#which is strange bc that normally would tale it

[gunpowder-gemini]

Hi I have many many thoughts on Dandadan and where specific characters are going in the story, so incoming ramble posts lol. I've got thoughts on Okarun, Turbo Granny and Kinta specifically.

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR THE MANGA THROUGH CH. 175

First up: Okarun!

So obviously he's lost his turbo granny powers bc he's a good boy who keeps promises, but him having yokai curse powers is like, half the concept of the manga right? (The other half being Momo getting powers due to alien abduction). So clearly, he's gonna get them back because we can't just have one of our two main characters permanently sidelined. The question is just HOW.

I'm pretty sure Turbo Granny is gonna come back, she's a major supporting character and she had a whole little montage panel of Reasons To Stay despite her saying she has none but I'll get into that in a different post lol. HOWEVER! I don't think she's gonna give Okarun her powers again. I mean, they're HERS. And she just spent all that time getting them back why would she give them away again? So Okarun can fight? She can use her powers way better than he can, so if they're needed SHE'LL use them.

I think Okarun is gonna develop his own spiritual powers like Momo's.

In the recent chapters it's gone out of the way to highlight how ridiculously fit Okarun is now. Like, SUPER fit. Most obviously in the fitness tests, where he blew everyone out of the water:

But also in the fight against the pygmies he easily kept up with Aira, who was in her yokai form at the time.

Which I mean, it makes sense that he got fit - he's been fighting for his life as an after-school hobby lol. Obviously continually training to handle Turbo Granny's powers AND fighting things would result in him getting incredibly fit. But they've like REALLY emphasized it these past few chapters. It feels like they're really calling attention to it, you know?

But that in and of itself isn't the real reason I suspect he's got his own spiritual powers. It's actually because he can enter Empty Space.

So per the Serpoians, Empty Space is something aliens create that only pulls in humans with high spiritual power so the aliens can capture and study them. It's why once Aira got her acro silky powers she could enter Empty Space.

Okarun's high spiritual power wasn't his, it was Turbo Granny's. He was able to enter Empty Space because he had her power, but without it he's just a normal kid. So once he gave it back he should be unable to enter Empty Space. And yet:

He's gets pulled into Empty Space to fight the pygmies. He himself calls that out as strange! He shouldn't be able to! He doesn't have Granny's power! But there he is! So he must still have high spiritual power!

I think he spent such a long time with Turbo Granny's full power inside him, utilizing it so frequently, that it changed him. Either it awakened latent spiritual power within him or left behind an imprint of itself, I'm not sure lol. But I think he's developed his own version of Turbo Granny's power. I think it'll be a bit different from her, but still similar (I don't think they're gonna give him a completely different power ya know?). I suspect it'll come with a cool form change to his yokai form, like a costume upgrade lmao.

Furthermore, I think this happened because of the Danmanra arc. During that arc, in the final fight against the Fairy-Tale card, Okarun went all out three times.

He's never been able to do that - it's been kinda implied it would kill him. But through the ~power of love~ he managed to pull it off, and I think it is going to have an effect/consequences. I think this moment here changed him in some way, and it might be the catalyst for him developing his own version of Turbo Granny's powers.

Further to that point is Count Saint-Germain. He cornered Okarun, got him to yield and clearly intended to take his powers, but didn't.

I suspect it's because he wanted Turbo Granny's powers, but Okarun no longer has them. I think he either doesn't know Okarun has his own powers, or he does know and is waiting for Okarun to properly awaken them before he takes them. I'm like 90% sure the Empty Space in the pygmy fight was caused by him. Empty Space is pretty clearly outlined to be an Alien Thing and while the pygmies are spirits/yokai/whatever, Count Saint-Germain is probably an alien given his affiliation with the Kur. AND he was the one who gave Keiko the knife and the mission to steal Momo's power. Since Okarun got pulled into that Empty Space, if pretty boy here didn't know Okarun has some hidden spiritual power, he sure does now.

Either way, Okarun yielding to him here is definitely a Chekov's gun that's gotta fire at some point, and I've got theories on that but I'm gonna save them for my post on Turbo Granny lol.

Anyway TLDR; I think Okarun has his own superpowers like Momo now and we're gonna see them awaken in this arc.

Thanks for reading!

