#they just find out that they have three parents and that’s what it is

[aelfgiure]

From the moment I was coherent, I knew my family was different. Off, somehow, not normal. It was something in the way my parents looked at me when they thought I was distracted, the way they treated me like I didn't belong. Like I was an inconvenience.

My brother and sisters? So, so spoiled. Between mom's modeling and dad's business stuff, there was MONEY, and my siblings had it lavished on them. Toys, designer clothes - whatever they wanted. They were hugged, cosseted, taken on trips, given actual attention! They had a fabulous childhood.

Not like mine.

There was this undercurrent of resentment towards me that I never understood. I never had birthday parties, the folks were always "too busy", tossing some money my way so I could get a present. It never mattered what my grades were, I handed over the report cards to get signed and that was it. Unlike my siblings - they got pizza parties for not failing classes! but my damn near perfect marks were shrugged off. It was a lonely, confusing life, especially for a little kid.

My solace was in books. (Yep, I nerd.) If it was in print, I'd read it. That empty feeling inside me was soothed when I filled myself with words, stories, information, music. Yes, I taught myself how to read music, too, and how to build and play instruments. The early ones were crap, but I got better at it.

Anyways. I read everything, which led me to the 'occult/spiritual' section of the library and book stores. Right next to the fairy tales and legends, of course, so I read those too because why the heck not? It was ... it was educational. Upsetting. I wandered around the house and saw all the cold iron and silver on every window, every door. The weird herbs growing at every entrance. Keep in mind that I was TEN. Ten years old, trying to understand what was going on with my life, and suddenly figuring out that my parents were keeping something out. Of course, the next thing I did was check my clothes and, surprise surprise, everything had odd things sewn into the hems. Not only was something kept out, I was warded against being Taken.

So, I did what any angsty pre-adolescent would do, and plotted. Come hell or high water, I was going to find out what was going on. For the first time in my life, being ignored worked in my favor. Using the books and stories as a guide, I bought things, ingredients and materials, and worked quietly. Waiting for the night of the full moon.

I was as thorough as only an angry child could be. Opened doors, front and back. Walked around the house widdershins, sweeping away the protective ring of salt and runes. Did I mention I was naked? Yeah, I took a bath and washed myself with a bar of Ivory soap, getting rid of even the smallest trace of binding or charm. Since I didn't trust any of my clothes, or any in the house really, it made sense for me to go naked. To be sure.

The results were impressive. Also terrifying. Two powerful, ancient beings stormed into the house and dragged my parents out of bed, starting a three-way screaming match about contracts, oaths, stuff I didn't understand.

That was when I learned why I was conceived. It hurt, honestly. Learning that I was just a bargaining chip, chattel to be bartered or sold, broke my heart. They kept me warded to avoid issues, they said. They didn't know which being had the first claim on me, and neither one wanted to give up the wealth and beauty they bought with my life.

I was ten years old, and heartbroken, and oh so angry, and I interrupted with a suggestion. The witch and the faerie exchanged a look, before turning to my parents with the same smile on both their faces, one with extra teeth and mischief.

To this day, I have no idea what happened to them. I've lived with my dads for ten years now. Not full time anymore, university is a beeyotch and I live off campus, but every break, I go home.

My family is still kinda off, and different, but my dads love me. They're proud of me, they encourage me to be awesome, and we celebrate birthdays and holidays together. They keep saying that they have to make up for lost time, but knowing they were trying to find me, knowing they never gave up hope - well. They wanted a child to love, and i needed parents to love me. It all worked out in the end.

Your mother sold her firstborn to a witch in exchange for beauty and your father sold his firstborn to a fairy for wealth. Today you are born.

[lovelytsunoda]

its going to be a cold winter | lando norris

summary: it’s landos first christmas with his girlfriends family, and as long as he doesn’t let his ugly christmas sweater catch fire, he should be fine. right?

pairing: lando norris x female reader

warnings: family christmas content, lando and y/n both have some major moments of self doubt, but it's mostly just holiday fluff. some suggestive content, but barely any. i'm sorry its so short lmao i kind of lost steam towards the end, but i started out super strong!! it's a fic about nothing lmao enjoy it.

frank sinatra played softly in the background of the country house as y/n puttered around, straightening the christmas pillows and lighting the pine candles throughout the house. her dad got a fire burning in the living room, and the kitchen smelled like warm apple pie. snow was falling gently outside, blanketing the roof of her old audi.

lando would be here any minute, and it was important that everything be just perfect.

it was their first christmas together, and y/n was anxious as all hell about having lando visit the house where she grew up. she knew that the country house was different from the house where lando grew up, and the lifestyle he was accustomed to now.

of course, she didn't know that lando was just as nervous as she was, anxiously drumming his fingers against the steering wheel as he pulled off the highway. what would her parents think of him? would they find him pretentious? too much of a player?

it was obvious as he steered his top-of-the-line mercedes into the gravel driveway, parking next to his lover's aging audi sedan that the environment where she grew up was so different from his. a decrepit volkswagen beetle sat next to the garage, no doubt a project for her dad to tinker with.

snowflakes dusted his hair as he attempted to maneuver the laundry basket full of wrapped presents out of his narrow trunk. he knocked on the door, hiding his shaking hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. he could hear music coming from inside, see the shadows of a figure rushing to open the front door.

"lando! you made it." y/n beamed, opening the front door, a wide smile on her face. she threw her arms around him, kissing him softly before brushing the snow off of his jacket. "i'm glad you're here. everybody is so excited to meet you."

lando stepped inside, cheeks flushed pink from the cold. as his hands began to thaw, family members came rushing at him from all sides, gushing about how they were glad he'd found the place all right, and how it was so lovely to meet him. y/n shooed them all out of the main hallway, but not before her mother managed to shove a christmas sweater into his arms, insisting that he wear it.

"let's try that again." y/n grumbled, clearly biting back a curse word as she wrapped her arms around lando's midsection, resting her chest just over from his heart. "thank you for coming. and mom's sweaters are horrific, please don't feel like you have to wear it."

lando chuckled, unfolding the sweater, which prominently featured a reindeer with a blinking nose, activated by a button hidden in the right sleeve. "why wouldn't i wear it? this thing is hysterical."

"here, let me help." she smiled, helping him out of the jacket. "and you didn't need to bring gifts either. nobody would have been mad if you didn't."

"baby, i think you're worrying too much." lando laughed, pulling the sweater on over his black t-shirt. "everything is going to be fine."

"says the man who worried the entire drive here and called me over his bluetooth three times before he got of the m60." she joked, poking him over the heart. "this is new for both of us."

the pair wandered through the house, converging in the living room with the rest of the family. a christmas tree stood against an exposed brick wall, and two young men in christmas sweaters just as atrocious as the one lando was wearing were sat by the fire with their arms around their partners. a four year old girl was running around the room with a jingle bell paddle in her hand, shaking it up and down. from the expressions on the faces of the other guests, she had been doing that for a while.

"lando, this is my cousin, james, and his wife alexandra. and this is my brother will and his girlfriend clara. the little munchkin in the red dress is eliza, james and alex's daughter."

"nice to meet you!" will said, getting up from the floor. "y/n has told us so much about you!"

"only good things, i hope." lando joked, shaking will's hand. she could see the nervous crinkle at the corner of his eyes, hear what was slightly off in his voice. she reached out to lay a ahnd on his back, fingers splayed, hoping it was reassuring. she felt him relax under her touch, and her heart burned with love for the mclaren driver.

eliza ran over towards him, waving a set of antlers in her hand. "these are for you." she giggled, standing on her tiptoes and reaching for lando's head, despite only coming up to his torso.

beaming, lando knelt down and allowed eliza to put the antlers on his head. he sat next to y/n on the couch, curled up with her as they listened to alexandra talk about how she met james.

"you don't need to wear the antlers if you don't want to. lize will lose interest in like, ten minutes."

lando made a face. "of course i want to. i want your family ot love me, and clearly its pretty easy to win eliza's affections."

she laughed, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "i'm going to go and help mom and aunt deb with the honey potatoes. you'll be okay here by yourself?"

"of course he will!" will shouted. "we'll take good care of mr. mclaren for you!"

in the kitchen, y/n found her mom and her aunt puttering about, adding honey to the roast potatoes and pulling the apple pie out of the oven. it was wrapped in tinfoil, with brown sugar and apple goo oozing out of the graham cracker crust. she tied her hair back into a tight knot, reaching over her head to take a bone china mug out of the kitchen cabinet.

"i really like him." her mom said, a knowing smile on her face as she hugged her daughter. "you did good, sweetie."

"he's really good with eliza." deb noted. "so, are there any wedding bells nearby in your futures?"

"aunt deb!" y/n whined. "we haven't even been together a year yet."

"look at alex and james. they were only together for six months."

because they wanted to fuck and the church said they couldn't do that unless they were married, she thought cynically.

"i really do like him. he was so scared to come here today. i think he thought you'd find him pretentious."

"we could never." her mom laughed, pulling her in for a hug. "go spend some time with lover boy. your father and your uncle are coming in from the barbecue with the turkey in a few minutes."

"thanks mom." she kissed her mom's cheek before she grabbed her mug of hot chocolate and rejoined the other young folk in the living room.

lando stood next to the tree, laughing gleefully as eliza ran circles around him, wrapping him in tinsel. alex was laughing to herself, filming the encounter on her iphone. y/n stood watching in the doorway. lando looked up and met her eyes, winking at her dramatically before attempting to blow her a kiss.

later that night, after barbecued turkey and honey potatoes, with a dessert of warm apple pie and vanilla ice cream, lanod joined his lover on the couch with two fresh mugs of hot chocolate. she curled into his arm, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. the fire was crackling, and everybody was gathered around the tree for the gift exchange.

"i love you, lando norris."

"and i love you, y/n y/l/n." he replied softly, a peice of silver tinsel falling out of his hair.

"and i can't wait to get you out of this ugly christmas sweater." she whispered, voice husky. my old room is up in the loft above the garage, and it's pretty soundproof."

"i like the way you think, angel girl."

[rafeskai]

Life as We Know It — Rafe Cameron

Chapter Three

Two opposites must navigate love, loss, and unexpected parenthood to discover the meaning of family.

Summary: When tragedy strikes, two very different individuals find their lives unexpectedly intertwined as they become the guardians of an orphaned child. As they navigate the challenges of co-parenting, balancing careers, and confronting their pasts, they discover that family can form in the most surprising ways. Through heartfelt moments and unexpected humor, they explore what it means to build a life together—one step at a time.

Pairings: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Character deaths & angst.

Author's Notes: Shit really just went down in this chapter. IM SORRY

Masterlist: Here

The months that followed were a blur of late nights, baby cries, and countless moments of learning how to be something neither of you had ever planned to be—parents. The house was constantly filled with the soft murmur of Willa’s coos, the sound of bottles being washed, and the endless shuffle of trying to make everything fit together.

It wasn’t easy. There were days when you thought you couldn’t keep your eyes open, and nights when you questioned if you were doing anything right at all. But there were moments, too—small victories, fleeting glimpses of joy—that kept you both going.

Moving in with Rafe had been the right decision, you told yourself. The practical side of it made sense, especially as the weeks went on. Rafe was still Rafe: intense, unpredictable, and sometimes impossible to read. But he was trying, and that was something.

Willa had come to see both of you as a constant in her life. She was thriving—growing fast, her chubby cheeks rounding out and her eyes lighting up when either of you walked into the room. You’d become an expert in diaper changes and feeding schedules, and though you hated to admit it, Rafe was actually pretty good with her. He had his moments where he was awkward, unsure, but when it came down to it, he was there. He would hold her when she cried, rock her when she wouldn’t sleep, and talk to her in that soft, almost tender voice you rarely heard from him anywhere else.

You had both fallen into a routine, the rhythm of everyday life settling in like a steady heartbeat. Willa would wake up around 6:30 AM, and by the time Rafe would stumble downstairs with a groggy groan, you’d already had coffee brewing and Willa settled on her blanket. The mornings were quiet—comfortable silence, filled with routine, until Willa started to fuss and everything shifted into motion.

You’d learned how to work together without much communication, both of you picking up on cues. One of you would get the bottle ready while the other soothed Willa, and when she finished, it was time for a nap.

And as much as you hated to admit it, you’d grown used to Rafe’s presence—his heavy footsteps down the hallway, the sound of his voice trying (and sometimes failing) to sing Willa back to sleep at 3 AM.

But there were challenges too. It wasn’t all sweet moments and baby giggles. There were the days where everything felt like it was too much, when you felt overwhelmed by the endless demands of raising a baby, of balancing the practicalities of your life with the unexpected responsibilities of parenting.

There were the mornings when you woke up feeling like you hadn’t slept at all, when you were late for your shifts at the café, and you’d have to rush around to get everything in place. Rafe would always be there, trying to help, but still learning the ropes himself.

The first time you caught him on the phone with his aunt, asking how to properly wash a baby bottle, you had to stifle a laugh. It was the first time you realized that Rafe Cameron—wild, unpredictable Rafe—was just as clueless as you about this whole parenting thing. He might have grown up in a house full of servants, of wealth and privilege, but when it came to taking care of a tiny human, he was as green as they come.

But you didn’t hold it against him. You couldn’t.

The kitchen was where a lot of your moments happened—early mornings when you’d both stand side by side, quietly making coffee, or late nights when you’d settle Willa back into bed, whispering soft words of reassurance to each other. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t easy. But it was yours.

One night, as you both took a rare moment to sit on the couch after putting Willa to bed, you glanced at Rafe from the corner of your eye, noticing how he rubbed the back of his neck, a tired but satisfied look on his face. You couldn’t help but let a small smile tug at your lips.

"She’s growing so fast," you said softly, breaking the comfortable silence. "I swear she was just a tiny little thing a few weeks ago."

Rafe hummed in agreement, glancing over at you with a small, almost wistful smile. "Yeah. And it feels like every time we get used to something, she changes again."

You nodded, leaning back against the couch. "It’s like we’re constantly playing catch-up."

"Yeah," he said, the word carrying more weight than usual. He ran a hand through his hair. "You ever think about what this is all gonna look like when she gets older? I mean, God, we’re just making it up as we go."

You chuckled, the sound light and almost freeing in the quiet room. "I think that’s kind of the point, right?" You paused, looking over at him, your expression softening. "I never thought I’d be here. With you. Raising a baby. But it doesn’t feel... impossible anymore."

Rafe glanced at you, a small flash of something unguarded in his eyes. "Yeah. Me neither." He paused, looking down at his hands before looking back up. "I guess we’re doing okay, huh?"

You didn’t have an answer at first. Instead, you just let your gaze soften. Maybe you hadn’t figured everything out yet. Maybe you still had a long way to go. But right now? Right now, in this moment, you were okay.

The door creaked from the hallway, and you both turned toward it, the sound of Willa stirring faintly through the door. Without a word, Rafe got up, stretching his arms before walking to the crib. You watched him for a moment, surprised at how natural it had become for him to step in like that.

You followed him, your steps quiet as you watched him gently pick Willa up, rocking her in his arms as he murmured something soft to her. You felt a flutter of something in your chest, a strange mix of relief and warmth.

“Got her?” you whispered, half-expecting him to protest.

He looked at you over his shoulder, his face soft, the exhaustion in his eyes mixing with something else—something more like contentment. “Yeah. Go back to sleep. I got it.”

And in that moment, as you watched him rock Willa back to sleep with ease, you realized something: this—whatever this was—had become a part of you. Not the life you’d planned, but a life that felt strangely right.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It was a few days later, and a crisp morning greeted them when the crying started again. Willa had been particularly fussy the past few days—her sleep patterns erratic, her cries escalating to heart-wrenching wails that neither you nor Rafe could seem to soothe. You'd tried everything: feeding her, changing her, singing to her, rocking her to sleep—but nothing worked.

Rafe was pacing around the living room, his eyes scanning every corner of the room as if the solution to Willa’s crying was hidden under a piece of furniture or buried in a drawer. You sat on the couch, rubbing your eyes, already feeling the exhaustion of another sleepless night pressing in on you. You hadn’t been able to focus at work, and the lack of sleep made everything feel like a blur. But now, there was no ignoring it. The crying was louder, more insistent, and it was like a knife to your heart every time she screamed.

Rafe glanced at you, his frustration mounting. “We’ve tried everything,” he muttered, the words tinged with helplessness. "What else can we do?”

You shook your head, feeling that same helplessness clawing at you. “I don’t know... We’ve been through the list a hundred times.”

You both sat there for a moment, staring at the baby monitor as Willa's cries grew even more frantic. You were about to stand up, about to try the rocking chair again, when Rafe's voice broke through the tension.

“I might know something.”

You looked at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

Rafe shifted, his brow furrowing slightly as he leaned against the wall. “Sarah used to do this when she was little. It’s crazy, but it worked every time. She had this blanket... a childhood blanket. I don’t know, it just always calmed her down.”

Your eyes widened as you processed his words. "Wait... Sarah had a blanket? Here?"

Rafe nodded. “Yeah. I think it's still in the attic. I’ll go get it.”

You watched as Rafe turned to leave, the sound of his boots echoing on the stairs. There was a strange, almost surreal feeling in the pit of your stomach as he disappeared from view. Sarah’s blanket. You hadn’t known about it—had no idea it was even still here, tucked away in the attic, a piece of her childhood still lingering in the house after everything that had happened.

A few moments later, Rafe returned, a slightly worn but soft-looking blanket in his hands. He didn’t say anything as he made his way over to the crib where Willa was still crying, her little face scrunched up in distress.

“Here goes nothing,” Rafe muttered, more to himself than to you.

He gently wrapped the blanket around Willa, smoothing it over her tiny body. It was faded in spots, the fabric soft with age, but it carried a strange comfort to it—a piece of Sarah that had been forgotten until now. You stood quietly, watching the scene unfold, unsure of what to expect.

And then, in what felt like an instant, Willa’s cries started to fade. Her tiny hands grasped at the blanket for a moment, and then she let out a soft sigh. Her body, tense from the crying, relaxed in Rafe’s arms, and her big brown eyes blinked up at him, almost like she was seeing him for the first time.

