is put in a cybertronian body, TFP universe. They have basic knowledge of TFP, watched it but couldn’t remember everything. But they knew enough. Definitely enough o know that cybertron being alive was before the war.

They’re placed in a cybertronian body before the deception uprising. Still around the time where Functionisin ruled and they were in a kind of ‘presenter’/‘video camera’ alt mode.

Except they have anxiety, often freeze up with a panic enduring lack of social skills driven from their natural personality and the fact they’re a human soul shoved into a metal body. Completely alone and forced to adapt to a society that bases value on an alt mode.

The were an artist while human and over time through constant stress and a lack of familiarity with materials on cybertronian, they loose their love of painting and creating art.

But it’s reignited. They find a underground club where mecs and Femmas of many alt modes come together to anonymously submit art ranging from poetry to music and more. And that’s when they find it, a piece of writing that captures their soul. Something so deep and beautiful they feel their own spark reigniting, and they try their hand at creating again. Even if small.

They keep going to the club, building up courage to place art pieces on view. They don’t get much attention, except for a mech who seems curious and stands beside them as they pick apart every little detail.

They talk for a bit. Share a few critics, nothing too crazy. Turns out he’s the one who wrote that lovely piece of writing that inspired them. They turn around, gasping and thanking him for creating something so inspiring-

Megatron stands before them.

Or rather, Megatronus.

The gladiator had just begun his days of battle in the arena but the end was inevitable, the reader knew who he was and fled in terror leaving a confused (and proud, it felt good to know his words inspired at least one person) Megatronus behind.

Readers in a panic, but it doesn’t end there. Their ‘job’ forces them to begin recording the gladiator fights, particularly the rising star Megatronus leading to the eventual meet up of the two again.

But it doesn’t stop there. Soundwave came soon after and, shockingly enough, Ratchet after some unfortunate events (who is far flirtier and leaves the reader thinking “Oh my god he’s so smooth but whyyyyy”)

And it gets worse. Megatronus clearly wishes to se ether atrworks, one of the few along with Soundwave who sees something more than just a waste of time or hobby.

A relationship is formed, tentive on the readers side. They see him and Soundwave less and less like the terrifying deceptions they would become but rather who stood before them. Mechs bashed by a cruel system, they’re creativity forced to writher in their sparks painfully, smothered by a need to fight for the entertainment of others or die by the claws of the system.

They care about them, they eventually realise in horror. And on an unfortunate night they broke down and revealed to Soundwave a horrible truth. War was coming, and they knew what he would become. What All of them would. They beg him, plead to not take things too far. Life was precious, organic or not and taking those of innocents . . .

Soundwave was an outlier himself, but he remained somewhat skeptical. It wa shard to not belive them, the raw emotions they displayed showcased fear and he was good at reading others frames.

The little cybertronian was odd, but intriguing. A friend he had grown to care for, to wish to protect as his closest companion Megatronus insisted, over time. But if there was truth to their words they must know things that could endanger all of cybertron. Soundwave didn’t see himself as a activist nor rebellious but even he couldn’t deny the waters were churning.

Things happen, yada yada yada, reader gets kidnapped and put into stasis just as the war starts and wakes up many years later to the face of a human child se knew very well from a certain TV series.

All out panic ensures

OR, the other fic idea:

Human wakes up as a vehicon . Says “nope”, tries to get away and accidentally becomes the leader of a vehicon rights movement.

The autobots it’s are confused, the decepticons are angry and the reader just wants to get some dogs or cats dammit.

Of course, a dog does gain interest in them. And by that I mean a terrifying metal dragon who decides this trembling little con would be the perfect way to help him attain details on how to resurrect his kin.

He is very mistaken. Reader can’t even be in the same room as one of the deception lieutenants without rattling like a tin can.