[bitchytwinkcore]

reality bent (gravity/relativity falls au)

ok my brain has been cooking up my own ideas on a gravity falls swap au, i was slightly inspired by @hasnomoxxie 's au levity rises (all i saw was their connection between ford's journals and mabel's scrapbooks, which should be the only on-purpose similarity)

called it reality bent bc its like the normal reality but factors have been bent,, not my best work lol im at artist, not a place namer, town would also be called reality bent, bc reality seems to be "bent" around there, due to all the strange creatures and paranormal happenings

anyway,, dipper and mabel designs

will refer to dipper as dipper in descs to avoid confusion but no one actually calls her that, bc shes pretending to be mabel (mabel will call her dipper when she comes back tho), mabel decided to adopt "belle" as a nickname around the stan bros, just to make it easier for them, since they're used to calling dipper "mae"

the stans

designs are ofc from "tale of two stans" only difference is stan has a beanie

ik all the pines are supposedly brown-eyed but i've decided that this is better (my au my rules)

ford would have a journal of his own that he writes in, so he doesn't feel the need to write/draw in the scrapbook (plus he thinks its kinda disrespectful to the creator) but stanley doodles the stuff they see and writes some stuff

obviously playing by the rules of most swap aus, kids are usually swapped with their parents, but for some characters who dont have kids/parents imma just try to think of smth that would fit (considering swapping candy and grenda with blubs and durland or smth)

ok this is all imma share at the moment but i got some more stuff in my brain that i need to get out, so hopefully i will!

thanks for reading this nonsense :3

[merakiui]

Mera! I absolutely love your writing! ♡ Especially your twisted wonderland chitchat! and after long day I always check if you uploaded smth bc it cheers me up! so thanks for that ☆

Also, you mentioned in previous posts before about how (or was it in the tags?? 😂) "Love/relationships/sex etc.... In the sea is Quite different than what we are used to" and NOW I'M CURIOUS!!

So, What are you thoughts??? how different do you think is love for the octavinelle trio? Do you think they view it in a unusual way? do they take a "mate" by force?? how different is it from human standards? 👀👀👀

Oh! and can I be 🌸 anon ? 👉👈

Thank you for liking my writing and twst chats!!! I'm happy to know it can cheer you up! :D you may be 🌸 anon! Knowing me, it's highly likely it was written in the tags hehe. ^^;;;

I think some merfolk who have observed humans and their traditions attempt to adopt such behaviors for themselves, such as getting rings and making promises to stay together forever, even things like marriage or ceremonies associated with binding souls together in eternal love. I like to imagine in the sea the concept of marriage is a little foreign to the mers who live farther from human civilizations (such as mers from the Northern part of the Coral Sea, which is where the trio hail from). Perhaps it's something where, once you mate with a mer you are intended to stay with them forever if it's a species that mates for life, or stay long enough until the eggs have been laid or hatched. That's probably the closest thing to "marriage," only it's more so once you've mated you're stuck together for life (or so that's how some mers view it).

Love is not entirely foreign to merfolk, though. All species have versions of love and affection, however unfathomable they may seem. Human traditions regarding love are just as strange to the trio as mer traditions are to humans. Affection in the sea is protecting your mate and fry from harm, it's hauling in the biggest, meatiest fish for dinner, it's settling down in a comfortable cove at the end of every day, curled and wound around one another, it's leaving to find warmer waters in the spring when spawning and mating seasons roll around, it's going out to search for the fry who will inevitably return after hatching, carried home by the pull and push of the vast sea, some lost to time, devoured by predators or smothered by the weight of the world, and others strong and lucky enough to survive the lottery of life.

As fluffy as that sounds, mates are difficult to come by. Some mers are picky. Merfolk want strong mates to produce strong, healthy offspring. Merfolk like colorful displays, though the trio know that too much flashy colors and shiny scales are as pretty as they are harmful (predators are drawn in by lights, sounds, smells, flashy displays just as much as potential mates are). Most merfolk seek mates out of biological imperative, so it's not usually love that brings mers together (at least not for the sake of breeding). And a lot of mers can be territorial and violent when it comes to mates. Merfolk might kill or fight for their mates, whether out of possession or part of a courting ritual (a test of strength); humans don't normally do that. And it's not uncommon for mates to be taken by force. It's not uncommon for toxic dynamics to be seen as normal or, at the very least, acceptable in parts of the ocean where life is difficult to come by.