You could hardly believe it. The moment felt like magic.

Rafe, looking just as surprised as you, stood there for a moment, his hands still holding Willa as she cooed softly, her eyelids fluttering. “I’ll be damned,” he whispered. “It actually worked.”

You couldn’t move. The sight of Willa—now calm and almost content—was like a weight lifted from your chest. You had been so focused on solving this crisis, on trying to manage everything, that you hadn’t considered that something so simple, so deeply tied to the past, might be the key.

As Rafe gently placed Willa back in her crib, you stood still, unable to shake the strange sensation that had crept into your heart. Watching him with the blanket, watching him soothe Willa, a feeling washed over you—an unfamiliar tightness in your chest that was both comforting and unnerving. It was as if, in that moment, a piece of Sarah had crossed into your life in a way that felt too intimate. Too real.

Rafe glanced over at you, his face soft, almost vulnerable. “I didn’t think it would actually work,” he admitted quietly, still gazing at Willa, who was now sleeping soundly, wrapped in the faded childhood blanket.

You swallowed, trying to shake the sudden lump in your throat. “I didn’t know she had it,” you whispered, your voice quiet. “It’s... it’s kind of strange, isn’t it? To think that something so simple could bring her comfort.”

Rafe nodded, walking slowly back toward the living room as he sat down on the couch. He looked at you, his gaze slightly distant but full of that same raw honesty you’d come to expect from him. “Yeah, it’s weird. But it makes sense, right? Sarah had that damn thing with her everywhere. Maybe she passed it on to Willa somehow. Who knows? Maybe it’s something about the smell, or just the familiarity of it. But I guess that’s the thing with kids—they find comfort in things that we can’t even explain.”

You didn’t answer immediately. The room felt thick with something unspoken. There was a soft, melancholic weight in the air, and your chest ached. You hadn’t expected to feel this—this weird pull in your heart. The thought of Sarah, the reminder of her presence in this house, in your life, and now, with Willa... it was all too much to process.

You sat down beside Rafe, your body heavy with the unspoken thoughts crowding your mind. Neither of you said anything for a while. There wasn’t anything to say, really. But the silence between you two didn’t feel uncomfortable this time. It felt... shared.

Finally, after a few moments, you spoke, your voice soft but steady. “It’s... strange to think that Sarah’s still here. In some way. For Willa.” You looked at Rafe, trying to read his face, but his expression was guarded. “It’s like... she’s still looking out for her, even now.”

Rafe didn’t meet your gaze immediately. He just stared at the floor, running his hand through his hair. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “But I hope so.”

You glanced down at Willa, her tiny form tucked into the blanket, her face peaceful now. The weight in your chest felt a little lighter. “I hope so, too.”

It wasn’t easy. None of this was. But at that moment, with Sarah's blanket wrapped around Willa, you both realized something—it wasn’t just about the past anymore. It was about the present. And the future.

You didn’t have all the answers, but maybe you didn’t need to. Maybe you just needed to trust that you were doing your best, that you were doing this for Willa, for Sarah, for each other. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

The day had shifted into something quieter, something more grounded. The house felt a little warmer, a little fuller, with Sarah’s memory lingering in the most unexpected of ways.

And as you sat there next to Rafe, silently watching over Willa, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of peace—the first you’d felt in a while.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

A few hours later, the night had settled into a rare quiet, the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the house the only sounds in the otherwise still air. Willa had finally fallen asleep—her tiny body now wrapped snugly in her crib, her peaceful face illuminated by the moonlight that spilled through the window. You and Rafe were sitting in the living room, a bottle of wine between you both, the remnants of the evening slipping by in a slow, comfortable haze.

It wasn’t something either of you had planned, but tonight felt different. The weight of the past few months, the stress of adjusting to this new life together, had somehow slipped away after dinner. There was no rush to get up, no urgent task that needed to be done. The wine flowed freely, and for a brief moment, it felt like you were allowed to just breathe.

You poured the second glass of wine, the conversation light, a mix of joking about how neither of you had ever really handled a bottle opener right and how neither of you knew much about wine, but at that moment, it didn’t matter. The normal world felt far away, and this small moment of calm was something you both desperately needed.

“I swear,” Rafe said with a half-grin, swirling his glass and leaning back into the couch, “I think I might be a natural at this wine thing.”

You laughed, lifting your own glass to your lips. “Oh yeah? That’s what I was thinking too. A whole new world of sophistication has opened up for you.” You clinked your glass against him, the light chimes almost too loud in the silence.

There was a quiet ease to the night. The tension of the past few months, the uncertainty of your situation, seemed far away. You both talked about random things—life before Willa, stupid high school memories, the occasional dig at the ridiculousness of the Kooks’ high-society antics. And somehow, in this soft glow of laughter, you both began to forget the weight of your new reality.

But as the night wore on, something in the air between you shifted.

The conversation had died down, and now the silence felt heavier, different. You caught Rafe’s gaze as he looked at you over the rim of his glass, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the space between you seemed charged. It was almost as if, after everything, this moment was too... easy. Too comfortable.

You shifted on the couch, the wine starting to cloud your mind in the way it did when it wasn’t just about a drink anymore. Your heart beat a little faster, a strange heat blooming in your chest.

Rafe’s eyes never left you, and you could feel the sudden awareness of his presence—his usual confidence now laced with something more raw. You tried to brush it off, to laugh it away, but your throat felt tight.

“I think we might’ve had a little too much,” you said, your voice a little unsteady, more than you’d intended. You weren’t sure if it was the wine or the sudden tension or maybe something else entirely.

He nodded, his gaze now focused entirely on you. “Yeah, probably. But... you know, it’s been a while since I’ve had a night like this. With someone.”

You felt the words sit heavy between you both, something unspoken hanging there, and for a brief moment, you swore you saw something flicker in his eyes—something that mirrored what you had felt earlier, that strange warmth in your chest.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could find the right words, Rafe shifted closer.

It was subtle, a slight movement, but it was enough to make your breath catch in your throat. And then, before you could stop yourself, before you could even process what was happening, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was gentle, and slow, like neither of you wanted to let go. For a moment, it felt like everything had shifted, like time had paused and all that mattered was the contact, the connection, the warmth of his mouth against yours.

But as quickly as it started, it was over. The distance between you two was almost immediate, both of you pulling away with wide eyes and labored breaths.

You both sat there, frozen, the weight of what had just happened sinking in like a heavy stone.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, your chest tight as your heart raced, “That... that was a mistake.”

Rafe’s face was flushed, his hands running through his hair nervously. He looked just as stunned as you felt. “Yeah. A big mistake,” he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with something like disbelief.

The air around you both thickened, heavy with the tension of what had just happened. Neither of you knew how to fix it, how to go back to the way things had been just minutes before, when everything felt... simple. When you both were just two people trying to figure things out.

“I—” You cut yourself off, unable to find the words. You didn’t know what you were supposed to say, what you were supposed to feel. The kiss had been... unexpected, yet somehow, it had felt too natural to ignore.

Rafe was silent for a long moment, his eyes locked on his hands, his voice quiet when he finally spoke. “We can’t—this can’t happen again, [Y/N].” His words were final, but there was something underneath them—a hesitation, like he wasn’t entirely sure that was what he wanted to say. “I mean, we’re... we’re doing this for Willa, right? We can’t let this mess things up.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. You’re right.” But as you said the words, you felt a strange tug in your chest—something that didn’t align with the logic of what you knew was right. You didn’t know what to do with that feeling, how to even begin to unpack it.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You and Rafe were guardians to Willa. That was it. It had to be that way. This... this wasn’t supposed to complicate things.

But the air between you both remained heavy. Every word that followed felt like an attempt to fill the silence, to erase the awkwardness, but nothing worked.

You sighed, your hands pressing against your eyes. “This is just so messed up. We’ve already got enough going on, and now...” you trailed off, unsure of what to even say next. You felt disoriented, your emotions tangled.

Rafe glanced over at you, his expression shifting from shock to something softer. “I don’t know what to say either. But... we need to focus on Willa. We’re doing this for her. That’s all that matters.”

You nodded again, trying to pull yourself together, but the air between you two was thick, and no amount of words could erase the kiss, the connection that had flickered between you both.

And in the quiet that followed, you realized something: things were already complicated. Whether you admitted it or not, the line between what was necessary and what felt right was already blurred. And neither of you knew how to unblur it.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The days dragged on, each one more awkward than the last. After the kiss, Rafe had retreated into himself, throwing up walls so high you could barely see over them. He was colder now—shorter with his words, sharper with his tone. The rare moments of understanding and teamwork you’d managed to build in the past months seemed to vanish overnight.

It was suffocating.

You found yourself juggling too much at once: your shifts at the café, the endless demands of parenting, and now, the tension that lingered between you and Rafe like a storm cloud. You couldn’t escape it. Every glance, every clipped response from him was a reminder of the kiss—a reminder of how things had gone wrong and how neither of you knew how to fix it.

Willa was your only reprieve. Despite the chaos, she was growing brighter by the day. Her giggles were your anchor, her tiny hands reaching for yours a reminder of why you were enduring this storm. But even she wasn’t enough to distract you from the weight of everything else.

“Rafe, can you grab her bottle from the kitchen?” you called one afternoon, cradling Willa in your arms as she fussed.

He didn’t look up from his phone. “You’ve got two legs, don’t you?” he muttered, the words slicing through the air.

You froze, biting back the sting of his tone. “I’m holding her, Rafe,” you said as evenly as you could manage.

With an exaggerated sigh, he got up and stomped into the kitchen. The bottle landed on the coffee table a moment later, the sound of it hitting the wood sharper than it needed to be.

“Thanks,” you said, though your gratitude felt hollow. He didn’t respond, disappearing into his office without another word.

This was how it was now—barbed comments, cold silences, and the ever-present feeling that you were walking on eggshells.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

One evening, after another particularly tense exchange, you sat on the edge of your bed, the weight of everything pressing down on you. The exhaustion was bone-deep. You felt like you were failing on all fronts—your job, your relationship with Rafe (if you could even call it that), and even Willa.

You couldn’t help but wonder how much longer this could go on. How long you could juggle everything without dropping one of the pieces.

But before you could dwell on it too long, there was a knock at the door.

Rafe stood there, his face unreadable. For a moment, you thought maybe he was going to apologize, maybe he was going to acknowledge how hard this had been for both of you.

Instead, he said, “We need to talk.”

You braced yourself. “About?”

His eyes flickered with something you couldn’t place—nervousness, maybe, or anger. “Ward.”

Your stomach dropped. “What about him?”

Rafe stepped into the room, his posture tense. “He’s... he’s trying to get custody of Willa.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut.

“What?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“He’s claiming we’re unfit,” Rafe said, his jaw tightening. “Says we don’t have the resources, that we’re too young. He’s filing a petition.”

Your heart raced as you tried to process the information. Ward Cameron, the man who had emotionally scarred his children, who had driven a wedge into their family with his manipulations, was trying to take Willa away?

“He can’t—he can’t do this,” you said, your voice shaking with anger. “He’s not fit to take care of her! What about everything he did to you? To Sarah?”

Rafe’s expression hardened, a mixture of fear and fury flashing across his face. “None of that matters to him. He doesn’t care about her—he just wants control.”

The room felt smaller, the air heavier. You couldn’t lose Willa. Not to Ward. Not after everything you’d fought for, everything Sarah and John B. had wanted for her.

“What do we do?” you asked, your voice cracking.

Rafe looked at you, and for the first time in weeks, the coldness in his eyes melted away, replaced by something raw and real. “We fight him,” he said firmly. “We don’t let him win.”

But as he said the words, the doubt in his voice betrayed him. Because deep down, you both knew that Ward Cameron wasn’t a man who fought fair. And the thought of what he might do to get his way sent a chill down your spine.

The battle for Willa had just begun, and it was about to shake everything you thought you knew.

© 2024 rafeskai | All rights reserved. This fanfiction is a work of fiction inspired by characters from Outer Banks, and no part of it may be reproduced or distributed without permission.

[ccazimi]

Nightingale

CW: stepcest, noncon/dubcon, f!reader, dacryphilia, handjob, playing with panties, biting, degradation, slapping, cumplay?, reader is a bit insecure, modern au, lmk if i missed anything else

WC: 4.3k

18+, MDNI

a/n: props to anyone that knows the title's reference

You sat in your room, mouth open in a small O as you concentrated on meticulously applying a few finishing touches of mascara to the ends of your lashes. The warm light of the lamp illuminated the wash of color on your cheeks and lips, a floral chypre perfume hanging redolent in the air.

Careful, spread the lashes evenly-

Your door swung open and in burst your menace of a stepbrother Sukuna, causing you to lose your steadfast focus and smear some of the mascara on your upper lid.

Immediately you felt rage snap in you, gritting your teeth and grabbing an earbud to pour some micellar water on it and try and erase the black marks as cleanly as you could.

“Hey.” He greeted you as he sauntered across your room and sank onto the mattress of your bed like it was his own. “So what’s my dumb little sis getting all dolled up for? Or should I say who?”

You took a deep breath, focusing on soaking the earbud in the makeup remover. He was just trying to rile you up as usual.

“Stepsister.” You corrected him calmly. “And that’s none of your business.”

“Do you want me to come over there and slap you?” He was lounging on your bed as he casually threatened you, arms crossed behind his head.

You winced, not wanting to find out whether he was bluffing or not.

Truth was, you were intimidated by him. Your parents might have been blind to it (routinely giving the three of you sappy lectures on how it didn’t matter now that you were “step” siblings and the three of you should consider each other as blood), but both Sukuna and Yuuji knew.

Yuuji being the good sibling he was, took it upon himself to shield you from Sukuna’s antics whenever possible but he had been busier with classes lately, leaving you alone here with his older brother.

“I have a date.” You sighed. “So if you could please just not bother m-”

“’Sukuna, please leave me alone!’” He mocked your voice before laughing meanly, a deep sound that threatened to heat your cheeks a little more than you’d like to admit. “Shut up. God, you’re such a spoiled fucking brat.”

You pursed your lips, trying to focus on dabbing away the mascara and keep his words from stinging you.

But they did, maybe because you knew it was somewhat true. It was the very reason why Sukuna felt entitled to the room you had to yourself while he had to share one with Yuuji. It wasn’t your fault you were treated as such and while you were grateful you did also feel a bit guilty.

“Well at least my stupid little sister’s finally getting some play.” He lamented, sitting up over the edge of your bed and stretching. “Twenty-one and still a virgin…as a girl too.”

You finished removing the smeared mascara and sat back, hoping the warm lighting and painted blush would conceal the hints of pink creeping into your cheeks.

“How would you even know if I was a virgin or not?” You tried to defend yourself but a falter in your voice when you caught his large frame making its way towards you in the mirror gave away your trepidation.

You weren’t like Yuuji or Sukuna, a bit quieter and shyer than the two of them. You especially couldn’t live up to Sukuna who was unfortunately actually quite good-looking and knew it too - hooking up with random girls every other weekend and coming back home disheveled and covered in the smell of women’s perfume or with lipstick stains on his skin.

You felt outclassed, perhaps part of the reason you’d decided to put yourself a bit more out there and had landed a date with some funny mutual you’d met in college.

“Oh, come on.” Sukuna knelt beside you and it took all your willpower not to flinch when he ran darkly painted nails through the locks of your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear. “Its so embarrassingly obvious you’ve never been with a man. I mean look at how stiff you are with me right next to you right now.”

He was too close to you for your comfort right now and you caught your body instinctively tensing away. You dropped your eyes unable to meet his in the mirror - they were the most peculiar shade of brown you’d ever seen -closer to red if anything- and if you didn’t catch yourself you’d get lost looking into them a bit too long.

“I need to brush my hair.” You muttered, hoping to loosen some of the air constricting itself around your chest. “I’ll be late.”

This was a lie, of course. You’d begun getting ready so you could take your time and still be fully ready by the time your date came to pick you up. It was only 6:45 and you’d planned for him to pick you up at 8.

You reached for the wooden brush on the dresser but Sukuna caught your wrist before you could grab it.

“Let me.” His tone was low and velvety but you knew it was more of a demand than an offer from the glint in his eyes.

Did he always look so…hungry?

“I wanna brush my little sister’s pretty hair.”

A lump had formed itself in your throat that you now tried to force down. You’d caught onto the fact that he was mocking you, that this act was just an imitation of gentle affection for what would normally be a wholesome act between two siblings.

“You...um…you really don’t have to…”

Sukuna chuckled as he grabbed your wrist and stood, forcing you to rise to your legs alongside him as he dragged you to the edge of the bed in front of the mirror.

“I don’t have to do anything. I only do what I want.” He sat, and pulled you down unceremoniously onto his lap before you could resist. “Do whatever I want, and take whatever I want.”

You let out a small gasp, heart in your mouth at the position you were suddenly in, between his spread legs.

You were about to try and stand back up when he delivered a swift swat to the side of your thigh. “Sit properly.”

You obliged, more out of intimidation than anything, that gnawing feeling in your gut only growing as you positioned yourself on his firm thigh. The faint scent of his cologne curled into your nostrils, a cold woody masculine scent mingling with the sweet scent of your own perfume that clung to your skin and hair.

This wasn’t weird…right? He was only brushing your hair, much like your mother used to do when you were younger.

“Start at the ends.” You told him, hoping to get through this ordeal as quickly as possible.

Your hair didn’t have too many knots anyway, it was just freshly washed and a little disarrayed.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” And as if to prove a point, he dragged the brush down all the way from the crown of your skull. “Just sit there and look pretty, okay?”

You shifted uncomfortably, mentally cursing yourself out for not being able to relax. Why were you so uneasy?

You didn’t want to entertain the thought that he was getting you worked up- not before a date, and most definitely not because of your stepbrother.