Honestly don’t know if it would be a Soundwave or Megatron x reader. Definitely will be friendship developing there. Maybe both? I’m a sucker for tall dark and creepy guys who have a soft spot for tiny

Second idea is just all the vehicons lining up to get names form reader. All very human ones. . “Bill” “John” Matthew” Thomas” “My names already Steve” “Jenny” “Bucket”

And Reader is just stressing cause they’re not running a rebellion or anything. They’re running a daycare for a bunch of guys who do not care about their own safety and lives at all and she constantly has to tell them, no you cannot go to the Autobits the will shoot you on site. No, wanting to sacrifice yourself isn’t a good idea- CANDICE GET AWAY FROM THE FRAGGING WRECKER GOD DAMMIT DO NONE OF YOH UAVE ANY WILL TO LIVE?

Chaos ensures

[outlanderskin]

Paris, December 2013

-When I lived here I always stopped like we are now and contemplated this city that never sleeps... always thinking about how much this city has seen, how much these streets have seen.

They were at the hotel window looking at Paris and its lights. It was winter and the city, which is beautiful regardless of the season, was still alive with the typical touch of magic. He had his face in her hair, as he liked to do since day one. There was something about the smell of her hair , something sweet and spice like her. He raised his eyes a little to also focus on the city, but it was difficult, because she was only wearing his shirt and he was wearing the hotel robe. However, that woman was cultured, she had lived in so many countries and traveled so much. He didn't want to seem like the stupid guy driven only by desire, who couldn't articulate a conversation... sometimes it was cool to be shy and undecided about what to say, because this spare you to look like an idiot.

-There is a lot of blood in these streets... and also a lot of hope. The French Revolution, the war. But also the parties, the victories, the good music, the good food, the art.

-Yes, the DNA of Paris is a tangle of moments and this seems to reflect in the city, doesn't it? She said snuggling closer to his chest.

-I think that actually, Paris wouldn't be so mystical and fascinating if it hadn't experienced all these things. In the end, all of this ended up creating the city, you know...going through these things, made Paris what it is.

-Speaking of going through things... While you were in the shower our boss called me asking if I knew which hotel in Paris you were at, because he needed to talk to you. I think he was actually hoping to hear that I'm here too. I said I didn't know. Maybe you shouldn't have posted that pic.

-We were wearing masks.... He hugged her tighter. He knew it was silly to post the photo, that it was impulsive. But he was in love and he was happy because the girl loved him too. He was living the best phase of his life and he wanted to shout it to the world. But he couldn't.

-If one day someone happens to find out and pressure you about it, if they say anything, I'll say it was my fault. That you didn't want it, that I forced it to happen. She turned to him and kissed him.

-No. I don't know what awaits us. In fact, we don't know. But I know we're going to have to go through a lot. Maybe we have no idea what we will have to go through. But please, let's get through this together.

-Yes. Together. He kissed her back.

-Will we go through so much that we will become mystical and fascinating like Paris, one day?

She laughed and kissed him again. Then he looked back at the city and also felt like his heart shouting that he was happy, that he was in love, that he was scared to death, but that he knew there was no way not to experience that. And the city listened to him because a rain cloud disappeared, showing the stars in the Paris sky.

"Sometimes the stars just align."

Disclaimer: This is a Work of Fiction… Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Images merely illustrative.

[essentiallyflown]

running

You stood in your studio, surrounded by an array of colours, all resembling the fragments of your broken heart. The light through the window illuminates the dust dancing around the air, similar to the sounds of traffic making a melodic beat. Despite all that beauty, the heaviness never settles in your chest.

It had been six months since Jack walked out of your life, leaving behind echoes of their laughter and the haunting melodies of his music. He was a musician with a soul that vibrated at a frequency only you could understand. Your love has been a vibrant explosion—intense, passionate, and ultimately, too unstable to maintain .

You aren’t an adamant girl. You have a hard time confessing and being honest about your feelings as it was something you were always confused by. So you run. You keep running until confusion isn’t apparent in your mind. You were confused about Jack.

You never felt the way you did when you were with him. He knew how he felt. He knew it was real and he was never afraid to let you know but you were. 