Azul was raised in a loving familial environment. It's natural that his perception of love would be very sweet and gentle and almost human. He reads about it in books. Humans are strewn all throughout the tales merfolk exchange. Even the mermaid princess from so long ago experienced love with a human. Azul knows these stories well because they are often told before bed or passed around during youth. But Azul knows his species is not very common. He knows he stands out from other merfolk. He knows he is a solitary creature by nature's design. That's why love is so important to him. He'll scoff and insist he has no need for such trivial things, but it's his dream to find someone who he can live out the rest of his life with. Octo-mers mate for life. Naturally, some who follow more "human" ideals might inevitably drift apart or separate like how his parents did. But Azul knows deep in his three hearts that if he ever does find his forever match he will do everything he can to ensure he never has to remarry or search for another love because his one true beloved fell out of it with him.

The twins were also raised lovingly, albeit they were raised to be predators capable of protecting and defending themselves. Jade and Floyd are more accustomed to violence and gore than love itself, not only because it happens so often in the deep sea but because the family business is not for the faint-hearted. They've heard their fair share of human stories. They know of the love humans indulge in. They've spied humans tangling together on the beach. They've witnessed ocean weddings on the shoreline or from afar on the deck of ships. Their parents have often said that when humans love they kiss to show their affection, hence why Mama and Papa Leech kiss so often. It's very sweet. It's also very human. Jade is indifferent on the matter; he has always been that way: analytical, realistic, level-headed. Floyd... not so much. He has always been more emotional, more hormonal, more sensitive. For all of the playful immaturity and volatile mood swings, he wants a genuine bond. Morays don't often mate for life. Some have multiple mates; some do not. Their parents chose each other and have remained together ever since. It's exactly the sort of lifelong bond Floyd wants.

Jade can understand the appeal. Growing old and maturing together, forging deep, unbreakable bonds, witnessing the world unfold throughout years of devoted partnership. But Jade has never been able to fully grasp his emotions as well as Floyd does, and so, as fluffy as forever romance sounds, he often thinks about it logically. Logically, he will need to find someone in the future, if only to secure the next branch in the Leech family tree. Logically, as he matures sexually, he will need someone to fill with eggs as that is what biological imperative calls for (otherwise it's a great bodily discomfort when he has eggs and yet there is no one to accept them), and so he's forced to endure for a few days, wallowing in unshakeable heat, irritable and hungry, reduced to raw instinct.

On land, love is different. Humans do not need to hunt for their meals as often as merfolk do. Humans court in subtle ways (though sometimes it's grand and flashy). Humans are so hung up on getting to know someone, on determining whether they're a suitable match, before getting to the part where they mate (and sometimes they never reach that part). Love is a process on land (that's the best way Jade can define it). There are stages and steps one must take. There are rules, some apparent and others unspoken. It is very peculiar, but that is exactly what draws the trio in. Curiosity is much the same across all species. Humans can never tell when they've found "the one." Jade has learned that humans will often say they've found "the one," but that may have been said about previous lovers. Conversely, mers have this unique sixth sense; they often know when they've found the one that is right for them, the one they will spend eternity with.

And when the trio spend enough time with you, they all realize rather quickly that you are the fated half who will fulfill their pair.

[writteninscarlet]

"the stars have guided us for our entire existence." [MK having an astrology boy moment] ;; @silverjetsystm

stars ;; accepting (bc wanda loves the stars)

The silence had been hanging over them for a little while. It hadn't been heavy or suffocating. It had been comfortable and warm, and she'd not felt the need to fill it. Sometimes she felt she just had to speak. To seem normal and up to date with things. To forge a connection.

The silence here seemed natural, and she hadn't felt scared by it.

All the same, when it was broken, Wanda gave a smile. Her gaze didn't lower from the heavens, at those soft twinkle lights that were probably long dead and gone but which were oh so powerful all the same. The distance that light had travelled...

She had always been fascinated by the stars. Wanda had heard stories about them from a young age. It had actually been Django Maximoff who told her stories of them more than her mother - usually it was her mother who sang her to sleep or told her folk tales. But both Django and Wanda had often struggled to sleep. Star-gazing and telling tales had bonded them. Of course, she knew more now. She knew the science behind stars and space, all those astral facts in her head. But there was a special space in her heart for those bygone folk tales.

"I always thought so. They have been there for oh so long. I suppose as a kid I'd ask for guidance from them." A soft chuckle, and she lowered her head, before turning to glance at him. What a nice glow there was - perhaps just in her own mind. But pleasant.

"Actually, that makes it sound grander than it was. I don't know if I can count the number of times I asked for the stars to assist and provide advice on how to pester Pietro." So true. Because the stars could listen and guide.