Either you had more tangles in your hair than you’d thought or Sukuna just really didn’t care to make the process of combing it painless. He guided the brush through with firm strokes, going straight through rougher or more matted areas causing you to squirm on his lap as your scalp stung.

“Ow! Sukuna that hurts, can you please be more gentle? You’re gonna rip out all my hair.” You whined trying to claw at the brush, earning another slap to your thigh, harder than the last. “Ow!”

“Aww, it hurts does it?” He cooed, voice dripping with taunting pity. “Poor baby. I’ll make sure it hurts a lot worse if you don’t stay still.” He emphasized his point with a particularly harsh yanking of the bristles through a small knot near your neck.

“Why are you being like this?”

“What do you mean?” The major knots were mostly out now, but you still suppressed some whimpers as he dragged the comb through patches of still tangled hair. “I just want my little sis to look good for her first ever date. Maybe after getting a taste of some dick you won’t be so much of a stuck-up prissy bitch anymore.”

You stiffened at his words, crass and shameless as ever. “Huh? Is that what you think of me?”

“You really wanna know all the things I think of you?”

“No, I’m sure I don’t.” You said quickly, shifting your hair so that it covered then burning tips of your ears.

Finally the long drags of the brush had come to an end and to his credit your hair felt silky despite the pain you’d been put through.

He stared at you for a second before breaking into a smirk and pushing you off his lap like he didn’t seat you there in the first place.

“What are you wearing?”

It would be a fair question if you weren’t already dressed in the outfit you’d chosen- a black corset top with an elegant laced skirt that dropped till your ankles, and a sheer black cardigan.

“Well…this is what I’m wearing.” You said uncertainly, suddenly unsure of your outfit of choice and doubting yourself.

Were your clothes too formal? Did you put on too much makeup? What if you bored your date?

It just hit you that this was the first time you were going out with a guy and suddenly you felt your nerves fraying. You hated it, but you were inexperienced just like how Sukuna always agonized you for.

Sukuna’s smirk grew, sharp canines proudly showing themselves off. “I meant underneath, you dumb girl.”

Your brain short circuited as you tried to process what he was talking about. “Wha-”

Sukuna abruptly hooked a finger at the waistband of your skirt and tugged it downwards to reveal the new pair of lacy blank panties you’d saved just for tonight.

“Ohh, scandalous. I like those.” He purred.

Your skin burned as his searing eyes dragged across the fabric before you pulled out of his grasp and jerked your skirt back up, a familiar pinch in your sinuses warning you of tears that were threatening to well up in humiliation.

To make matters worse, he was unmoved and cold as ever. “Too bad such sexy lingerie is wasted on a girl with no experience. That poor fucker doesn’t know what he’s in for.”

“We’re not even going to have sex!”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. You don’t wear panties like those for yourself- I bet even your bra matches.”

….How did he know that? Were you really that predictable?

“Stop it!” You tried to blink away droplets that began to blur the corners of your vision.

“You’ve never even seen a dick in real life, have you?”

In real life.

Well, he got you there. Again.

His tactic had worked and suddenly you felt stupid and inadequate, especially when confronted about it by Sukuna and put to shame.

Tears finally cascaded and you quickly turned your cheek, desperately wiping so he wouldn’t catch them but it was too late.

“Aww, are you crying?” He asked with what might’ve sounded like concern if it weren’t for the wicked pleasure painted all over his face. “Of course you are, that’s all you know how to do. Cry and whine pathetically now that there’s no Yuuji to white knight you. You’re so fucking pathetic.”

The pressure in your head built painfully until you could no longer contain it and you turned away, rubbing your nose on your sleeve and crying even more once you’d realize your makeup was probably ruined, only adding to the mess.

It was stupid, he was saying mean shit on purpose, but god did it sting in all the right spots.

Having had enough, you twisted away and bolted towards the open door so that you could cry out the rest of your tears away from his needling presence.

But somehow his arm was wrapping around you as you’d barely made it through the doorframe, and lifting you up over his shoulder. “Don’t you dare walk away when I’m talking to you. Where the fuck are your manners?”

Teardrops continued to roll down your cheeks as he carried you back into your room and dropped you on the ground before sitting back on the bed.

“What…what do you want from me?” You choked out, looking up at him from where you were on the floor. “You’ve ruined my date before it even started. Are you happy now? Is this what you wanted?”

Sukuna peered down at you over the bridge of his nose, the black tattoos framing his face seeming sharper than before.

“Take off your panties.”

Your blood went cold, face draining of color before the heat returned even more intensely, burning at your cheeks.

“Are you…you’re not serious…” You let out a high laugh, sure that this was another sick joke he was playing to further torment you.

Your stomach sank when his gaze only hardened, taking on an unsettling almost predatory quality. “Do I not look serious to you?”

The air felt like it was rapidly leaving the room, and suddenly there wasn’t enough oxygen in your lungs. Yet you couldn’t breathe, feeling the breath caught in your throat.

He sighed. “I won’t ask again.”

You scrambled to your feet, anger now beginning to surge through you. “What the fuck is wrong with you? This isn’t funny. I’m gonna tell mom and da-”

Within the blink of an eye he got up and a crack cut through the room in time with a sharp stinging across your cheek. You stared at him through wide glossy eyes, in as heat bloomed across your skin where his palm had connected with it.

You’d never felt so disrespected, so demeaned. One would only dare lay hands on another like that if they considered them less than human.

It reminded you of how your mother used to slap as you as a child.

And with how coldly he was glaring down at you with nothing but a glint of amusement in his piercing eyes, your tears overflowed once again before you could stop them.

“Take. Them. Off.”

You tried to steady your breathing but a concoction of hurt, disgust and shame roiled in your stomach and stole the air from your lungs as you gave in.

“You’re fucked in the head, you know that?” You spat as he sat back down and you bent to lift the length of your skirt to reach for the hem of your panties.

“Better than you think, princess.” He flashed you a sleazy grin, watching intently as you dragged the underwear down your legs, draping your skirt over your pussy to preserve some modesty.

Finally you lifted one foot to remove it entirely, and then another. You bunched the cloth up in your fist before either of you could get a good look at it.

Sukuna grabbed your wrist, pulling you harshly back into his lap like before but with his leg slotted between yours this time. You cringed inwardly at the feeling of your now bare pussy rubbing on the thin fabric against the shape of his leg through his sweats.

“What are you doing?” You questioned shakily, heart jumping erratically in your chest.

Sukuna snatched the bundled ball of your panties from your fingers in response, eliciting a yelp from you.

Your phone buzzed from where it lay on your dresser though the noise went completely unheard by you.

“I’m gonna show you how to please a man, doll.” He breathed against your ear, iniquitous words dripping with something dark and ravaged enough to send a shiver down your spine. “My cock is gonna be the first one you ever touch.” He pressed you further into his lap, pushing up something long and hard against your ass.

Your mind blanked again, fresh tears collecting at your lash line at the feel of his hard dick against you, a reminder that sealed your fate of whatever was going to happen.

“I don’t want this…Please stop, I won’t tell mom, dad, or Yuuji, or anyone I swear. I’ll even give you my room, anything.” You tried to bargain desperately though deep down you knew it would all be to no avail.

He only laughed and held up your panties, unfurling them to inspect the crotch.

To your horror it was considerably damp, your slick reflecting in a thin sheen that told you it was fresh too.

“Don’t want this, huh?”

You screwed your eyes shut, too chagrined to even defend yourself or excuse it as just normal discharge.

Even though that had to be what it was, because there was no way in hell your body was actually turned on by this.

And you absolutely refused to acknowledge the warmth slipping out from between your thighs right now.

“Hey.” He lightly slapped your cheek. “Open your eyes. No looking away.”

You forced yourself to open your lids, immediately wanting to close them again when you found him lifting your underwear to his lips. He stuck a tattooed tongue out, dragging it through some of the wetness that you’d left.

“Oh fuck yes.” Sukuna let out the most obscene groan of pleasure, and you blushed as you felt his dick twitch beneath you.

It was fucked up and disgusted you to no end, yet you couldn’t deny the smallest sliver of pleasure seeing that he clearly liked your taste.

He quickly fumbled with the waistband of his pants, shifting them low enough to slip his erect cock out. You let out a small gasp at the sight of his manhood- it looked angry, with a fat weeping reddened tip and branches of veins that crawled up the sides of his massive girth.

And was that a tattoo that banded the base-

He laughed cockily at your reaction of being so taken aback by the sight that you’d temporarily stopped crying. “Like what you see lil sis?”

You opened your mouth planning to say ‘no’, but nothing came out except a stupid noise somewhere between a cry and a squeak.

“Jerk me off with your panties.”

“Huh?”

“What, are you dumb or something? Want me to say it in another language?”

The audacity of him to look at you like you were the problem here.

To be fair you felt effectively stupefied right now, panicked eyes shifting between his dead serious face and leaking dick. “I don’t know how to…”

“Right, how could I forget what a prude my sister is.” Sukuna sighed.

He took your panties, wrapping the wet part of the crotch around his shaft under his fist, and began pumping.

Somewhere in the distance your phone buzzed again, but you were too absorbed in how he breathed out in relief at the pressure, eyes growing hazier before he stopped. “Like that. Your turn now.”

You swallowed and without thinking, wrapped your fingers around the fabric to hold it in place as you gripped his dick. You began moving your hand up and down, copying his motions hesitantly at first.

His lips parted, hot breaths ghosting across your face as his breathing became heavier. “Fuck, do it harder.”

You tightened your grip and sped up your movements, reveling in the effect it had on him.

“Ahh, yes, that’s a good girl.” He gripped the side of your thigh, nails digging into the soft flesh. “Keep this up and you might actually be worth something for once.”

You bit your lip, hating that you weren’t hating this whole thing as much anymore. Despising the way you felt more wetness seep out of you, nipples stiffening underneath your bra.

Sukuna’s large hands were roaming now, grabbing the flesh around your ass and trailing up to grope your chest through your clothes. He gripped your right tit harshly, causing an involuntary moan to fall out of your mouth.

Oh god, you were really losing it now.

“Mmm, I wish those pretty noises were the only ones that came outta your mouth instead of that bitching and whining you do all the time.”

Even when he was in the middle of getting pleasured he was so mean to you and you hadn’t even realized you were crying again as you jerked him off with increasing fervor.

You vaguely thought about resigning to not let out another sound for his satisfaction but the idea was snatched away from you before you could even consider it as he dipped his head and placed open lips on the hollow of your neck under your jaw.

A wet tongue ran across the surface before he started hungrily sucking the delicate skin wherever he could, as sloppily as possible.

“You’re so lucky your first time doing something like this is with your older brother, don’t you think?” He murmured against your skin. “You should thank me.”

“You’re disgusting.” You whimpered, watching sticky precum continuously leak from his slit. “Ouch!”

He bit your neck, causing a sharp pinch where his teeth pressed painfully down into the skin, threatening to break it. “Say it, bitch.”

“Th-thank you…”

You squealed as he bit your neck again, even harder. “Thank you for what? And address me properly.”

Your cheeks burned even more if that was even possible, but the thin and sore skin held between his teeth had the words rolling off your tongue. “Thank you for letting me jerk you off, big brother.”

You cringed at what you’d just said as his hips jerked up, thrusting his cock into your fist.

“Oh, you’re so welcome my darling little sister.” He drawled.

Sukuna lifted his head and you stole a glance at his drunken face. The look on it had your own pussy reflexively clenching around nothing, against his leg. You quickly shifted, praying he didn’t feel the movement, but of course,

“Even your poor little pussy’s begging for my cock right now. Should I give her what she needs?”

You drew in a breath as your stomach flipped, about to panic when the sound of a car pulling up into your driveway gave you something different to freak out over instead.

“Sukuna, I think…I think my date’s here…” You slowed your movements to reach for your phone, now registering the buzzing that had been coming from it earlier.

But he wrapped his own hand around yours and squeezed, rapidly picking up the pace and forcing you to jerk him off with increasing intensity. “You’ll just-fuck-have to make me cum even faster then, huh?”

You reached a thumb over and it grazed his tip, spreading the liquid that had collected there and dragging it down with the movements.

“Oh, shit-” He threw his head back as with a final thrust of his hips, his whole body stiffened and suddenly ropes upon ropes of hot cum were spurting out, most of it catching on the inside of your panties he wrapped around his tip.

After a few entrancing moments he stilled and you looked incredulously at the white that painted the fancy new pair of underwear you’d bought. “Sukuna! You ruined my panties-”

“Wear them.” He held them up to you, black lace now a stained, dirtied mess.

“What?”

“Seriously, are you hard of hearing or something? I said wear them. Don’t wanna keep your date waiting, do you?”

“Sukuna…” You pleaded through a new wave of tears, unable to even look at the soiled panties now.

“Keep crying and I’ll get hard again. Which you’ll have to take care, by the way.”

You didn’t bother to wipe your tears, just letting them fall as you snatched your underwear from him and stood to hastily slip it back on. You shuddered at the sensation of his drying seed against your folds, the liquid cool and tacky now.

It felt fucking filthy.

Even dirtier when you thought of how you’d be wearing his cum stains as you sat across from your date in a nice restaurant, realizing that there was no chance you could show them off now even if you wanted to.

You couldn’t stand to face Sukuna, the most fescennine grin wiped across his face at you trying to collect yourself after the ruined state he’d left you in.

Your phone rang and you picked it up, the call from your date just like you’d expected.

“Hey! I don’t know if you saw my messages but I came to pick you up a bit earlier than expected, if that’s alright.”

You looked at the time. 7:30.

You turned away from Sukuna and cleared your throat, trying to sound as lighthearted as possible. “Oh, sorry I was in the shower. Its alright, just give me five and I’ll be out, okay- ah-”

You stifled a yelp as you feel a large hand suddenly shoved into the waist of your skirt, long fingers pressed against your mound to rub the dirtied fabric against your cunt, smearing his cum along your damp skin.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes!” You say a little too quickly, stomach twisting at what he was doing to you while you were on the phone with the man you were about to go out with. “I’ll be out.” You quickly hung up as Sukuna’s hand slipped back out from under your skirt.

Your cheeks burned in shame as you turned towards him, wanting to say something, anything, to Sukuna who’s already tucked back into his pants and heading for the door. But it was all too much and you ended up remaining utterly silent in your overwhelmed state.

He stopped by you, giving you an almost endearing pat to the head with a shit-eating grin. “Have fun, lil sis.”

With that you were left alone in your room, like nothing had even happened.

[dp-marvel94]

Real -Chapter 1

Summary:

While hiding from his parents in Gotham, an ill-timed encounter with his neighbor, Jason, has Danny pretending to be his own twin. Fortunately for Danny, the more he pretends the easier it gets. Until he is not pretending at all. Or: Danny names a duplicate and via ghost logic, said duplicate ends up becoming real.

Next->

Also on AO3

Notes:

This story was written thanks to @jackdaw-sprite who commented on a Tumblr post a wrote asking what I should write next with "I haven't read nearly as many of your works as I'd like to before saying which ones I'd like to see continued, but there's one where Danny names a duplicate, and because of ghost logic, the duplicate becomes real. It feels like such a neat idea to play with!" So here I am writing a whole fic about it! Structurally, this is still very much half-fic outline with some important scenes written out. I'm not planning on expanding it beyond what it is. Still, I hope you enjoy the story. :) A note for readers, those here for the DC content especially: this is very much a Danny heavy fic. The focus will be on Danny and Jamie's relationship as the clone goes from just a duplicate without its own life, to a real person with his own identity. The Bats, Jason especially, will be present, and important for Jamie becoming his own person. But those relationships are definitely secondary to Danny and Jamie's.

After a reveal gone wrong, Danny runs from his parents and the GIW. Soon, he finds himself living in a crummy apartment and trying to keep a low profile. He doesn't have very much, so he is very excited to find an actually in decent shape couch that someone was throwing out. It's late so, figuring no one will see him, Danny duplicates to have two pairs of hands to get the furniture up the stairs and into his apartment. 

Of course, Danny does get spotted by his neighbor, Jason, who offers to hold doors open and help with the unwieldy couch. Names are exchanged: Danny and, after a pause as Danny realizes he has to come up with something for his duplicate, Jamie. The "three" manage to get the couch inside. But now Jason is worried about what appears to be a pair of twins, 16 years old at the most, living alone in the apartment with one ratty couch and a bookbag between them. Jason isn't pushy or overly concerned, but he does make a point to check on his new neighbors regularly. 

After the second time running into Jason and being asked about "Jaime," Danny realizes he's going to have to pretend to be his own twin. Duplication is very helpful for that, though he tries not to do it too often and for too long; it does use a lot of energy. He'll just have the "twins" make regular, short appearances together. It's not like he's trying to get close to anyone in Gotham 

But inevitably, short appearances escalate into having dinner with Jason. The first is a one off; man claimed he made too much and Danny didn't really have money for food. Plus it was really good. Accepting the hospitality just this once wouldn't be that bad. Of course, "Jamie" has come to dinner too.

One dinner leads to more meals with his neighbor, to Jason trying to teach "the twins" to cook more than easy mac. 

Jason's youngest brother meets the "twins" when he pounds on the door during dinner and barges in, complaining that "Father is being unreasonable" and had ground him.

Damian and "the twins" end up huddling in Jason's apartment during Danny's first rogue attack since he arrived in Gotham. Jason ran off as soon as the alert went off, claiming that he was needed at the fire station where he worked. He pointedly says that Damian can stay and look after his non-Gothamite neighbors since he's grounded. The preteen is prickly but does stay put. Danny starts to get restless, unable to re-merge and starting to fear that his energy will waver and "Jamie" will pop out of existence. He nervously eyes the door and Damian threatens to stab him if he tries to leave, saying that "Todd is apparently fond of you both and will be quite peeved" with Damian if something happens to Danny and Jamie. 

Well.... Jamie will definitely disappear if Damian stabs him. So Danny manages to maintain his duplicate for five hours, more than twice as long as any time before. By the time the threat is over and Danny can go back to his apartment, he is straining, desperately trying to hide how exhausted and shaky he is from the excursion. He loses hold of the duplicate as soon as the door is closed.