As you picked up your brush, your thoughts drifted to your first meeting at an art gallery. You remembered the way Jack’s eyes lit up as he talked about your paintings, as if he could see the colours of your soul. He had a way of making everything feel alive, and for a while, you believed that your love could conquer anything.

But reality had proven otherwise. Your creativity clashed like thunder and lightning, and the very passion that had drawn you together became the storm that tore you apart. As you painted, you found herself lost in memories—the road trips with the windows down, the late-night conversations that stretched until dawn, and the moments when your art intertwined effortlessly.

Seeing through your mind

One evening, while scrolling through your phone, you stumbled upon a recording of Jack’s latest song, titled “Running” . It was a haunting melody that seemed to reach into the depths of your heart. Each note resonated with the emotions you had tried so hard to suppress. You closed your eyes, letting the music wash over you , and for the first time since the breakup, you felt alive again.

Determined to confront your feelings, you made a decision: you would go to the music festival where Jack was performing. The festival was a cacophony of sound and light, a celebration of art that felt both exhilarating and overwhelming. As you navigated through the crowd, your heart raced. What if he saw you? What if he didn’t?

When you finally found a spot near the stage, the air was thick with anticipation. The lights dimmed, and Jack stepped into the spotlight. He looked different—more mature, perhaps—but the same spark was there, igniting a familiar warmth within you. As he began to play, the crowd fell silent, captivated by the magic he created.

The first chords of “Running” filled the air, and you felt the world around you blur. It was as if Jack was singing just for you, each lyric a reminder of your shared past. You heart ached with every note, the memories flooding back—both beautiful and painful.

After the performance, the crowd erupted into applause, and you felt a pull to find him. Your feet moved instinctively, weaving through the throng until you reached the backstage area. There he was, surrounded by friends and fans, laughter spilling from his lips.

“Hey” Jack’s voice cut through the noise, and the world around them faded away. He looked surprised, maybe even a little nervous. 

“Hey,” you managed, voice barely above a whisper. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, his expression softening. 

“I had to come. Your song…” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “It brought back a lot of memories.”

He nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes. “Yeah, I wrote it for us. I wanted to capture what we had.”

You both stood there, the weight of your shared history hanging between you. “I miss that,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I miss us.”

Jack took a step closer, the space between you charged with unspoken feelings. “I thought we were done for good. But hearing you say that… It gives me hope.”

You felt a flutter in your chest. “Do you think we could try again? Not necessarily as we were, but maybe something new?”

A smile broke across his face, and for the first time since the breakup, you felt a sense of possibility. “I’d like that. We could create together again, just in a different way.”

Over the next few weeks, you poured her heart into your art, inspired by the music that echoed in your mind. You decided to host an exhibition, showcasing a series of paintings inspired by Jack’s songs. Each piece reflected the complexities of your relationship, capturing both the joy and the heartbreak.

On the night of the exhibition, the gallery buzzed with energy. Friends, artists, and strangers mingled, but all you could focus on was the doorway, waiting for Jack to arrive. When he finally stepped in, your heart raced. He moved through the gallery, stopping to admire each painting, his expression shifting from nostalgia to admiration.

“This is incredible,” he said, standing before a piece that depicted a stormy sea—dark and turbulent but with hints of vibrant colour breaking through. “It’s like you’ve captured our journey.”

You felt tears prick at your eyes. “I wanted to show how we were both the storm and the calm.”

Jack turned to you, his gaze intense. “I’m grateful for every moment we shared, even the hard ones. They made us who we are.”

As the night unfolded, they talked and laughed, rediscovering the connection that had once felt lost. With every conversation, the walls they had built around their hearts began to crumble, replaced by a newfound understanding and respect.

By the end of the evening, you and Jack stood side by side, looking at the final painting—a simple canvas of two intertwined hands against a backdrop of stars.

“I could imagine us like this,” Jack said softly, intertwining his fingers with yours. “A new beginning.”

You smiled, feeling hope blooming in your chest. “I could imagine that too.”