"My father told me stories of King Sun and King Moon, and what you see up there are the many children of King Moon." Head to the skies again, biting her bottom lip subconsciously. A bad habit perhaps. "The children of King Sun are-- were stars, too. King Sun decided to eat his children - but King Moon could not abide the suffering it caused. He could not do it and so his children are around us now. King Moon keeps having children, and when there are too many he throws his children to earth, just... like... that...!" She pointed to a shoot star, a soft laughter in her tone. And what of the other tales? Of the sky dragon perhaps? “The actual tale is longer, of course. But I liked King Moon. And I wanted to be star child.”

"The more I know, the more I like the old tales with their strange ways.” Perhaps it would be simpler to just think the stars guided her completely. It was nice to know the tales and sometimes there was a truth or a little bit of fate about them. Sometimes she truly felt she needed guidance.

[snorvus]

4, 11, and 38 :)

11 is what’s your favorite extracurricular activity

I actually do homeschool/online school so my extracurricular activities are just my normal hobbies which includes drawing, playing games, watching the same show for the thousandth time and thinking I’m gonna write but instead just spacing out and thinking about it

38 is what’s your favorite soap bar

I don’t usually use soap bars but I do like lemon scented soaps, I like lavender ones too but I’m really picky about artificial lavender smell

4 is what’s one cryptid you believe in

your in for a bit of rant bc this is a very fun question for me because I looooove stories about weird monsters and folk tales and things like that

I think one that’s a little believable but kind of strange would be the Not Deer, I’m not really sure if it had another name besides that, basically it’s a “deer” or deer like creature who lives in Appalachia though it’s mostly found in the mountains it’s also said it’s been found in other places buts that’s the most common,

most of the stories I’ve read of encounters with it is usually the same with someone driving in mountains late at night in a wooded area and then a “deer” walks in front of the car like any normal deer, the driver of course stops and waits for the deer to pass, but it doesn’t it just stands there and watches them and the more the person looks at it the more they realize it really only looks like something just posing as a deer,

I think it’s usually described as having joints and limbs twisted in ways that isn’t usual and it’s eyes are forward facing like a predator and there eyes are also described as having some kind of deep intelligence behind them, I’m not really sure if it’s actually ever done anything besides stare at people which I think is what makes it believable to me since it’s not really doing anything strange, just observing

[akari-hope]

Dear mutual what is lgts about? I was pretty happy for the team and very impressed by the game's quality I already loved the artstyle of pocket mirror so much and they clearly only improved their presentation but the start of the game did not compel me story or character wise and the mechanics seemed like an intimidating amount to keep track of. So yeah I wanna know why you like it I wanna give it a proper shot eventually ><

okay disclaimer, i've never played pocket mirror and know only bits and pieces about it relative to what are the "canon" endings to lgts (i'd like to play but i always struggle with games on pc). the quick pitch is elise works tirelessly to be able to feed herself, and dreams of wealth and luxury. after finding a pair of red shoes, things begin to change - she starts to investigate the rumors of a secret in the woods, with hopes of it leading to the fulfillment of her wish. along the way you must keep a good reputation with the townsfolk to avoid suspicion of witchcraft, keep elise fed and sane, and spend time with the three potential love interests.

i personally picked up lgts partially bc i was intrigued by the premise, which was already appealing to me since it's not so subtly based on the fairy tale "the red shoes" which is a semi-niche fave of mine. pretty shortly after starting it up the game gives a few breadcrumbs to get started on the initial strangeness surrounding the town and elise's past, and for me that was enough to get me interested in the plot. a story about a girl trying to be seen as normal to the small town she lives in, while secretly investigating bizarre occult happenings that are tied to her past? yeah def appealed to me specifically. the investigation of the disparate threads and linking the pieces together was the part i liked best in regards to the main story. finding out more and more about the strangeness surrounding elise's past, the town's faith, and the secrets of the woods and how they connected was incredibly satisfying to me, even if it got off to a somewhat slower start. i think an early moment that totally sold me was when you get prompted to investigate a cave - like damn i absolutely loved that sequence. if i hadn't already been into it i was definitely hooked after that.

tbh...i straight up didn't know the game had lesbians until i already bought it. so it was honestly just a wonderful surprise. for me, i didn't immediately love freya or lebkuchen as characters. i grew to love them and find a lot fascinating in their stories, but initially i remember i thought freya was a bit boring and i was unsure of how lebkuchen's whole deal would progress. rozenmarine on the other hand was absolutely the character that immediately caught my eye. between the witchy design and the star-crossed lovers setup between her and elise, she was definitely my early pick to romance. and MAN. if you've already played pocket mirror you probably can put together what the "canon" end for her is. as someone who loves that sort of thing i absolutely ate that up. each ending for me was satisfying, but man that one fucked me up in such a fantastic way.