Despite the hardship, maintaining a duplicate is somehow so much easier after that. He can stay duplicated for longer and gradually, he realizes controlling the secondary body is becoming easier. At the beginning, he needed a lot of effort and control to pilot the duplicate, having to mentally direct it to speak or move. He played "Jamie" as being shy and quiet, so there was less talking to dictate. But overtime, the need for mental prompting becomes less and less. Playing "Jamie" became more automatic, more instinctual. Almost like the duplicate runs on auto-pilot, mostly acting how Danny himself would, though more reserved. To an outside perspective, it looks like "Jamie" is finally getting comfortable and coming out of his shell. But to Danny, this was a relief, spending less energy running his duplicate and less time worrying about being found out.

Slowly, Danny meets more of Jason's family. One of Jay's brothers, Tim, runs into him at his coffee shop job and, blinking sleepily, asks which twin he is, before realizing that Danny is wearing a name tag. This leads to Danny's coworkers finding out about "Jamie" and his "twin" visiting him at work.

As the act grows and more people end up meeting "the twins," Danny spends more and more time pretending to be a pair of twins in more and more ridiculous situations. Playing both of them gets easier and easier, more and more comfortable until the twins can banter, share inside jokes, and tell stories from their childhood. Maybe it is intentional, maybe it's subconscious. But slowly, differences develop to differentiate the twins. "Jamie" is growing out his hair. He loves toast and watching documentaries about history. Danny, more and more convincingly, pretends to have a brother until at some points... it no longer feels like he is pretending.

Despite his new friends, Danny is still so lonely. The apartment is still almost bare, the money he gets from his job barely enough. It's never the job he wanted; he wants to be in school now, applying to colleges so he can get into NASA. But he can't do anything to draw attention to  himself, not with the government breathing down his neck or the danger of the vigilantes running him out for being a “meta”. And he misses his friends and sister so badly.

One particularly hard night, when he is heartbroken and hurting, Danny lies on his second-hand mattress in the dark, weeping. He mourns his parents turning on him, his heart aching for Sam, Tucker, and Jazz. He wishes more than anything that he was not alone right now.

Suddenly, there is a yanking on his core that leaves his gasping. A full body pulling sensation that almost feels like being peeled, except somehow it does not hurt. A second later, it is over and through his blurry eyes, Danny can barely make out a figure kneeling in front of him. Arms coax him into sitting up and pull him into a hug. Danny cries for a long while, not thinking about what just happened, not thinking about what... or who... is holding him. He just accepts the comfort, savors the feeling that he is not alone.

Finally, after the tears slow, Danny pulls back and looks. He lets himself realize what he is looking at. And as he takes in eyes like his, the feeling is something between awe and fear. There is a light in the blue eyes, a spark that he does not recognize. 

And as the brow wrinkles in confusion and the mouth slowly works, words spiral out. Words that Danny could never have predicted.

"If we... if you keep doing this..." Each word is slow and deliberate, as if each takes great effort. "This...." One hand motions slowly, vaguely, as if un-used to movement. "Jamie won't be a lie anymore."

Danny is stunned. He stares for a long while, unable to process. He does not understand what the words mean, why the spark in those eyes makes him just as elated as it makes him afraid.

So he takes the duplicate's hand and pulls the ecto-energy back inside himself. He reabsorbs it and "Jamie" disappears. And Danny thinks.

Slowly, he realizes how easy staying duplicated has become, how distant and foggy memories from his duplicate's perspective are. He replays the words in his head. 'If you keep doing this... Jamie won't be a lie anymore.' He wonders if they mean what they suggest, and most startlingly.... he wonders where they had come from, if not from himself.

For a few days, he avoids anyone who has met the twins or claims that his "twin" is busy whenever someone asks. But inevitably, his trusty neighbor Jason notices the avoidance and invites himself over to cook dinner. Reluctantly, Danny duplicates; there is clearly no avoiding this conversation.

The dinner is awkward. Danny has a hard time looking at Jason.... and an even harder time looking at his seeming twin. None of the three say much and by the end, their neighbor huffs a sigh and says his piece. 

“Look. I know that no one, especially two teens, live in a shitty apartment in Crime Alley if they can avoid it. I don't know if you got kicked out, ran away from home, are hiding from something. And I don’t care. I won't ask. But I was an alley kid. I lost my mom younger than both of you, ended up on the street. I know what it's like just scraping by, trying to survive all on my own.  That's why I look out for the kids here. I want to help you guys, no matter what your story is.”

Danny stammers out a disbelieving thanks. He is touched, really, despite the fear of discovery, of vulnerability quivering in his heart. Jason is a good guy and it feels good to have someone who cares. But... the maybe-not-a-lie sits on the couch beside him. A story he could never hope to explain...

Jason smiles, ruffling both of the twin's hairs. He stands to leave. "Take care," he says, almost afterthought. "You're lucky to have each other."

"Jamie" seems to lean, just the tiniest bit closer to Danny at the words. 

Jason leaves and it is just Danny and his duplicate. The half ghost releases a breath, letting some of the tension release. He reaches to reabsorb his double and-

A shaky hand grips his forearm. Danny looks, meeting the blue eyes. The spark is back, just the smallest hint in the posture that something is different. Slowly, the brow wrinkles, becoming something worried.

"What is it?" Danny finds himself saying, as if he expects a real response.

"Have... each other." Again, the words are slow as if just the act of thinking is hard. "Not a lie."

Now Danny's brow is wrinkled. "Not a lie? Are you saying that's true? Or asking if it is?"

"Not a lie." The words repeat. "Jamie not a lie."

Danny's stomach knots. He’s heard his duplicate speak dozens of times, even been surprised by some offered puns. But this…

“Not a lie.” One more repeat, this one faster, surer, almost desperate.

Danny looks up again. “Jamie.” He says the name. He’s spoken to his double before in front of other people, as part of the act. But this… it feels as bizarre as it feels right. “Jamie…. Are you… real?”

For just a second, there is something like hope in the other’s eyes. Then, the brow furrows in great effort. “Yes… No….” One more longer, unsure pause. “Becoming.”

“You’re… becoming real?” The words are breathy. Danny isn’t sure whether they make him feel that same hope, or if he feels sick.

The half ghost looks away, staring down at his lap. He doesn’t know what this is, how this is  happening. A moment of panic stabs. Is he sick or insane? Or… is it a trick? A trap?

Danny reaches with his mind, trying to feel. A parasite infecting him? Another ghost, trying to overshadow. There is a connection, a bundle of a dozen fine threads. It is a link to… something not quite separate. Danny feels the almost presence at the end, the not-quite himself he is speaking with. And… It is like cradling a baby bird. Small, fragile, and so young. No malice, just pure innocence.

The half ghost looks up again. His hand shifts, feeling the cold flesh. His fingers press, the almost flutter of a heart beneath the skin.

The awe from that late night rises, a question echoing in his head. What happens if he lets this  continue? 

He… won’t be alone. Danny remembers that night, crying on his mattress and desperately wanting comfort. And all those times hanging out with Jason. The jokes and banter started as an act to sell the lie. But… weren't they so much more now? Danny had pretended to have a brother and in pretending had imagined one… Now that brother, that twin sat beside him. 

But at the same time… fear spiked. What would happen if he didn’t stop this? Could he even stop this if he wanted to? It feels inevitable, unstoppable. Not if he stays living next to Jason. But… if he tells the truth? Or if he runs, starts again somewhere else. He could reabsorb his duplicate now and let this whole thing fade into memory. Jamie would disappear…

A wave of fear surges from outside himself. Danny meets terrified eyes. Something in him softens, crumples.

“Jamie?” Danny asks again and can almost feel the heart-flutter solidifying. “Do you want to be real?”

There is a pause, the fearful face becoming something narrowed eyes and sure. “Yes.” So much determination. Danny feels the one thread of dozens snap.

“Alright then.” Danny heaves a sigh, deciding. 

He will hold out as long as he can. He will stay duplicated, keep Jamie here until he’s not a duplicate at all. Jamie will be real.

[arc-misadventures]

Meet the Family Au Rin: Rin takes Jaune to her destroyed town where she made makeshift graves for her parents. Rin she talks about her and Jaune while Jaune just supports her. (Nora and Pyrrha are taking down any Grimm near by. The entire team already killed the Nuckalevee)

Meet the Family: Rin

Rin: So this... this is what's left of my hometown... It was destroyed by that, Nuckalevee we killed...

Jaune: This place is... whoa...

Rin: Yeah.. My family's house was right there.

Jaune: That pile of rubble, and ash?

Rin: Yes... My mom died in that house...

Jaune: Oh... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry to hear that, Rin.

Rin: It's okay, Jaune. My father also died here... somewhere... He died trying to kill the, Knucklevee. But, he failed... I met, Nora after that when we were trying to escape from here.

Jaune: Are you okay, Rin? Being here, after everything that has happened... It must be hard for you.

Rin: It's a little hard, but... y-your here with me, Jaune.. so... It doesn't hurt as much...

Jaune: Rin...

Rin: ...

Rin: I... I want to make a memorial...

Jaune: A memorial?

Rin: Y-Yeah... I know how to make shift one based on my families traditions... c-could you help me make one?

Jaune: It would be my honour.

~~~

Rin: Okay... It's done...

Jaune: You know... for a pile of rocks... It's really nice.

Rin: Thank you, Jaune... this means a lot to me.

Jaune: Like I said, Rin; It's my honour.

Rin: T-Thank you...

Jaune: Are we done, or is there something else we need to do?

Rin: Well... We bow our heads, and say a silent prayer to the departed. Unless you're not comfortable with that...?

Jaune: That's fine. Alright, after you then?

Rin: (Clap!)

Jaune: (Clap!)

Rin: Mom, Dad... It's me... Rin... I'm doing well... I've avenged you, I slayed the, Knucklevee... And, I've also found, a home.. I have new friends, and a new family... and... and someone special I want to spend the rest of my life with... Thank you for all that you've done for me... I love you... Goodbye...

Jaune: Mr. and Mrs. Rin... You're daughter... Lian Rin is a wonderful person. She is brave, warm, sweet, and beautiful... I thank you for bring her into this world... And, I swear on my families name of, Luna Jaune Arc that I will protect her... and, if I could have your permission... to one day... marry her, and take her as my wife... I may have to marry several girls... they won't take no for an answer. But, nonetheless! I wish to marry her... I pray for your blessing... I love her, and I want her to stay in my life, now, and forever... I promise... May your souls rest in peace...

Jaune: Okay... now what?

Rin: I guess we can leave now... there's nothing else to be done...

Jaune: Yeah... the others will be waiting for us. But, don't you want to check your old home? You might find something there?

Rin: N-No... Everything was destroyed in the fire. Not even my mothers remains...

Jaune: Alright I thought I should...

(Tink~!)

Jaune: Hmm...? What's this...?

Jaune: A ring?

Rin: A ring...? Wait...?! That's my moms wedding band!

Jaune: Your moms wedding ring? Well... That's one hell of an answer...

Rin: C-Can I have that back, Jaune...? Please...?

Jaune: Of course; Hold out your hand.

Rin: Okay.

Rin: W-W-Wait...?! Jaune that's my...?!

Jaune: There... Perfect fit...

Rin: Jaune... Y-You didn't need to put it there... people will think you asked me to marry you...

Jaune: Do you want me to get a different ring then?

Rin: ...

Rin: W-What...? W-What are you talking about, Jaune...?

Jaune: Rin...

Jaune: Marry me?

Rin: Yes.

Jaune: That was fast. You barely even thought about it.

Rin: I've been thinking about it since I first met you...

Jaune: Really?

Rin: W-Well... not imminently after meeting you... but, seeing how you treated the three of us... I couldn't help but fall in love with you... So... I... I can't help, but imagine being married to you, Jaune. So... Yes, I will marry you, Jaune Luna Arc...

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Luna is actually my first name...

Rin: R-Really?

Jaune: Never liked it as a first name...

Rin: Well... I'll make you love it, Luna...

Jaune: We'll see about that... Lian...

~~~

Nora: YESYESYESYES!!!

Pyrrha: Oh gods... That was beautiful!

Nora: Yes! Kiss the girl, Jaune! Shower her in love, and affection!

Pyrrha: One down two to go!

Nora: Bet ya he'll ask me to marry him before you!

Pyrrha: I'll take that bet!

Beowulf: GRRR! RAHH!

(BANG!)

Nora: Excuse me?! We're having a moment here?!