in regards to mechanics, i'll be SO real, i'm a person who loves resource management and whatnot in games so i had a natural inclination toward lgts and its balancing act, but i can see it being a deal breaker if you're not into it. for me the parts i disliked about gameplay were all tied to the witching hour segments which...honestly were FINE, i was just admittedly not very good at times with figuring out what exactly to do. but i'm also pretty forgiving of mechanics if i like a game's story, so take that with a grain of salt.

overall, i'd say if you're willing to work with the mechanics, there's a lot to love about this game's story and characters. all the routes have value imo, so it's really just up to whatever you enjoy the most.

[crwndsprkzy]

Crimson's Night In.

Crimson sat on the edge of brendons bed. She had just finished singing him to sleep, as he just couldnt fall asleep on his own

"Ive never been much of a singer," she thought, "but he seemed to enjoy it."

She carefully placed a toy by his side, and left the room quietly. She was met by ryan and dallon, sitting outside the room.

"Im sorry to bother you guys, but do you know if theirs any painkiller around here?" She asked softly

Ryan snapped back "Uh, no? Why do you need painkillers?"

"If brendon wakes up he may have a migrane, so i just wanna make sure its not super painful for him."

"There should be some in one of the kitchen cabnets." Dallon said. Crimson felt really familiar to him, like hes known her for years...

"Thank you. Oh, and be quiet okay? I really dont wanna wake him." She said , as she walked away into the kitchen.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." Ryan said, almost mumbling.

As she looked for painkillers in the kitchen, dallon walked in.

"Hey, can i ask you something?" He asked, trying his best to be quiet

"What is it?"

"Arent demons supposed to...hurt people? You dont seem to be hurting brendon.."

"Im not."

" i thought demons always projected a certain emotion onto somebody of their choosing."

"That would be correct. We can pick and choose who we inflict with our negitive energies."

"Then...who are you projecting yours onto?"

She sighed. She hated that question.

"Angel, who do you think im projecting them onto?"

"I....i dont know....i probably shouldnt have asked, im sorry"

"Its fine, cuz. Angels are quite curious , huh?"

"Well...yeah, i guess."

"Cuz?" Dallon thought "What type of nickname is that?"

She laughed softly.

 

"You'll get it eventually angel. Now, i better head off to brendon in case he wakes up."

"Ah, right. Sorry"

She pats him on the head, and leaves the room quickly.

"Ah, dallon. Why wont you remember your dear old cousin?" She whispers.

---

So uh. Angel au ,huh?

Im actually proud of this wow.

(Ily btw!)

@theshadow-inthelight

[jamieroxxartist]

✔ Mark Your Calendars: Wednesday Oct 12 on 🎨#JamieRoxx’s Pop Roxx Radio 🎙️#TalkShow and 🎧#Podcast w/ Featured Guest:

John Blangero of Sun King Rising (#Americana)

☎ Lines will be open (347) 850.8598 Call in with your Questions and Comments Live on the Air.

● Click here to Set a Reminder: http://tobtr.com/12151999

Pop Art Painter Jamie #Roxx (www.JamieRoxx.us) welcomes #JohnBlangero of #SunKingRising (Americana) to the Show!

● WEB: www.sunkingrising.com ● IG: @sunkingrising ● FB: @SunKingRising ● BC: @SunKingRising

Rock music and biomedical science are strange bedfellows, but it is the bed that PeacockSunrise Records recording artist, John Blangero, has made for himself. One listen to his soulful album, “Delta Tales” by alter-ego Sun King Rising will make the oddness of that pairing seem almost normal. Neither his music nor his work as a renowned genetic scientist are strange at all, it turns out. Call it “The Genetics of Soul.”

Blangero quickly displayed prodigious musical gifts when he started taking piano lessons at age five in his hometown of New Castle, Pennsylvania.  Five years later, he had absorbed not only the fundamentals of classical music, but also gospel and rock music. He joined his first rock band at 14 and was soon composing and singing his own music.

Apprenticeships in a series of area bands culminated in the formation of his own original band, called Harlequin, with which he attained regional popularity throughout the fertile Pennsylvania/Ohio/West Virginia market At the height of the band’s popularity, though, he put music on the back burner to obtain his Ph.D. and become an active biomedical research scientist. During his twenty-year musical hiatus, he ascended to rock star stature in the international scientific community. But the music lying dormant within Blangero’s spirit would not remain silent. Playing casually with blues bands in San Antonio toward the end of the 21st century rekindled Blangero’s creative spark and prompted him to begin writing new songs.

​● Media Inquiries: MTS Management Group/MTS Records www.mtsmanagementgroup.com

[dont-call-me-baby-posts]

no bc thats what i was thinking! like harry writing matilda like for anders but he probably doesnt really believe that but anders would 100% feel it

“I need a fucking cigarette.”

It was Anders speaking, his voice echoing through the space around them. His words fell onto the pillows of lush trees surrounding them, his eyes squinting as a slit in the foliage allowed the sun to shine right onto his face. Harry looked over his shoulder at him, a smirk across his face that was covered in its own thin sheen of sweat. He thought to himself, looking at Anders in the flashes of light that snuck through the trees, that his friend looked really healthy today. And happy, too, despite the exaggerated grimace on his face.

“You don’t smoke.” Harry said plainly, “Y’wanna stop here? I have a banana you can have-“

Anders, without a response, collapsed onto a fallen log just off the path while Harry stood a few feet away digging in his bag for said banana.

“Maybe I should start smoking.” Anders gasped, fanning the front of his shirt. “Must be good if so many people are doing it.”

“I think that’s an awful idea.” Harry responded, sitting beside his friend. “S’not good for the voice.”

“What are you a fucking doctor?”

“Just a good friend, actually.”

Anders was in no mood for joking, surprisingly. “A good friend would want me to be happy. Don’t you want that for me? You want me to be happy?”

Harry answered in the form of an eye roll, one that said “yes, I do”. He thrust the banana into Anders chest, forcing him to take it, his way of silently adding “and healthy, too”. Anders rolled his eyes back at him but peeled the fruit anyway. Harry smiled and gave Anders a little pat on the leg, his way of adding (silently, again) “I love you”.

“It was your idea to do this anyway.” Harry reminded him, feeling strangely lighthearted today despite Anders grumbling. Harry hadn’t felt so light on his feet for months, but there must have been something about the way the tale end of winter felt around him that made him feel slightly more human today. “You’re the one who said it would be good for you to get your mind off things.”

“Yeah, well, I was wrong.” Anders clipped, standing up. “Let’s get this over with.”

And so began their routine of hiking, stopping on the same fallen log, and eating bananas. They went as often as they were able too, Anders always forgetting he hated it until they were half way through. After a few times around the woods, however, he’d managed to stop complaining so much and just push through.

They’d walk, talk about life, throw rocks in the pond they passed after the big, ugly tree with the hole in the trunk. (Harry knew how to skip rocks like he’d been trained all his life to do it, which annoyed Anders to no end). Harry usually kept the conversation evenly spread across the dirt trail and never let it get too heavy, leaving as much space as he could for Andy to fill however he wanted too. Normally his friend chose to fill said space with stories about Chicago or a dramatic retelling of a movie he’d watched recently. Sometimes he didn’t fill the space at all.

But today, today Anders did want to talk. Or, he didn’t really want to, but he ended up talking anyway.

It was really an accident how it all came up. He’d said one thing and Harry, being the active listener he was, asked him a question which only lead them deeper and deeper and deeper until finally, on the edge of that pond they always stopped at, Anders found himself sharing things he’d never really said out loud before.

“And then my mom called me, which was a whole fuckin thing…” Anders was saying, the tips of his sneakers sinking into the wet ground at the edge of the water. “And now I’m feeling all bad about not going home yet. But, I don’t know… I just don’t really want to yet.”

This is when Harry cracked the glass that held everything inside so compactly. “Why don’t you want to go home?”

Loaded fucking question, Anders thought. He shrugged. “Me and my folks don’t really get along.”

“Because of the rehab thing?”

“Because I was born.” Anders corrected. Harry turned to look at him, but Anders made a point not to look back. Instead he found a particularly smooth looking stone, tossing it just how Harry had taught him to make it skim across the murky surface. It still sank.

“Thought you said you and your mom talked a lot while you were in rehab?” Harry asked him, crossing his arms over his chest. Anders let out a laugh as chilly as the breeze coming off the water.