Pyrrha: Motherfuckers!

~~~

(KA-BOOM!!!)

JR: ...

Jaune: I think, Nora's blown a fuse...

Rin: Pyrrha also...

JR: ...

Jaune: Well then... shall we get going then?

Rin: Let's...

Jaune: After you then, Mrs. Arc.

Rin: This is the best day ever~!

[mooki3-bear]

Who wants the drama (babydaddy!Chris sturniolo x black!fem!reader

Summary: A look into the morning with Chris as the father of your child

Warnings: None

“Chris, what are you doing here so early? It’s not your week,” you say as you open the door in nothing but a bonnet, plaid pajama pants, and a fresh love sweatshirt, to see your daughter's father.

“Why do I need an excuse to come and see my favorite girls” He leans in to kiss you on the cheek. As you push his face away with an eye roll you hear your three-year-old running around the corner. 

“Hi Babygirl” Chris exclaims as your daughter, Isa, runs into his arms. “You spending the night” your sweet, curly-haired, girl asks him.

“No, I'm sorry honey! Mommy doesn’t let me do the anymore” With that comment, you hit him on the arm as you make your way into the kitchen.

You and Chris decided to co-parent a year ago after a particularly bad falling out about how each of you wanted to raise Isa. You also just had different goals in life that just didn’t meet each other's so you decided to call it quits and just live separately. Besides all of the disagreements, you both still find a way to get along and raise a beautiful little girl.

Chris follows you into the kitchen with Isa in his arms. As he sets her at the table for breakfast he notices a big bouquet lying on the counter.  “Where’d you get these from, Trader Joe’s,” he says with a giggle.

“No, you fool. I got them from…someone”  You say, putting eggs on your daughter's plate. 

Chris’s smile instantly falls from his face as you look at the big smile that just appeared on yours. “What do you mean? Like, you went on a date with someone” he says as he circles the counter to stand next to you. 

“Why do I have to go on a date to get flowers? Maybe he gave them to me just for fun”

“He? What the hell do you mean he”

“Chris! Don’t curse in front of my child” You whisper, waving a spatula in his face. You both turn to see Isa staring at you both, eggs stuffed in her mouth.

You both mentally agree to go into the guest room to argue while she finishes eating.

“What’s his name”

“None of your business Christopher”

“Does Isa know about him?” he said, crossing his arms with furrowed eyebrows.

“No Chris! I went on one date with him and I'm not just gonna let her around anybody” Chris lets out a sigh as he sits himself on the bed.

“It’s been a year man. I need to get some too”

“What makes you think I'm getting anything” You quirk your eyebrow at the boy as he sits up on the bed.

“I'm serious y/n! I haven’t been with anyone since we broke up” he explains as he walks closer. He looks deeply into your eyes, waiting for a response from you. You by instinct put your hand on his arms as you lean in closer to him, inches away from his face.

“Aww…that sounds like a huge you issue” With that being said, you walk away to go get Isa ready for daycare.

After what felt like an hour, Chris follows you to meet you in the kitchen.

“I can take her today,” He says as he notices you packing the rest of Isa’s lunch. “You don’t have to do that Chris,” You say as you put the glittery lunch box into her purple backpack.

“Of course I can! I didn’t get my license for nothing” he states, standing proudly.

You roll your eyes as you shove her backpack into his hands, before bending down to tie Isa’s shoes.

“Have a good day princess! Make sure daddy walks you in ok” Isa nods her head as she gives you a kiss on the cheek.

“Aw damn, I forgot something,” Chris says as he pretends to look around.

“What is it” Before you can say anything else Chris sneakily gives you a quick kiss on the cheek before grabbing Isa and running out the door, the little girl giggling in his arms.

You yell Chris's name with a giggle before running behind him to see him putting Isa snug in her car seat.

Watching him, you couldn't help but think that there is no one else you would rather have to be your baby daddy.

[t3a-tan]

How would Oliver handle a human child that didn't have bad intentions but was not gentle enough? Let's say the kid just doesn't really understand the terms "gentle" and "fragile" well enough to know how to handle Oliver and somehow he ended up being held by them? He is so good with kids that I wanna see how he handles that

I had a lot of fun with this! Enjoy ^^

Word Count: 4071

---

Oliver couldn't stand seeing upset children. Not because they annoyed him, but because sometimes you could tell just by looking at these children that they were being neglected in some way. Part of him was sympathetic— he had seen so many human couples in his travels and research, and it was often the case that the neglect was unintentional.

But still. Oliver couldn't help but intervene in some cases. Below a certain age it was too dangerous to approach a child— infants and young toddlers tend to put things to their lips, because that's how they explore new things; ie. Oliver.

Past that it was still risky, but he could handle the bruises. Children could be a lot more delicate than most think— once they are capable of reasoning and can communicate, it's simply a matter of finding how best to deal with that particular child in order to get what they need; whether that's food, attention, or entertainment.

Today, whilst checking the houses to update any files he had, he noticed a young child— perhaps only 3 or 4— who had been left all alone. No car in the driveway, no one else in the house. Their face was a bit red and eyes a bit watery, as if they had only stopped crying maybe ten or so minutes before he arrived, but they were still hiccuping and gasping every now and then, in distress.

After checking over his file and taking a look at the calendar in the kitchen, it became clear what had happened. Both parents had left to work and forgot to drop their toddler off at nursery— perhaps just because they were tired, or maybe because both thought the other would do it.

The toddler was half dressed too, so maybe they were in a rush; one parent could have gotten the toddler half dressed and then headed off and told the other to deal with it, only for a miscommunication to happen and…the poor babe be left alone.

With that investigation done, Oliver could not just stand by in the walls and watch. He could not rely on one of the parents realising what had happened, and the longer this went on the more likely it would result in trauma for the child. It may already be the case— though he hoped not.

Three or four…that was a pesky age. Some children that age could reason fairly well— some could not.

Oh well… I will just have to try my best.

He could see a few notes on the counter or up on the fridge mentioning a name that was likely the toddler's; Ava. With that in mind, he made his way to the living room, which is where she was currently sitting and staring at the door. He took off his glasses and left them in the walls beforehand, not wanting them to get broken.

Starting high was safer. From there he could gauge her reaction without risking a sudden grab or curious fingers.

“Ava?” He spoke out from on top of a toy box— the top of which was just slightly hard to reach. He stood still, watching as her head swivelled around to look at him, though she didn't move towards him at all, looking at him with a very neutral expression despite the sniffling. Oliver smiled a little, crouching down despite the fact that really he was the shorter one in this situation. It was instinct.

“Hello there…mummy and daddy went to work, didn't they?” He asked. That got a response immediately and she nodded quickly, inhaling some snot from all the crying as she began to speak, on the verge of crying again as if Oliver had just reminded her what she was upset about in the first place.

Most of it was incoherent— but it wasn't babbling, so that meant she was at a normal rate of speech. From what he could make of it, she was mostly repeating ‘mummy’ and ‘daddy’, mentioning a car, using the word ‘gone’, and it was clear that she was telling him exactly what he asked; her mum and dad had gone to work and she got left behind in the rush of things.

Oliver gestured calmly with his hands, showing his palms as he took on a reassuring demeanour.

“Shhh…shhh…it's alright. Mummy and daddy are going to come back.” He assured, reminding himself that children that age are more likely to understand positive language rather than if he said that her parents are not gone. “We're just doing nursery at home today, okay? Does that sound fun?”

She shook her head and wiped at her face, already starting to get upset again, looking around as if her mum and dad might just be behind her.

“N…no…” She hiccuped, voice trembling. “Mummy and…d-daddy…nn— need to…take me…”

Oliver's expression softened, his chest feeling tight at the sight. He tilted his head ever so slightly, debating whether or not he could safely be held by this child or not.

“Ava? Ava, look at me. How old are you, do you know that?” He asked, leaning down a bit. Luckily she did look up at him again, peeking through her fingers and wiping at her snotty red nose with her little hands. She sniffled again, eyes watery, but processing Oliver's question and answering in turn.

“F…four…” She murmured, voice still wobbly through her slightly uneven breathing. It was on the older end of the range Oliver had guessed, which was good, but it was still ultimately a risk.

Oh sod it. If I don't do something now she will get even more agitated and upset. Talking won't hold her attention enough.

He smiled down at her.

“Wow… you're such a big girl! And you know your own age too— very clever.” He gave her a moment to process that before continuing with a question, trying to lead gently into things to avoid making her scared of him. “Did they teach you that in nursery, Ava?”

She nodded slowly, looking up at him with rounded eyes, her lips a little purple from all the crying earlier. Thankfully, despite how she was anxiously fidgeting; rocking back and forth or clenching her shirt in a fist every now and then; it wasn't too difficult to draw her attention away from her missing parents.

“I can…I can…count…all way…to ten!” She responded slowly, wiping her watery eyes again and scooting a bit closer to the toy box Oliver was perched on.

“Can you? Oh, I would just love to hear that. Can you count to ten for me?” He requested. The more at ease she was, the less likely she was to squeeze him to death once he was in her hands. Not to mention the more comfortable she would be with him.

Ava nodded and began to count, looking up and to the side as she thought about it, slowly getting through the numbers, although she repeated some due to her frazzled state. Her voice was still shaking as she took in shuddering breaths every so often, but it wasn't as close to hyperventilating as before.

Oliver clapped his hands together, beaming.

“Bravo, bravo..! Hmm… I'm sure you also have lots of toys at nursery. Is that right?” He asked, getting a nod in return. If he could keep the child entertained until her parents got back, then hopefully this incident wouldn't repeat itself. “And you have lots of toys in this box too, don't you?

She nodded again, bright blue eyes staring up at him with much less wariness than before. She even scooted a big closer, wobbling to her feet and gripping onto the lid of the toy box as she stared at Oliver with some curiosity now.

That's good. Not for my ribs, but good for my mission.

As she leaned on the box it tipped towards her slightly and Oliver just managed to keep his balance. He quickly regained his composure, and walked slowly towards the right until he could simply hop off of the toy box and onto the TV stand right beside it. It was a bit lower down, certainly within reach, but he was pleased to see Ava was only watching him instead of grabbing him immediately.

“Can you show me your favourite toys?” He asked, gesturing encouragingly towards the toy box and sitting down on the edge of the stand, letting his legs dangle off of the edge as he watched, expression bright and warm.

Latching onto the distraction immediately without even understanding that Oliver was trying to distract her, Ava pried open the fabric lid and stuck out her tongue in concentration as she tried to pull out any of her toys. After a few attempts she let out an agitated whine, growing irritated. Oliver was about to intervene when she accidentally knocked the entire box over as she pulled her arms back out.

She stumbled back and fell onto her bum as the box fell, but she was completely unharmed. She momentarily examined her arms with an upset expression, anticipating injury despite their being none. Quickly, Oliver interjected.

“Good thinking! It will be much easier to get them out like this. Clever girl.” He praised, seeing how her eyes locked onto him and a small smile cracked across her expression, arms forgotten about as she quickly focused back on the toys again, getting on her hands and knees, just grabbing whatever was closest and beaming as she showed it off to him.

He chuckled slightly, leaning forward onto his hands as he engaged with her, getting more of a feel and understanding of her personality. Like most four year olds, she soaked up praise and attention like a sponge— but she seemed to roll with things much more smoothly than others her age might have. She was resilient, and self assured; even if Oliver needed to guide her there every now and then.

“Is that your favourite?” He asked, tone full of interest and wonder, as if he was just as excited about the random plastic tractor as she was. She nodded excitedly.

“And— and it's got…it's got um… a farmer. Called…Emma…” She announced happily, quickly dropping the toy onto the carpet as she searched for the farmer. During her search though she got distracted by the other things in there, showing them off only halfway as she piled the various toys around her.

She was playing with and fidgeting with them all individually, monologuing about what she was doing in what was mostly just incoherent babble due to her being unable to pronounce most of the words. That didn't stop her though, and Oliver happily listened, paying attention and engaging every now and then to assure her that all eyes were on her at that moment.

This worked for about twenty minutes until she started getting bored playing all by herself. She looked at Oliver, her red cheeks and purple lips having returned to normal by now since she was no longer crying, the snot having dried to her face. She waddled over to him and Oliver sat up straight, but didn't jolt or make any sudden movements.

She smiled as she snatched him off of the edge of the TV stand, Oliver just barely holding in a yelp as he had seen the hand coming at the last second. He winced, arms held awkwardly to his sides by her grubby fingers and causing his elbows to dig into his ribs a little. Her grip was tight enough to bruise and almost pushed all the breath out of him, but it was just loose enough for him to breathe.

“Ava— can you try to be gentle, please?” He asked, voice coming out a bit strained despite himself. He pulled his grimace into a calm smile, maintaining the same warm reassuring demeanour despite the aching pain in his body.

She paused for a moment, blinking down at him owlishly, not understanding what he meant. Her hesitation didn't last long though as she settled back down by the toys, laying down on her stomach and holding Oliver in front of her innocent eyes, her other hand coming closer to feel his hair curiously, mesmerised.

Oliver held still— squirming would either cause her grip to tighten, which could very easily break his bones, or it might make her afraid of him. He masked a groan of pain by clearing his throat, still smiling as her tiny but surprisingly strong fingers pushed his head to the side slightly.

“You're…as small as Emma..!” She declared excitedly, and Oliver winced when that grip tightened a bit more in turn. Any more and it could quickly become dangerous for him. He recalled the farmer she mentioned before and the size comparison— he wasn't unused to being compared to a doll.

“Oh yes, you're absolutely right! Good girl. I am just the right size for her tractor too, aren't I? Can you put me in the tractor, Ava?” He asked, trying to calmly redirect her and free himself in the process as soon as possible, as it was now difficult to inhale. His ribs creaked in protest, but he fought off the instinct to kick at all.

Perking up at the suggestion she immediately nodded, sitting up on her forearms as she looked for the tractor and finding it quickly. Once she had she shuffled around to face it, resting her cheek on the ground and smiling as she lowered Oliver into the seat of the plastic tractor.

Oliver released some of the tension that had been growing in his shoulders, inhaling some much needed air as he sat back on the slightly too large plastic seat. Just as he was in the middle of recovering though his hands instinctively clutched the fake pink wheel in front of him as the tractor; and he along with it; was suddenly lifted into the air.

It was very disorienting to fly through the air like he was as Ava delightedly made chugging sounds and waved the tractor around to pretend it was driving, but it was preferred to the death grip she had held him in before. After a couple of minutes of holding on for dear life and just trying to pretend he was on the back of his bird steed instead, the tractor finally stopped moving around as he was instead held up close to her eyes.

Oliver was a bit shaky from the sequence of events so far, but he still managed to smile up at the giant toddler.

I'm not sure how many hours I'll be able to handle this. I need to try to explain how fragile I am to her…

Before he could even attempt that though, Ava was already speaking.

“I'll be the… the mummy and you can be the baby..!” She announced, and it was not so much a question as it was a role that, to her, Oliver was already accepting. That became clear when she began to babble about the setting and other stuff, but Oliver was more focused on the hand approaching him.

“Ava, listen to me.” He spoke with a slightly firmer tone than before, due to how dangerous this could get without intervention. She recognized that, her smile dropping and hand falling back immediately, eyes completely focused on him. He suspected he had very little time before she would lose that focus and grab him again anyway, but he sighed in relief that she had stopped.

Looking up at her, Oliver could tell plainly that his seriousness was putting her on edge. So, he shifted his time to be more light-hearted again as he smiled.

“I have a game for us to play. But you have to listen really closely to the rules, okay? Are you going to be a good girl and listen?” He asked.

His return to being more playful made her relax again, and she nodded eagerly at the sound of a game idea. Oliver was relieved. Some children were determined to get their own way, and would simply ignore the idea of another game for the sake of playing what they wanted to.

“I'm a good girl…a-already..!” She pointed out, a bit tongue-tied as most toddlers were. Oliver let out a small chuckle. It was easy to forget how dangerous young children could be when staring up into their innocent gazes.

“You're absolutely right. But, I still want you to listen, okay?” He emphasised, wanting to keep her on track. He cleared his throat. “Do you know about…Goldilocks and the three bears?”

She perked up and nodded, putting the tractor down in favour of leaning on her forearms and looking at Oliver that way. Taking advantage of the solid ground, he climbed out of the driver's seat and stood on legs that felt a bit like jelly from all the jostling that had been done to him earlier. She thankfully did not seem to have a problem with it, instead only taking the opportunity to reach ahead and give Oliver a small poke.

He stumbled ever so slightly, but got his balance back immediately and showed no reaction to the poke to avoid sparking any interest in that interaction. Not until he was sure she understood she needed to be gentle, and he could already tell she was getting distracted.

“In this game, you get to be Goldilocks!” He announced, adding a bit of theatrical flare to his words to make the idea sound as exciting as possible. It seemed to work as he saw her shift with excitement, eyes gleaming with joy. “Do you want to guess what I'll be?”

Ava ummed and ahhed about it for a few moments before looking down at him with a bright expression.

“Bear!” She guessed. That was exactly the answer Oliver was expecting and it made sense for a child of her age to guess that.

“That's a great guess! You were close too. Both things start with a ‘buh’ sound after all.” He praised, emphasising the phonics with enthusiasm. “I'm going to be…a bed.”

The toddler giggled, rolling on the floor restlessly as she took in Oliver's words. She looked at him, now laying on her back and seeing him upside down, thoroughly entertained by the sight and thought. As Oliver wanted, she was hooked.

“You— can't be a…a bed..! Beds are for sleeping..!” She pointed out, finding the absurdity extremely amusing, and intrigued by Oliver's game. He was quick to play into her playful manner, taking on a more humorous tone.

“Ah, you're right! Beds are for sleeping…it would be a bit silly for you to sleep on me, wouldn't it?” He pointed out, eliciting a squeal of laughter. Ava rolled back onto her front, gaze still focused on him, and hands thankfully clutching the front of her shirt instead of him. Oliver smiled, and continued.

“No, of course not… But, just like Goldilocks found a bed that was just right, I want you to do the same thing. And when I tell you it's just right, you win! If you win 10 whole times, you get a prize. Does that sound fun?”

Really it was a very convoluted way of explaining things, but Ava seemed to engage best with praise and play, so Oliver was trying to incorporate that as much as possible to keep her happy.

Ava nodded again, so Oliver explained the rules more clearly.

“First, you're going to pick me up. If you hold me too tight I'll say ‘too hard’. If you hold me not tight enough I'll say ‘too soft’. But if you hold me gently, I will say ‘just right’. When I say ‘just right', put me back down and we'll play again. Ready?”

Without waiting for him to say go, she was already reaching forwards and picking him up, her fingers quickly squeezing onto him in the same painful grip as before. Oliver expected that for a start, and strained to speak, hopeful that this method would work.

“Too hard…” He tried to keep a light tone despite the fact that all of the air was being pushed from his lungs by those deceptively small fingers. Realising that winning wasn't as easy as she first thought, Ava concentrated; tongue sticking out again as she opened her fingers a bit. The grip was much too loose, and Oliver dropped a little because of it, having to cling onto her fingers to keep from falling.

“Too soft..!” He spoke through his big inhale of needed air, relieved at the lack of broken bones despite knowing that this would involve a few rounds of trial and error before she would consistently know the right level of pressure. The fingers closed in again, just on the edge of being too tight. But, as it was close enough, and to avoid making her lose interest too quickly, he counted it.

“Just right! Very good job, Ava. That's 1 win!” He praised. “Aren't you clever?”

The process repeated again and again, and to keep Ava's engagement with the game Oliver offered up rewards in between rounds— like a finger five (which she liked a lot) and invisible stickers. By the seventh round she had learned that ‘just right’ was closer to ‘too soft’ than ‘too hard’, and so Oliver wasn't worrying about having his ribs broken each round anymore.

They reached round 10 very quickly, and she got ‘just right’ immediately, much to her delight and pride.

“That was incredible, Ava! I'm impressed that you got the hang of that so quickly.” He smiled genuinely. Although the bruises from earlier were bad and would take a while to heal, at least he could rest assured that he had a method to help prevent further bruising. “Your prize is… I'll play any game you want.”

Already he could feel the fingers begin to tighten again as her focus turned away from her grip and to thinking of a new game.

“But!” Oliver quickly interjected, stopping her in her tracks. “I'm still going to tell you if it's just right or not when you hold me, okay? Just to test if you're paying attention.”

It was all continuing to go relatively well, and Oliver was perfectly content playing along with the child's imaginative play provided his bones stayed intact. Whenever Oliver felt her grip getting too tight or too loose he made sure to correct her and heaped her with lots of praise once she got it right.

Ava had completely forgotten about her parents being gone, just enjoying playing games with Oliver.

Faintly, he heard the sound of a car pulling up beside the house, and although he wasn't sure if it was one of her parents or not, it was soon confirmed by the sound of the front door unlocking. Ava also paused when she heard the door, sitting up a bit and turning around, her fingers held in her mouth as she stared.

A woman burst into the living room, letting the door swing open and not bothering to close it as she spotted Ava on the floor. As soon as the toddler saw her mother, her grip on Oliver completely released as she began crying again, immediately returning to the same distress as before now that she remembered what had happened. Her little hands instinctively reached towards the woman, making grabbing motions.

Oliver landed on the carpet with a small ‘oof’, before backpedalling into the shadows under the TV stand, watching as the mother rushed over and scooped up the crying toddler, apologising profusely and smothering her in affection to try to get her to calm down.

He smiled slightly at the sight, relieved that Ava was now in her caretakers hands again. His body was equally relieved, and he winced as a pang of pain shot out from the various bruises he had acquired whilst entertaining the curious toddler.

He didn't stick around for too long after, once he was sure that Ava was going to be well taken care of. He managed to find the entrance he had come out from in the first place, retrieving his glasses and placing them on his face. His finger pushed at the bridge to put it in the right place again as he slung his pack over his shoulder and walked outside to whistle for Gale.

I'll have to cut this trip short…but the bruises were well worth it.

[saintsenara]

thank you very much for this, anon!

the diadem is probably the most interesting horcrux narratively, because it's the only one which doesn't connect to the narrative arc of one of the series' main characters, which is also why it's the only one which is destroyed indirectly - as collateral to goyle burning down the room of requirement, which means there's fiendfyre present for it to be yeeted into - rather than by somebody directly.

as i've said above, the the trio each destroys a horcrux which they have a particular narrative connection to. the same is true of the other three horcruxes which are actively destroyed.

the ring

dumbledore - whose narrative role is to teach harry about understanding what is true [which is what the series thinks the power of love is - love is the universe's one great truth] - destroys the ring, which serves, across all of its canon appearances, as a metaphor for the corrosive power of wishful thinking, seeing what you want to see, and refusing to accept the truth.

in the tale of three brothers, the resurrection stone drives the second brother - who has refused to accept the truth that his lover's death is permanent and she won't come back - mad with grief, causing him to take his own life. marvolo clings on to his ring as a symbol of the gaunts' former grandeur and influence, using it to claim that bob ogden should regard him as his superior, even though he's a violent, squalid man living in a rotting shack. dumbledore puts on the ring in a desperate attempt to apologise to his sister, convincing himself that - unlike the second brother - he'll meet the real ariana, that his desire to use a hallow in this case isn't connected to his and grindelwald's earlier obsession with them, and that voldemort won't have left anything nasty on the ring which might kill him.

harry - who internalises the lesson that "it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live", who is remarkably free of the shackles of his past, who doesn't tend to get bound up in trying to reclaim things which are lost - drops the stone in the forest, causing it to be lost forever.

the ring-horcrux's creation is also connected to this corrosive wishful thinking. voldemort clearly travels to little hangleton expecting to find his maternal line living in ancient luxury - harry hones in right away on the fact that he looks "disappointed" to find morfin living in filth. voldemort also undoubtedly believes - since his view, expressed in his first meeting with dumbledore, that a parent who doesn't matter would be dead - that his irrelevant muggle father isn't alive, and he's not pleased to hear morfin reveal otherwise.

[since - of course - this hammers home that his dad abandoned his mother, never wanted him, and never tried to find him.]

he's also not pleased to hear morfin say that he looks near-identical to tom riddle sr. - which is another way that the books, which tend to have all members of pureblood nuclear family units look alike [hence why narcissa malfoy is blond while her sisters aren't - it's to emphasise her connection to lucius and draco], show voldemort's inescapable connection to the muggle world.

and so he wipes out his paternal line, sheds any connection with or affection for his identity as "tom riddle", and vanishes behind the mask of "lord voldemort" who is free from such messy human experiences as "wanting to be loved by your father".

but the entire arc of the series is about how he can't outrun his humanity, his heritage, or his former identity. just as dumbledore can't outrun his past mistakes, he can only seek to be forgiven for them. in destroying the ring-horcrux - and then passing the resurrection stone over to harry - dumbledore is doing what voldemort never does, and recognising that the things he did in the past were wrong and he's sorry for them, but that they nonetheless shaped who he was and he should acknowledge them, instead of trying to suppress them.

the snake

neville destroys nagini, who demonstrates voldemort's descent from slytherin [since the locket, as noted above, is primarily about his grief over his mother - and his immediate heritage - rather than his distant ancestry].

nagini is made a horcrux after the adult voldemort - in a frightening, inhuman form - returns to his father's house, with his relationship to it completely recontextualised. any grief, humiliation, or anger he felt towards tom riddle sr. when the ring was created is now completely irrelevant to him - the riddle line has been eradicated, the riddle house is rotting from the ground up, frank bryce's loyalty to the riddles means nothing to him. voldemort takes over it by force - he's not the son and heir coming to meet his father, he's a superhuman stranger, who has no emotional connection to the riddle family whatsoever.

[this is why he's happy to use his father's bones in his resurrection ritual - he no longer thinks of them as related by anything other than a technicality, his dad's grave is nothing to him except a tool.]

nagini is destroyed - just after voldemort has announced that the house system will be disbanded and all students forced to be in slytherin - by neville pulling the sword of gryffindor from the sorting hat. this proves him to be - along with harry - the series' "true gryffindor", which transforms him from someone who spends the earlier books as comic relief [awkward and a bit cowardly, unlike the trio; a character the child-reader is supposed to see themselves as braver, smarter, and cooler than] into a chivalric figure, who encapsulates all the virtues [courage, loyalty, steadfastness, faith, defence of the lowly, purity of heart, and so on] which the doylist text values above all others.

and which it exclusively associates with gryffindor and gryffindors, [hence dumbledore claiming that snape demonstrating courage is evidence "we sort too soon", rather than assuming that sytherins could be courageous as well...] - in destroying nagini, neville destroys voldemort's belief [which the doylist text regards as empirically wrong] that slytherin is the superior house.

the boy

voldemort himself destroys harry, thus allowing the prophecy - and, especially, its line that "the dark lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the dark lord knows not" - to be fulfilled, via his failure to acknowledge and respect the power of love [which saves harry from death but condemns him to it], the thing he has spent his entire life committing evil in an attempt to outrun.

the diadem

the diadem, in contrast, is associated by the text with independence and solitude.

[hence why it's the only horcrux which dumbledore doesn't identify.]

voldemort learns of its existence by getting close enough to helena ravenclaw to manipulate her - which is presented in canon as no mean feat, since she keeps apart from all the other ghosts, is clearly disinclined to chat to students, and isn't particularly visible in hogwarts as a social structure.

he then travels to retrieve it alone - and he does this after he's also separated himself off from society by leaving his job, fleeing the country, and [presumably] abandoning his social circle - and we know nothing from canon about what he does during the ten years he spends away from britain.

we don't know when he finds the diadem or who was killed to create it [as with the locket, jkr has said that he used a random murder - that of a family of albanian peasants - to make it, which again contradicts dumbledore's statement that he tends to use murders which are significant to him].

voldemort brings the diadem to hogwarts on the night of his job interview, when he definitively rejects any alternative path [and, in canon's eyes, rejects any chance of doing "good", since he rejects dumbledore's way] and strikes out alone as the singular embodiment of evil. his separation from group society is heavily emphasised throughout this scene - dumbledore calls him a liar for claiming the death eaters are his friends ["i was under the impression that they are more in the order of servants"], his appearance is starting to become inhuman ["he was no longer handsome tom riddle"], and he no longer wishes to be known as tom riddle [and, as i've said before, we do need to recognise that what dumbledore does is deadnaming... especially given who jkr is...].

and he hides it in the room of requirement, which is similarly a place of separation and solitude - it's where things which aren't wanted or needed are hidden away - and which he believes [nonsensically] he is the only person to have discovered.

[although it is worth saying that dumbledore doesn't know the room exists - voldemort's belief that he alone knows about it is basically canon, pretty clumsily, drawing this distinction between someone who's part of society and someone who's separate from it: the castle's headmaster, who is integral to its functioning as a social system, doesn't know something which the self-made outcast does.]

and on the basis of this, i suppose we could say that the diadem is the least social horcrux - the version of voldemort least interested in exploiting the human desire for socialisation, the object which would be the least successful at manipulating somebody who comes into contact with it. which would even make it possible to say that the diadem is the least dangerous horcrux, on account of lacking that desire to take advantage of people.

we could also say that the diadem is the horcrux voldemort thinks of as least important to him - he lacks any personal connection to it, chooses it as an object primarily for completionist reasons, checks on it last when he works out that harry is destroying his hoard, and doesn't hide it somewhere of any real significance to him.

[because - yes - he hides it at hogwarts, his beloved castle, but if he'd wanted to create somewhere elaborate and special to hide it, as he does with his mother's locket, i can see no reason why he wouldn't have put it in the chamber of secrets.]

but i think we can say something much more interesting about it...

that it doesn't represent freely-chosen independence, separation, and solitude. it represents unwilling isolation.

after all, the initial presentation of helena ravenclaw's separation from the rest of the castle as being because she's a bit up herself is revealed to be wrong. she refuses to answer questions about the diadem because she's ashamed of stealing it. she doesn't like socialising with the castle's other ghosts because the man who murdered her is one of them.

and she also says that her separation from society in life wasn't a deliberate choice. she is forced into hiding because the baron is hunting her down. when she attempts to refuse him - to make a free choice either to be alone or to form other relationships in which he doesn't feature - he kills her. while the mechanics of where ghosts spawn isn't entirely clear - my assumption is that she ends up back at hogwarts because she has so much unfinished business with her mam - her death also separates her, against her will, from something which is precious to her: the diadem.

while i don't think we need to throw the baby out with the bathwater - i never think, for example, that the teenage voldemort was bullied by his fellow slytherins - we also know that he stood out from the crowd the second he arrived at hogwarts, for both positive [his looks, his talent] and negative [his secondhand possessions] reasons. the text is explicit that he never had any relationships with his cohort which were equal, and while it presents this as a deliberate choice on voldemort's part, since he understood himself as superior to everyone else - dumbledore's description of him as a "gang leader", or harry's observation that he "was by no means the eldest of the group of boys [at the slug club], but they all seemed to look to him as their leader" - we don't have to take this as fact.

indeed, despite dumbledore's insistence that voldemort has never wanted a friend, he does seem - throughout canon - to be someone who's quite lonely, and who would value a relationship which provided him with some sort of peer experience. it is entirely plausible, then, to imagine that he manages to worm his way into helena ravenclaw's confidences because they have a shared experience of being separated - against their will - from something they desire.

similarly, while we know nothing of voldemort's first time in albania, we know something significant about the second one - that he thinks about it as a miserable period of isolation, spent hiding from social connection ["i dared not go where other humans were plentiful, for i knew that the aurors were still abroad and searching for me"] which took place very much against his will, after his death eaters abandoned him:

"I remember only forcing myself, sleeplessly, endlessly, second by second, to exist... I settled in a faraway place, in a forest, and I waited... Surely, one of my faithful Death Eaters would try and find me... one of them would come and perform the magic I could not, to restore me to a body... but I waited in vain..."

and - therefore - perhaps his first stay in albania was somewhere "other humans were plentiful". perhaps he had friends and connections there which he valued, but which aren't important to the narrative of the doylist text and therefore aren't mentioned.

after he turns the diadem into a horcrux, voldemort then brings it "home" - he reunites it with hogwarts. i don't think for a second that he did this for helena ravenclaw, but i do think he did it because he would understand the founders' relics as being pair-bonded to the castle [with himself, or possibly the basilisk, standing in for the locket as slytherin's relic]. in bringing it to his job interview - which, i think it's worth emphasising, he really does seem to think is genuine [however ridiculous that is] - he's involving it in his long-awaited homecoming.

the fact that he places it in the room of requirement lends credence to this. after all, the diadem-horcrux is almost always mentioned - in both half-blood prince and deathly hallows - alongside something else: the broken vanishing cabinet.

and what is the entire point of the vanishing cabinet in the latter books of the series?

to be reunited with its pair.

and so the diadem should have a mirror-character, like all the rest of the horcruxes.

and this mirror-character should be someone whose separation from the narrative arc of the horcruxes' destruction initially appears to their choice, but is then revealed to be something imposed upon them against their will.

someone who's lonely; who is - perhaps - popular but doesn't seem to have any actual close friends.

someone who has spent years wanting to be perceived as an equal by a specific person - and who longed for that person to recognise that they'd changed from the person they were as a child.

someone who was excited to go to hogwarts, only to discover that they stood out from their peers because of their secondhand possessions.

someone who had a formative relationship which was entirely transactional - even if they were the person being manipulated, while the pre-teen voldemort's experience is as the person doing the manipulating.

someone who, like helena ravenclaw, attempted to flee the person hunting them down - and nearly died as a result.

someone who panics at the thought of being separated from a precious object.

someone whom the text understands as part of a pair, but who is still kept at arm's length by their other half for the vast majority of the series.

someone who bravely accepts the ending of a relationship, even though they're not given a choice in the matter, so that the more important narrative of the horcrux hunt can begin.

someone who's not only excluded from the horcrux hunt [and, indeed, isn't told anything about the horcruxes full-stop], but is excluded from the fighting when the battle of hogwarts begins [the only main character this happens to].

someone who is excluded from the fighting by being told to stay - on their own - in the room of requirement.

someone who - therefore - is kept so separate from the narrative of voldemort's destruction that they don't even get a chance to destroy their horcrux-mirror.

that is to say...

ginny.

One thing I find really compelling about ronmort is that the horcrux which targets ron is the one most "maternal"-- tom's mother's locket, which you so cleverly pointed out was also the one which he erected a complicated defense for in a place that was meaningful to his childhood. Everything the locket says to Ron just feels so charged? Wym you've seen his heart and it's yours? Wym you've seen his dreams and his desires? The fact that Ron can hear the locket's heartbeat before anyone else... I don't know how to explain it except that the locket's antagonism of Ron feels almost intimate in a way. The shenanigans would be sexy. Not least because Ron can apparently do a passing imitation of parseltongue (hot).

that each of the trio destroys the horcrux which most connects to something fundamental about themselves is a detail which obsesses me.

the diary

harry - an orphan, desperate to meet someone else who can understand the strangeness and isolation of his experience; searching for the truth about himself, and what in his life is inherited, but unable to ever fully uncover it - destroys the diary, not only the sole horcrux which is an explicit link to lord voldemort's upbringing as an orphan in the muggle world, but also a metaphor for the state of orphanhood itself.

the diary is a quasi-palimpsest - an object which has to be written in; an object in which a layer of text is written and then overwritten by another; an object in which these layers of text can be stripped back until only the original layer remains only with extraordinary difficulty - just like the orphan's search for meaning, trying to decipher the layers of themselves which were inherited from their parents, but only ever being able to see these partially, with the text missing or corrupted.

voldemort's creation of the diary-horcrux is explicitly connected in canon to him coming to learn who about himself, his parents, and his heritage - and, connected to this, to him refusing to sit with the grief of orphanhood, refusing to understand his parents as whole, complex people, and refusing to embrace his "real" identity [which, as the text understands it, is that of a half-blood named tom marvolo riddle] by creating a fake one [that of lord voldemort].

harry destroys it after rejecting voldemort's self-constructed view of his own exceptionality - "the greatest wizard in the world is albus dumbledore" - his refusal to acknowledge the complexities of lineage and orphanhood, and his refusal to embrace his muggle heritage - "my mother died to save me. my common, muggleborn mother". he does this using a tool directly connected to voldemort's rejection of all but his slytherin heritage - the basilisk's fang - in a location similarly connected to voldemort's rejection of his muggle blood - the chamber of secrets.

the cup

hermione - an outsider, whose place in the wizarding world is unstable - destroys the cup, one of the horcruxes to which voldemort has the least personal connection, but which he selected to hide his soul because of its historical significance, anchoring him to a millennium of wizarding history and culture he was otherwise brought up disconnected from.

voldemort's creation of the cup-horcrux comes at the end of a period of his life in which he is disadvantaged in wizarding society purely on the basis of his name and background. he rejects the ministry jobs which would have made him dependent for the rest of his life on slughorn's patronage - and, therefore, pressured him to do what slughorn wanted - and ends up, as he himself puts it, as "a poor shop assistant". hepzibah smith is a pureblood, who is also descended from one of hogwarts' founders - yet she doesn't make use of this superiority ["all sorts of powers it's supposed to possess too... i just keep it nice and safe in here..."], and she doesn't realise [and he can't prove to her and hope to keep his job] that voldemort is someone she should think of as her equal [or even superior]. she - as harry observes - essentially treats voldemort as doll she can play with, posing him with her treasures and pretending his glacial politeness is really repressed affection, she speaks to him like he's an idiot, and she evidently considers him to be her social inferior.

hermione destroys the cup after seven books in which the discrimination she faces on account of being muggleborn are explicit. obviously, she's the victim of violent bigotry - she's petrified, she's called a mudblood, she's the only one of the trio who also has to worry about the muggleborn registration commission - but she's also the victim of seemingly benign, genial bigotry too - the muggle world is treated as a quaint side-show, even by characters like the weasleys; she's praised for her intelligence by slughorn, but this intelligence is still considered in some way unusual for someone with muggle heritage. she gets spoken to by many wizards in ways which aren't far removed from the way hepzibah speaks to voldemort.

as a result, she - like voldemort - spends a lot of time trying to acquire enough knowledge of the wizarding world that she appears to be native to it [this is why she's so obsessed with hogwarts: a history]. but - unlike voldemort - she then embraces her heritage and refuses to hide it - "mudblood and proud of it!".