“You do anything you can think of when you’re in rehab.” He said. “I genuinely thought she’d make me feel better, but I was wrong every time. But, you know.. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

Harry furrowed his brow. “Is calling you mom really a desperate measure?”

Another cold chuckle. “You’d understand if you knew her.”

“And your dad?”

Anders thought for a moment. “He’s okay. Just don’t know him very well.”

Silence, aside from the water rippling. Stones breaking the tension of the surface. Bushes shuttering.

“I’m sorry.” Harry said, because he felt like he should. Anders looked at him like he’d been struck, totally thrown off and somewhat offended.

“Why?” He asked Harry, giggling awkwardly. “That’s just how parents are, you know?”

“No.” Harry shook his head. He looked at Anders tentatively before turning away again. “It’s not.”

“Well that's how mine are, anyway. You know my mom wasn’t even surprised when I called her the first time when I was in rehab? It was like she'd been expecting it.” He said it like he was setting up for a punchline, because he was. “Getting myself locked up in there was probably the only time I’ve ever met my parents expectations. I became what they always expected me to be.”

Anders tossed another rock, but he didn’t even try to get it to skip. He threw it hard and far with the intention of it sinking. He threw one more for good measure.

“And I know I should just… you know, fucking do it… But I can’t.” Anders stood up, brushing the dirt off of his shorts. He looked expectantly at Harry, waiting for him to stand too. Harry hesitated. “I don’t really need my parents to tell me how disappointed they are in me. I can feel it from here. I’ll go see them eventually, just not yet.”

Harry stood, squinting his eyes a bit, using his hand to block the sun from his eyes. “And who says you have to go see them?”

Anders let out a laugh, taking the first few steps further down the trail. “They’re my parents. I’m gonna have to see them eventually.”

Harry followed Anders’ footsteps, brain chugging along slowly as his feet did the same. He grabbed Anders’ hand, stopping him.

“You know you don’t have to go home, right?” He asked his friend, letting his hand drop Anders’ before it got weird. Harry shrugged, as if indifferent to what was coming out of his own mouth. “If they’re not good to you then why should you have to?”

Anders was confused. It was written all over his face, leaves above them casting shadows on the furrow of his brow as they shuttered in the wind.

“They’re my parents, Harry.” He half laughed, shaking his head. “I can’t just never see them again.”

“I’m not saying that.” Harry defended. He was all too aware of how his shoes were sinking into the mud under his heels, emphasizing how still they were being. “I’m just saying you shouldn’t feel guilty for taking your time. For taking care of yourself, you know.”

Anders felt an embarassed smirk flicker on his face, but for some reason he pushed it away. His therapist was telling him to let himself ‘feel things’ instead of making jokes, and he tried his best in this moment under the canopy of trees to do that. To feel it. So instead of making a joke he said:

“I do feel guilty. For everything.”

And he meant it. Harry knew he meant it, too. Even the grass knew he meant it. The wind did too, sending a breeze across the back of Anders’ neck as if in an attempt to comfort him.

“You do realize that it isn’t normal, right? The way they treated you?” Harry felt his throat burn with honesty. “Even before you went to rehab. I know I don’t know them and it’s not my business but from what you’ve told me… It just doesn’t sound right.”

“Then why did they do it?” Anders answered quickly. He felt the air collapse out of his lungs as he said it, the words reaching his brain too late. He didn’t know why he was asking Harry this, but for some reason it felt like Harry could help. He always knew the answers to everything. “You know, I used to watch, like, tv shows and shit and I’d think to myself… Is that what a family is supposed to be like? I thought it was just Hollywood bullshit.” Anders wanted to laugh, but didn’t. “And come to find out, it wasn’t. Turns out, parents are supposed to like you. Be nice to you and shit.”

Anders waited for Harry’s response, but it didn’t come. He just gave him that look he always gave him.

“I want to hate them but I can’t.” Anders said. “And I’ve gone back and forth because I feel like I should hate them. If they were as bad as everyone says then why don’t I hate them? If they were so awful why can’t I just let it go?”

“Because they’re your parents.” Harry said.

“Right.” Anders chuckled dryly. “Some Fuckin’ parents. They couldn’t give two singular fucks about me and yet I spend all of my time wondering what I did wrong to make them hate me so much.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Must have.”

There was a splash behind them, some animal diving into the water. Anders could feel the ripples of the sound across the exposed skin of his arms and legs.

“I did everything right, Harry. I followed all of their rules. I went to fucking church in Sunday’s. I did everything they wanted me to.” Anders paused, sighing. “They don’t hate me because I’m an addict. I’m an addict because they hate me.”