and - shortly after this - she destroys the cup, in a place - the chamber - and using a tool - the basilisk's fang - which are both directly connected to the bigotry she experienced, since they're part of slytherin's belief that people like her should be driven out of hogwarts and out of the magical world more broadly, and therefore send a big "fuck you" to voldemort's blood-supremacy.

the locket

and ron... whose greatest desire is to be recognised for his individual achievements, who has a complex and uneasy relationship with his place in his family [simultaneously longing to be something other than "one of the weasleys" and fiercely loyal to his parents and siblings], who is the only pureblood of the trio, whose childhood we hear the most about in canon, and whose childhood appears to have been happy...

destroys the locket, which is voldemort's only link to his mother, and the only horcrux for which he constructs an elaborate defence in a place meaningful to him from childhood.

we don't actually know who voldemort kills to create the locket-horcrux [jkr has said in interviews that it was a muggle tramp, although this contradicts dumbledore's statement in half-blood prince that voldemort created his horcruxes from murders which were significant to him], which is a neat metaphor for how little he knows about merope - since he doesn't know morfin's name, for example, we can assume he doesn't know hers; everything he ever tells harry about her is something he's invented [especially his belief that his parents' marriage was consensual, and that tom riddle sr. abandoned her because she was a witch].

the horcrux attempts to torture ron with his insecurities about being a mammy's boy who's always been afraid that he's a bit of a flop at the task - especially when compared to siblings like ginny, bill, and percy. and ron is so susceptible to it because voldemort is also an inherent mammy's boy [ronmort nation, rise up] who never got a chance to have a mam, and who responded to the grief this caused him by suppressing it, pretending it never existed, and convincing himself that the only viable thing to be is unique.

ron destroys it after he returns to the trio - having attempted to strike out on his own [the thing he's wanted since philosopher's stone, when he sees himself standing alone in the mirror of erised] - and accepts his place as part of a group. he does so using the sword of gryffindor, which again represents him embracing not being exceptional - his entire family have been in gryffindor, something he's shown to feel simultaneously proud of and uneasy with right from his first appearance.

[honeyjars-sims]

3.40 This is Where I'll Be

Paul and I got approved for the townhouse, which is just in time since the process of selling their house went a lot faster than my dads were expecting. They were lucky to find a house in Del Sol that was just the right size for them–and all of Dad’s wigs. Before we knew it, we were packing up our lives into boxes and preparing to leave the family home forever.

Moving day comes quickly and the three of us get to work clearing things out. Once the last of the boxes are taken out I stop to look at the empty space. I'm a little taken aback by how harsh and cold it looks without the furnishings.

It's all concrete and metal, and it's apparent now that the house was just a vessel for what my parents put into it–not just furniture and decorations, but comfort and security and love. Lots of love. Still, I can't help but tear up at the sight of it without all of our belongings inside.

Pops puts his arm around me. 

“This is the first place I ever felt safe,” I tell him, a lump rising in my throat.

“It's not the house that made you feel that way,” he replies.

“Yeah, I know. I just have so many good memories of this place.”

Dad is standing on the other side of me. “So do we,” he says. “One day you'll make a home with someone and you’ll fill it with memories of your own.”

My mind begins to fill with images of my future home–I can see children lounging on the couch with thick blankets…maybe they're reading their favorite books or playing video games. The smell of frying pancakes, fresh berries, and maple syrup wafts through the air. We’ll all sit down for breakfast, and the kids will feel the comfort, security and love of their parents. I smile.

Pops, Dad and I are all huddled close. I’m afraid I’ll start crying for real. “Okay, you guys can let go of me now.”

“We’ll never let you go,” Dad coos while tousling my hair.

Pops kisses my cheek. “You’ll always be our little pookie-wookie.”

Once my dads decide to stop annoying me we make our way to the moving van, walking away from what was once our home for the last time. But I don't feel like I'm walking away from anything really–more like I'm walking towards my future. Towards my own family, my own home. Maybe not right now, but I'm on my way.

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[cartoonsinthemorning]

So I absolutely love all your thoughts and ideas about a fem Stan, but what about a fem Ford? I feel like that could also be a really fun dynamic. Stan trying to be the man and protecting fem!Ford from bullies, but is really just entirely wrapped around Fords fingers. And then! The jealousy could come into play in other ways! Like Stan starts dating someone and Ford is pissed about it so she leaves a lipstick mark on his collar or subtly sprays him with perfumes so that Stans partner thinks he was cheating and leaves him. And the obsessionnn. Imagine her stealing Stan’s shirts and sleeping in them just because they smell like him. Or staring at him while he sleeps and sketching him in her personal diary (though let’s be real, canon Ford did that too lol.) Anyways, I also like the idea of all of these pent up feeling finally coming out and her just riding Stan until he can’t think straight and her being like “that’s right, you’ll never have it this good with anyone else.” Idk. Thoughts?

Hello new friend! Thank you for enjoying my thoughts and ideas about fem!Stan, and for now kickstarting a conversation about fem!Ford too! I have a lot of thoughts. So many, in fact, that before moving to the shippy part, I need to focus on Ford alone, first. What would differ, was he born a girl. Quite a lot. I’m gonna be blunt. All things Ford had been oppressed by, in canon, would hit ten times harder, if he was a girl. Take academic ambitions, for example: I’m not saying that fem!Ford’s extraordinary intelligence wouldn’t had earned her praise. I just doubt she would had been encouraged to pursue higher education, and convert her studies into a career. A jewish WOMAN into STEM? Back then? I don’t think any of her teachers suggested she shoots for a prestigious university- why give her and her family unrealistic expectations? Ma and Pa would had been happy to have a smart, studious daughter, but I’m sure the idea to invest into her studies would had been up to debate, if not shot down immediately: to spend that type of money, when her likely future job would be either high school science teacher, or museum curator- would had been a pointless waste, to someone like Filbrick Pines.

To be honest, I think teen fem!Ford would had rather been encouraged, by her parents, to attend professional classes instead, something like a typewriting course- in order to find a stable secretary job, for example, after high school. Can you imagine, someone with Ford’s potential, being told “Well honey, at least you can put those extra fingers to a practical use, if you learn to type very fast”? Can you imagine how UTTERLY humiliated fem!Ford must had felt, all the time? Just like Ford, I think she’d be perfectly aware what a genius she is, and how drastically she’s been underestimated. And yet, she’d have to take in consideration the evidence: it doesn’t matter how great her mind is. They are right, there’s no place that would want her. The only person that would root for her, ever the dreamer, would be Stanley. He’d just take her hands, wipe her tears away, and promise, with naive, granitic certainty, that he will find a way to help her. His plans would range from completely unrealistic and cartoonish (“Ya could invent a machine that turns me into a brainiac, and once Pa send me to that tech uni ya like, I’ll sneak you in the classes, and you’ll take my place!”), to painfully sweet, albeit still unrealistic (“If Pa doesn’t want to support ya, I’ll take two or three jobs and pay for your studies and stuff myself!”). Stanley would look at his sister with bright eyes, and a huge optimistic grin, stating that she’s the smartest gal that ever existed, so there’s NO WAY she won’t become some posh scientist and prove everyone in Glass Shard Beach wrong. Every time Stanley would pull his stupid, naive, adoring Protector Knight acts, fem!Ford would feel so angry at herself for blushing, and for her heart-rate speeding up. Because it’s so intoxicating to be believed in, but she can’t afford to fall for Stanley’s overly-hopeful view of her condition, and she can’t afford to fall for him either. And this brings me to yet another point I wanted to make: self-esteem, and societal expectations.

If canon Ford’s hands got him bullied, and classified as freak- for a girl, they would had also been a mark of ugliness and considered remarkably un-feminine. I bet F., as a little girl, suffered a lot for having more in common with the grotesque antagonistic creatures of her favorite books, rather than the princess. And I’m sure EVERYONE around her didn’t fail to make her notice too. In subtle ways, sometimes. Like her mom suggesting she gets ear-rings, for her birthday, rather than bracelets, because it would be best not to concentrate more attention on those, right? Even if teen fem!Ford would act aloof, as if she didn’t care anymore, she’d be so self conscious about her large palms and extra fingers- so unfeminine and gross- she’d fantasize about chopping them off quite often. If Stanley hadn’t happily held her hand throughout their childhood, and “made fun” of how tiny her hands look in his large ones, as teenagers, maybe she would have, in a fit of self-hate. Thing is, fem!Ford would hold grudges and set secret standards in her head. It’s not like she thinks she’d never be able to get a boyfriend, despite her hands: she doesn’t look horrible, she’d be pretty, even, if she cared for her appearance like her moms begs her to do- but F. wouldn’t be able to suppress the burning conviction that “No other man but Stanley deserves me”. Other men may want her despite her hands, but Stanley was there since the beginning, telling her her hands make her more special than any other girl, like she was magical, like she belong in the fairy tales book she used to read aloud to him. What a stab to the heart, then, that she can’t have him. Not only because they are siblings, but because, just like you said, Stanley would date someone else. Carla, and some other stupid bitch that F. would need to get rid of, because they don’t deserve Stanley like she does neither! I love all the strategies you listed, to “mark her territory” and push other girls away!! I love toxic, jealous girlies!! I don’t condone Ford’s yanderism, but fem!Ford has my blessing. She can be a creep, as a treat. As for the part you mentioned, about fem!Ford snapping and riding Stan- YES I also agree, AND I’d like to add to it. In this AU, Stanley isn’t a misogynist in the classic sense: he doesn’t consider his sister an inferior at all. But… he would not be immune to absorbing the Madonna-whore complex:Girls like Carla- he can fool around with, because they are that kind of girls. Promiscuous, slutty- bad girls. But his sister is different. She’s so virtuous, so smart- his pure, innocent little sister. Stanley would NEVER lay a finger on her. Yes, he may admit to himself he is in love with her, which is also horrible, but at least he would never, ever sexualize her. Cue Stanley playing dumb, or finding excuses to weasel away, whenever fem!Ford flirted with him, or even made clear advances- during the entire length of their teenage years. Until fem!Ford just. Decided she couldn’t take it anymore, stripped naked, slipped into Stan’s bed, and grinded and kissed his neck until he caved, lmao. I have even more thoughts, but it’s getting late, here. I must cut the yapping short, for now. Please, feel free to come chat again, and throw more ideas of your own at me! Thank you for this one, MMMMWAH, baci baci!

[hms-no-fun]

Oh yeah the big pickups to work in an office job infuriate me to no end. A whole parking lot full of death machines that have never known the touch of a gravel road or hauled anything larger than a big Costco run. I have a nice lil electric hatchback tho.

the thing is, i always wanted a car. my parents took me on a lot of road trips when i was growing up (i remember a couple years before he died, my dad told me he was very proud to have shown me so much of the country when he himself had grown up poor and could only travel as far as the next job took him), so of course i have in me that quintessential American longing for The Road. in high school, i fantasized about getting into a car and disappearing into traffic, traveling to some distant corner where nobody lived and finding a situation to occupy. god help me, as a teen i bemoaned being born too late and longed for the naive vision of the 60s i'd received from my parents and pop culture and the rusted-over kitsch that dotted the remains of Route 66 (which my dad loved to talk about).

i hate car culture in part because i used to love car culture. it's a microcosm of indoctrinated American patriotism in general. they sell you on the dream, right? the freedom of travel, of expression. i wanted to be the millennial Jack Kerouac, whose work i did not actually read because i was young and dumb and drowning in dysphoria. but as i got older i saw how quickly little bumps and scratches can turn into massive financial burdens, to say nothing of cracked windshields or flat tires. then my mom died and i was given the responsibility of handling her car, a silver scion xb. i was 19, i did not have a license and had next to zero experience driving, nor had i ever had a job before. when i say "given the responsibility to handle her car" instead of "given her car," i mean that i didn't just get her car. like, i had it, i had the keys and no one was around to tell me not to drive it. but in order to get the title signed over to me, i had to go through an insane bureaucratic process of proving that my mom was dead, and that i was her kid, and that i should have the title to the car. this took months of back and forth miscommunication as dated notices were sent and bills piled up. because it wasn't just the car i got, but the debt as well. some $30,000 of it left unpaid by mom, which i was now expected to pay in her stead. my first job was working night shifts at a wal mart stocking the frozen food department, and that was the job where i rode my bike on the highway to get to work. i didn't drive because i didn't have a license, didn't have experience, was terrified of highway drivers, and knew very distinctly that if anything went wrong i'd instantly be in so much more debt (monetary and bureaucratic) than i already was. eventually my sister, a career nurse with three kids and a house, took over the car from me.

nobody understood why i didn't drive that car more. even my mom, when she was still alive, she said "when i was your age, i was dying to get out of the house." i was too! but for all that cars culturally represented freedom, in practice what they came to represent to me was the expected cost of participating in society. i was already sensitive to adults sneering at me for my perceived immaturity (the joys of being a millennial), which only compounded on learning that i didn't have a car or license, that i wasn't proactively joining Clubs or Organizations, that i wanted to pursue the arts of all things, that i wasn't Christian, etc etc etc. i never got out to see live music because i didn't have a car and didn't have money. i didn't get my first smart phone until late 2015. i spent a lot of my college years feeling alienated because i was at least two years older than everyone else (i already didn't want to go to college straight out of high school even before my mom died), still used a flip phone, and didn't have a car. which is to say i was a working class person trying to get by in a middle class institution. and i only got in because i was very good at peddling my sob story for sympathy points. FAFSA loves to finance the odd tragedy, i'm telling you (don't worry, i still had to take on a ton of student loan debt). when i expressed to family that i didn't want a car because i didn't feel safe as a driver, and felt that i shouldn't need to have a car in order to participate in society, they said "everyone feels that way at first, but you just have to get over it. or move to a big city. good luck affording that!" as a related aside, when i told those same people that i liked being in college for the pursuit of knowledge and wanted to graduate towards being a sort of generalist, they flatly insisted that that's not how college works anymore, and that i should instead put my energies towards a Useful Degree that would Get Me A Good Job.

of course they were sympathetic, at least on the surface. they told me these things in a kind tone, the way adults always do when what they're saying boils down to "it's not fair, but life ain't fair." and i've just never been able to accept that. before i knew anything about socialism or communism or materialist dialectics, when i was still very much under the thrall of post-Clinton liberalism, i still felt this deep-rooted conviction that when people said "life isn't fair," they were giving up something. that it was an excuse, an appeal to a higher power, a resignation to the status quo. my experience with cars, by the time i hit 25, was that you bought them for the freedom they promised, and then spent of your life driving that car between one of maybe five locations on the regular and doing very little else. the only time i ever felt free in a car was on a road trip, which happened with vanishing irregularity as all the associated costs skyrocketed in the 2000s. all the other time was spent driving in circles looking for parking, only to balk at how expensive it was. spent stuck in traffic for hours, amid concrete dunes of overpasses tangled with one another like a four-year-old's first try at tying their own shoes. spent angrily judging the poor driving conduct of other people, spent resenting anyone and everyone who inconvenienced their drive, spent rubbernecking at horrific accidents on the side of the road, spent worrying about car payments and insurance payments and how much it's gonna cost to get a tune-up, and then someone breaks in and steals all your stuff and your insurance doesn't want to pay for it, and then you get into an accident and you spend months haggling with your insurance and their insurance in the hopes that someone will maybe pay for the debt you've had to take on in getting your car repaired, because of course professional life doesn't take a break just because your mode of transportation got totaled.

and if i was applying for a job and the employer found out i didn't have a car, i was denied on the spot. i learned very quickly to lie about such things as often as possible. but i also learned that i could only bluff for so long before the lack of a car became a genuinely insurmountable hurdle. which fucked me up tremendously because at no point in my adult life, to this day, can i ever imagine being able to afford all the associated costs of having a car. in many respects, not having a car was the only reason i was able to survive the way i did. it meant i could work part-time while i was in school (with student loans making up the shortfall), share an apartment with two or three or four other people, and just barely have enough to eat the bare minimum and go see a movie sometimes. of course i wanted the freedom all my car-owning friends had, but mostly i wanted it so i could drive out into the middle of nowhere at night and be truly alone. i wanted a car so that i could escape from the frictional sandpaper bureaucracy of american existence... and i knew from experience by then that that's simply not how the world works.

it took me until 2020 to finally move to seattle, one of those mythical Big Cities with Actually Existing Public Transit. and holy shit, it's a revelation! i have better access the place where i live now than i ever have, and it's a freedom that costs SO MUCH LESS than the same would've cost me back home. but i've also lived here long enough now to see all the ways in which our transit system here is deeply flawed and run by the wrong people. i see many of the same forces at play here as i did back home. i see now how car owners and allies to the car dealership fiefdoms of the nation utilize car ownership and road maintenance as a tremendous lever of power. they've deliberately trapped us in this cycle of poverty and personal transportation reliance, and used the money they got from us buying their cars to then buy politicians so that they defund public transit and oppose any urbanist reforms. did you know that much of america used to be covered by street cars and rail lines? if you live in the midwest or on the west coast, your town very likely only exists the way it does because of mass public transit. they were necessary for bringing people into these remote places to create new markets for wealth extraction. once the population in those places was stable, and mass-produced personal vehicles became the norm, the capitalists of those areas deliberately allowed the transit networks to "go bankrupt" (ie they pretended transit is a business and not a utility that pretty much by definition can't turn a profit in a traditional manner) so they could be bought up and liquidated by future car dealers. this is what i think of when i remember my family telling me "that's just not the way the world works."

why? it used to be the way the world worked. why can't it be again? if the current status quo is the result of choices that created economic pressures which shaped the nature of society, why can't we do the same thing again but different? the way things are now is sick. it's unhealthy. the vast majority of microplastics come from car rubber, and what socioeconomic classes do you think are mostly likely to live close to high-traffic roads? it's not rich people, i'll tell you that. it's not the car dealers or the small city councils worried that a bus connection might bring the poors in. when i say "car owners need to be oppressed" i'm talking about these people. suburban supremacist dictators and their sycophantic liege lords whose biggest priorities in life are to keep gas prices low and to maintain their god-given right to never having to see a poor person. i hate these people because i've been sneered at by them my whole life, while they have been personally responsible for many of the same socioeconomic conditions which resulted in the deaths of both my parents, along with many other members of my extended family. i've long since stopped believing in the idea of "death by natural causes." only the rich live long enough to die old. the rest of us die by a thousand cuts borne of neglect. our healthcare is gatekept, our education is gatekept, our transportation is gatekept. freedom is a thing to be bought, and when you don't have money, the next best thing is your blood. you give it up for a piece of something and you convince yourself that it's enough for you. but it is only a piece, and its apportionment is the result of greed and avarice happening in broad daylight all around us. i fully believe that a genuine war will need to be waged against the car barons before this horrendous now can be toppled, and it will be a war because they are aligned with the cops and with capital. this, too, is a microcosm, and in it we see the nature of our struggle for socialism unburdened by neoliberal word salad.

people have made the world this way. and people will make it something else.

[deadpanwalking]

“No, I brought my own food. I brought pieces of lightly fried whiting. Chicken schnitzels in an egg batter. Tomatoes, which I ate like apples. Fried cauliflower. Pickled garlic. Marinated peppers, though these could be leaky. Sliced lox. Salami. If plain old sandwiches, then with spiced kebabs where your turkey would be. Soft fruit bruises easily, but what better inter-meal snacks than peaches and plums? (You needed inter-meal snacks, just in case.)

[...]

One of the few things that seem to make Americans even more uncomfortable than being very close to each other for six hours in cramped quarters is when the next person over keeps pulling tinfoil bundles smelling sharply of garlic out of his rucksack. (I was kicked out of a bed once for radiating too much garlic under the covers. It was my father’s fault, I tried to explain—in America he had converted to saltless cooking, and now garlic was his one-to-one substitute; I had just had dinner with my parents. “Downstairs,” she commanded.) With the extra peripheral vision that is a kind of evolutionary adaptation for refugees, persecuted people, and immigrants, I would sense, on the plane, sideways glances of savage, disturbed curiosity. Sometimes I swiveled and committed the unpardonable sin of gazing directly at my neighbor, whereupon her eyes broadened, her forehead rose, and the rictus of a stunned smile overtook her agony.

Sometimes we ate raw onions like apples, too, I wanted to tell her. Sometimes, the tinfoil held shredded chicken petrified in aspic. A fish head to suck on! I was filled with shame and hateful glee: everything I was feeling turned out at the person next to me.

I was the one with an uncut cow’s tongue uncoiling in the refrigerator of his undergraduate quad, my roommates’ Gatorades and half-finished pad Thai keeping a nervous distance. I sliced it thinly, and down it went with horseradish and cold vodka like the worry of a long day sloughing off, those little dots of fat between the cold meat like garlic roasted to paste.

I am the one who fried liver. Who brought his own lunch in an old Tupperware to his cubicle in the Condé Nast Building; who accidentally warmed it too long, and now the scent of buckwheat, stewed chicken, and carrots hung like radiation over the floor, few of whose inhabitants brought lunch from home, fewer of whom were careless enough to heat it for too long if they did, and none of whom brought a scent bomb in the first place. Fifteen floors below, the storks who staffed the fashion magazines grazed on greens in the Frank Gehry cafeteria.

I was the one who ate mashed potatoes and frankfurters for breakfast. Who ate a sandwich for breakfast. Strange? But Americans ate cereal for dinner. Americans ate cereal, period, that oddment. They had a whole thing called “breakfast for dinner.” And the only reason they were right and I was wrong was that it was their country.

The problem with my desire to pass for native was that everything in the tinfoil was so fucking good. When the world thinks of Soviet food, it thinks of all the wrong things. Though it was due to incompetence rather than ideology, we were local, seasonal, and organic long before Chez Panisse opened its doors. You just had to have it in a home instead of a restaurant, like British cooking after the war, as Orwell wrote. For me, the food also had cooked into it the memory of my grandmother’s famine; my grandfather’s black-marketeering to get us the “deficit” goods that, in his view, we deserved no less than the political VIPs; all the family arguments that paused while we filled our mouths and our eyes rolled back in our heads. Food was so valuable that it was a kind of currency—and it was how you showed love. If, as a person on the cusp of thirty, I wished to find sanity, I had to figure out how to temper this hunger without losing hold of what fed it, how to retain a connection to my past without being consumed by its poison.”

Boris Fishman, Savage Feast: Three Generations, Two Continents, and a Dinner Table (a Memoir with Recipes)

[bcacstuff]

Great article with Caitriona.

‘I’m Impossibly Excited About What Happens Next’ – Caitriona Balfe Looks Ahead to Life After Outlander

https://www.mindfood.com/article/caitriona-balfe-looks-ahead-to-life-after-outlander/

When you don’t know what the norm is – and in many ways actress Caitriona Balfe admits she doesn’t – it’s difficult to subscribe to it. Yet, perhaps that’s what makes the Irish actress Caitriona Balfe so endearing.

Caitriona Balfe is a wonder. She is impeccably beautiful, has style, talent and a warm, courteous persona, as well as the ability to excel at whatever she pursues. She is someone who retains charm and humility despite operating for over two decades across industries that have beaten those qualities out of more than a few who’ve gone before her.

In terms of the Caitriona Balfe that we see this summer, this is the woman who has won a legion of devoted fans during her dedication – now almost a decade – to hit time-travelling show Outlander. However, as the drama faces its final curtain, the Irish beauty – who has already reinvented herself once, having excelled on the catwalk in a previous incarnation – can’t wait to see what lies ahead.  “I look back and my modelling days seem a lifetime ago,” she begins, “and really, despite the success I had, it was a period in which I was never really settled or content. The fashion industry is so unstable, so volatile, so fickle. I was never in a place where I thought I had it totally worked out; yet the grounding it gave me was invaluable, if nothing else, by virtue of the fact it was so tough!”

Her time on the runway began with Chanel, before Balfe was photographed for the likes of Givenchy, D&G, Moschino, Alberta Ferretti and Louis Vuitton. Regarded as one of the most in-demand models in her prime, across a three-year period from 2001 to 2004 she walked in more than 250 shows. “Fashion, for me, was always about storytelling, with a real emphasis on expression and imagination. It offered me a way to express myself not just in clothes, but through mood, personality and even environment. It all meant moving into acting was, I guess, a natural progression.”

Yet the freedom to use fashion as a medium for so much else rarely falls on the models themselves. “You’re constantly told ‘no’, or ‘you’re not right for this’, or ‘you don’t fit into that particular mould’,” she offers. “It really teaches you resilience, to not take things personally and to keep pushing forward.”

Credit: Photo by Matt Baron/Shutterstock

New Direction

Having endured such creative short-changing, Balfe may have been forgiven for wanting to sink back into the shadows and pursue a new career that held rather more autonomy… which makes the fact she made a beeline for TV and film producers a little baffling. “Acting challenges me on a different level, emotionally and intellectually,” the star admits. “It’s where I find true fulfilment, being able to move into another person’s head and tell their story. For me, modelling was always a stepping stone, not the final destination.”

Scouted at the age of 18 while studying acting at the Dublin Institute of Technology, the tenacious teen joined Ford Models and was offered the opportunity to move to Paris, one she happily accepted as travel hadn’t been a luxury her parents could afford while raising their large Irish Catholic family.

Though she never made it to the ranks of supermodel status – “I would never have wanted that label anyway” – her worth comfortably kept her in the upper echelons of the modelling fraternity. It was only towards the end when she was largely hired for commercial catalogue shoots, that tedium began to set in and a new adventure beckoned. “I think you know when you’re done… in any industry or part of your life. And I think as soon as you realise you’ve activated that emotion, it nags and nags at you to do something about it. In the end, to be finished is a relief.”

One thing the 45-year-old retains from those days, however, is an exuding, radiating, luminous beauty. And she, unequivocally, appreciates fashion – indeed loves it now for the fact it’s a passion, not a profession, albeit is relieved to leave the towering stilettos behind. “Listen, I still love a beautiful outfit! I mean, who doesn’t love to dress up and feel amazing in something well-made and stylish? But honestly, as I’ve gotten older, comfort has become much more important.

“When you’ve spent hours on the runway or at photoshoots in heels, corsets or tight-fitting clothes, you really come to appreciate a great pair of trainers… or soft, oversized sweaters. These days, I’m much more about blending style with practicality. It’s all about balance. Comfort, for me, doesn’t mean sacrificing style; it just means I’m not willing to suffer for fashion like I might have in the past!”

Towards the end of the noughties Balfe found herself in New York. Aged 29 she was already feeling the scrutiny that comes with being a model approaching their third decade, and so she made the move to Los Angeles with a plan to return to drama training. By Hollywood standards she was a late starter, but her catwalk grace, confidence and strong work ethic meant she was soon landing roles, albeit minor ones – fans of the actress can catch a glimpse of her in both J.J. Abrams’s Super 8 and the sartorial masterpiece that is The Devil Wears Prada.

Credit: Photo by Action Press/Shutterstock

Good fortune

She may have suspected she would spend the next few years steadily progressing through auditions and the uncertainty of work, in much the same way as she had in her later years in fashion, however just as the fear started to set in, Balfe struck gold. Of course, with all the gracious humility she carries with her, she didn’t even know it at the time.

The nugget was a television series based around Claire Fraser, a former World War II nurse in Scotland who is cast back into the mid-18th century and ends up joining a raggedy band of rebel Highlanders – an unusual concept to say the least. Furthermore, Balfe’s was one of hundreds of audition tapes that landed on the casting agent’s desk. However, land the role she did, and now as filming commences for the eighth and final series of Outlander, it’s hard to imagine anyone else in the lead role – a woman who is fierce but authentic, a kind healer who is devoted to the rough and ready clansman, Jamie (played by Scottish heartthrob, Sam Heughan).

Claire and Jamie’s romance has overcome many obstacles across several time zones, and Balfe is grateful to have occupied such an intimate role with someone she considers a close friend. “When Sam and I first started this journey, we had no idea it would go on this long. Now, we’ve been through so much together – professionally and personally. It’s been a real joy, but we’ve also learned to step back a bit off-camera. We used to spend more time together, but now we know when to take a breather. You have to, or else you’ll go mad!”

With a long season seven concluding in January, the Outlander epic will close out within the next 18 months, taking the episode total to 101. “Right now, I don’t know how the story ends. I’ve resisted finding out. Sam knows and likes to hold it over me, but I think it’s more fun not knowing. It keeps me in the moment as Claire.”

Perhaps what makes the Outlander journey easier to leave behind is the fact Balfe has been driven and exemplary on several side projects. The first, and arguably most important, has been in becoming a mother in August of 2021. Given the devotion of the Outlander fanbase and the general hysteria that surrounds celebrity, Balfe and her husband, music producer Tony McGill, have decided to not reveal their son’s name. In fact, the entire pregnancy was shrouded in secrecy, despite the actress filming the sixth season of the drama while pregnant.

Irish Roots

Her other most notable work outside of the hit show was arguably in Kenneth Branagh’s Academy Award-winning film Belfast, for which Balfe was nominated for Best Supporting Actress. Touching, honest and genuinely moving, Belfast brings to life those who were so intimately affected by Northern Ireland’s infamous ‘troubles’. Semi-biographical and set in 1969, the film focuses on Buddy, a charming and lively nine-year-old, played by Jude Hill. Balfe plays Buddy’s Ma, a homely Protestant woman who is bound to the city she lives in. As tensions begin to rise, this once peaceful Belfast street becomes dangerous and deeply polarised. Ma is ferocious and formidable in her love for her family. “Growing up in Dublin, I felt such a pure connection to the issues people faced for so many decades in Ireland. The conflict rages on, but these days it is verbal, and that’s much more preferable to the violence and the terror that permeated so much of when we were young.”

When casting the film, Branagh was keen to enlist actors who had a personal connection to the content. Belfast native Jamie Dornan plays Pa; the mother of Dame Judi Dench (who plays Granny) was from Dublin.

However it is Balfe who has the most visceral childhood memories. In the years following Balfe’s birth in 1979, her family moved to Tedavnet, a rural village in Ireland near the Northern Irish border. Her father had an enviable job as a police sergeant while her mother tended their brood of five biological and two adopted children. Checkpoints, bomb scares and gun-wielding soldiers, therefore, were simply normal parts of her childhood landscape.

Despite the turbulence of childhood, the star has nothing but fondness for her home country. “Ireland will always be home for me, no matter where I am or how far I’ve travelled. There’s something deeply grounding about coming back – it centres me in a way nowhere else can. I think it’s a combination of the people, the land, the familiarity. I love the energy and sense of community you find in Ireland; it’s unique,” she says.

“When I get the chance to visit, I relish the simple pleasures – whether it’s sharing a cup of good coffee with family, a quiet morning surrounded by the countryside, or just walking around the place where I grew up. It’s these little moments that remind me of my roots and they always bring me back to a place of calm and balance amidst the craziness of life and work.”

Despite not snagging a statuette for her performance, Belfast made evident the talent and promise Balfe possesses. And moving forward, the pursuit of new projects and bigger experiences has even led the actress to sit in the director’s chair, having taken on the role of Executive Producer for an episode in season seven of Outlander. “It was terrifying,” she laughs, “I won’t lie! However, it’s always been something I’ve wanted to try. On a show like that, we are a family. There’s such a sense of trust and that made it easier for me to step into the role. Sam and I joke that we’ve been through it all at this point, so nothing really surprises us, and we permit ourselves to make mistakes, and to learn as we progress.”

It’s that sense of grounded excitement that makes Balfe a gift of grace amongst so many who bulldoze their way into the picture. “I’m at the point where stepping back seems the wrong thing to do. A bit like leaving the fashion world, I think I’ll know when the time is right; but in my head, I am impossibly excited about what happens next.”

Caitriona Balfe’s Career Highlights

Outlander

The historical drama television series is based on the Outlander novel series by Diana Gabaldon. Balfe plays a nurse A nurse in World War II who mysteriously goes back in time to Scotland in 1743. There, she meets a Highland warrior and gets drawn into an epic rebellion.

Belfast

The Oscar-winning film by director and writer Kenneth Branagh is about a young boy and his working-class Belfast family’s experience in the tumultuous late 1960s.

Money Monster

Balfe starred in the American crime thriller, Money Monster, about a financial TV host Lee Gates [played by George Clonney] and his producer Patty [played by Julia Roberts] who are put in an extreme situation when an irate investor takes them and their crew as hostage.

Modelling

After being scouted by Ford Models age 18, Balfe modelled for 10 years, including three years on the catwalks in Paris.

[beloveds-embrace]

Part One. CW: reader isn’t in a good place mentally and it’s affecting her reactions and the 141 absolutely take advantage of it. This is definitely not accurate in terms of reality. Reader has a lot of self-esteem issues, especially regarding her weight.

The thing is, you know you should be panicking way more. You know you should be fighting back, trying to think of an escape plan.

But you don’t. Exhaustion clings to you like a second skin, and you simply decide you don’t have any energy to do anything much- especially against shifters twice your size at the minimum. If they want to kill you, so be it. You doubt there’d be anyone to miss you; your parents only ever cared about your other siblings, your friends weren’t exactly your friends apparently, and you ex…

“Penny for your thoughts, dove?” The harpy whose lap you are perched on murmurs, wings fluffing out around you, the feathers soft and warm. You haven’t been on any couches or cushions ever since you woke up here, always in one of their laps. You had been terrified at first, and fear still lingers even now, but all they do is hold you tight and occasionally sniff you. Nothing more.

“Not worth much.” You whisper, closing your eyes as you take a deep breath. The feathers around you rustle again, tickling your skin ever so slightly, and you can feel him nuzzle the crown of your head.

“I disagree,” Kyle says, voice musing.. The arms wound around your waist tighten, and you are pulled impossibly closer to him. Your head still finds it hard to believe just how strong they are- easily maneuvering someone even of your size like your weigh nothing. Your ex never bothered; often just made a passing mention that maybe he’d carry you like that if you hit the gym and lost a few pounds. “Worth quite a lot to me. To us.”

You don’t have a reply to that; it’s still weird and unbelievable to you. Soulmates. What a joke. Even if they existed, you doubted anyone would like you like this. Not to mention the soulmate of a harpy, a werewolf, a dragon and a wraith? It sounded like a crappy plot you’d find while scouring the internet, written by a college student driven insane in their last year.

But they insisted they were right, and refuse to let you go, and now here you are being cuddled to one of them while the other three thud about upstairs. You can hear their voices, but not what they are saying. Though it sounds like they are quite busy.

“You cold, dove?” Kyle asks when he feels you shudder again, at last wrapping his wings fully around you even before you can answer. The feathers are so soft, and he smells so nice, like jasmine and vanilla. You almost felt hungry, simply smelling him.

“No.” The answer is quiet, croaked out tiredly. Sleep tugs at you even though it hasn’t been that long since you’ve woken up, the pounding, hungover headache long since dissipated.

You hate this syrupy slowness that lets you remain snuggled against him. You hate how safe you feel, despite your mind screaming at you otherwise. You don’t know these men, don’t know anything about them except their names, and yet your body has never felt quite this comfortable.

“Sleep, precious.” Kyle croons, his hand rubbing down your back. He buries his face in your hair, still crooning, and leaves a trail of kisses across your temple. “Sleep. You are safest and soundest here, with us.”

And so your eyes flutter shut, and your breath evens out; sleep comes to you as easy as breathing, and for one, ephemeral second, you don’t worry about your weight being too much for him.

[wintfleur]

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝ ITS NOT LIVING IF ITS NOT WITH YOU !

aka some headcanons for our fav throuple in Italy

── ୨୧ 𝓹airing : Mat barzal x f!Leclerc f1 driver (oc) x Quinn Hughes

Mat is the one who plans the trip and he refuses any help from Julie or Quinn, wanting to surprise them with everything. He organized the plane tickets, rented a beautiful villa for them and everything.

He’s had the idea of the three of them going to Italy together for a long time, it just took a while for the perfect opportunity for them to actually go.

When they first get to the villa, they all have ideas on what they want to do first, Julie wants to unpack, mat wants to go explore, and Quinn wants to take a nap. Quinn ends up convincing Julie to take a nap with him, then both of them drag Mat to join them, promising to explore after they get some rest. 

After their much-needed nap, they shared a quick shower and got ready to explore the lovely town and go out for dinner. They walked the streets together, fingers locked. Julie and Quinn both smiling at how excited mat was. 

After some exploring and shopping, they find a restaurant where they have a wonderful candle lit dinner, shared with many glasses of wine. After dinner they made their way back to the villa, cuddling on the couch on one of the many balconies, watching the stars. 

Mat has a packed itinerary for them, they are doing new things every day, with a ton of exploring. 

They spend a lot of time by the water, either it being the sea or the pool at their villa. Julie likes to lay and suntan while she watches mat and Quinn mess around in the water, feeling nothing but relaxed, but that peacefulness is always broken when one of the boys is grabbing her and tossing her into the pool to join them. 

They spend hours in the pool, and it always leads to mat and Quinn taking a nap while Julie starts on lunch, loving to cook authentic Italian dishes, using the cookbook that was in the kitchen.

Mat rents them a boat -- honestly it was more like a yacht . . . he likes to spoil them. They have lunch and dinner on the boat, spinning the day and night out on the boat, swimming in the water, cuddling on the love seat on the deck. 

the whole trip they are off their phones, taking a very much needed break from everything. They always do their daily chickens with their parents to let them know they are okay but other than that their phones are put away. 

Julie is fluent in Italian, so they don't need their phone for a translation, and mat knows his way around, so they don't need their phones for a map, and if they do need a map, they use a paper one. 

Julie had brought her camera so they all took turns taking pictures, the camera was always with them, taking every chance they could to take a picture. 

Vacations like these were always so healing for them, not just as people but also for their relationship. It's a time where they don't have to worry about any of their responsibilities and they only need to focus on each other and the love they share.  

Mat loves taking them to hidden gems of Italy, and all the places that aren't so busy. They love learning more about the culture. 

They honestly just spend a day of their trip just exploring different shops, buying gifts for their friends and family and of course for each other. 

they definitely are a lot more touchy and clingy with each other, knowing that when the vacation ends they have to get back to their busy schedules.

Mat and Quinn secretly plan a romantic evening for them and julie, renting out a small restaurant to have a romantic dinner, then they take a small stroll in the moonlight before making their way back to the villa where their bedroom was filled with roses and candles. 

they really don't want to leave, but they know they have to. On the flight back home they are mostly sleeping for the whole flight, tired from their amazing vacation. And Mat is already planning their next vacation! 

au masterlist ~ everything for the AU is under #🍂 ͡ ꒱ Juliette Leclerc

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( I accidentally deleted the ask that asked for this, but I had so much fun making this!! I’m sorry it’s so short, I just couldn’t think of anything else…my creativity ran out! I missed writing for them so much! )

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