“You don’t owe them anything, Andy. Nothing.” Harry said genuinely, crossing his arms. “You don’t have to keep searching for their approval. You can just… I don’t know. Just let it go.”

Anders nodded, chewing on his lower lip. He felt his chest burn a bit as he cooked up a response. “I want them to like me, Harry.”

“Well, I like you.” Harry said. He smiled to show he meant it. “I like you. And I’m proud of you. And I’m sorry that that happened to you, because you deserve to be taken care of. And to feel safe. They should’ve done that for you.”

Anders nodded, eyes a bit bleary. He believed what Harry said to him, but he struggled to take it to heart. If he accepted that fact that his parents didn’t do their job, that they didn’t give him the things he needed as a child, then what? It was easy to blame himself, to be angry at himself, to hate himself. But hating your parents was a totally different feeling. It was worse.

Without saying anything else, Harry wrapped his arms around Anders and gave him a firm squeeze. Suddenly all the jokes Anders had made about Harry and Y/N being his divorced parents seemed to make more sense. All this time Anders was just looking for someone to take care of him. To make him feel safe. To love him. He wanted to be cared for so badly he accepted it from anyone, from Jena who gave him almost as little attention as his parents did and Matt who provided for him in the form of buying him “the good weed”. He looked for it in all the girls he used to invite to his apartment. He looked for it in Christian, who swore he could help Anders. To take care of him.

The only people who had ever really cared about him were Harry and Y/N. Maybe that was why he tried so hard to fix them. To put them back together again.

And now, in the quiet of the woods, Anders thought about how Y/N had, technically, been the very first person to ever really love him. She loved him without conditions. Without making it seem like a chore. She loved him and he spent so many weeks and months pushing it away because he didn’t understand why it felt so different from the love he was used to. Even after she drove him to rehab, after she saved his life, after she spent nearly all her time looking out for him when no one else was… He still pushed her away. He felt guilty all over again that he was having this conversation with Harry and not her. He should’ve been telling her why he was fucked up like this. He owed her an explanation.

“I’m sorry.” Anders choked out, pulling himself away from Harry’s grip. He blinked hard a few times, looking up to see if he could see any clouds through the trees.

“You don’t have to be sorry.” Harry told him, giving his shoulder a little nudge. “Don’t have to be sorry.”

And they started walking again, talking a bit less this time. Anders thought more about his mom and dad, and about Y/N. He thought about little Anderson who tried so hard. He thought about teenage Anderson who cut his name in half and stopped sleeping at home. He thought about 23 year old Anders who finally had a family, even if it was cracked right down the middle. A family in pieces was better than nothing at all.

He thought about whether or not Y/N and Harry would ever work things out, feeling a bit selfish for hoping they would for his sake. It was hard splitting himself between them.

///

HarryStylesUpdates: HARRY SPOTTED LEAVING A HIKE WITH ANDERS TODAY IN LA!

HarryFan: OMG fit king

AndersFan23: where are the pictures of Anders? I’ve only seen pictures of Harry…

AndersGirl1: I know like is no one worried about him? He’s been MIA for months now?

Golden-Harry: he just got out of rehab

AndersFan23: we literally don’t know that though? Like that could be a rumor we probably shouldn’t speak for him..

Golden-Harry: yeah but why else would he have disappeared. Everyone knows he’s on drugs.

AndersFan23: He’s literally Harry’s best friend so maybe leave him alone thanks

KiwiThreeTimes: why are there no pictures of Anders?

HarryStan69: Funny how Harry hasn’t been spotted with YN for months now. Kind of funny tbh!

HarryFan3: it’s funny they broke up?? You’re weird for that

HarryStan69: they were never together so yeah it’s funny

HarryFan3: stay delusional

///

Lifetimes later, Anders was curled up in the Shangri-La Studio, half awake-half asleep while Harry fiddled with whatever the fuck he was doing.

“You’d think you’d be more excited to hear the new album I’m pouring my heart and soul into.” Harry mumbled, noticing Anders stirring. He sat up, rubbing at his eyes.

“Im stoked man.” Anders choked, clearing his throat. “HS3 at midnight, and all that.”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. He turned to Anders in his rolly chair.

“You should just drop the date already and put everyone out of their misery.” Anders added, referring to the fans assumptions that HS3 would be out any day now when in reality it was still months away. Anders’ entire for you page on tik tok was full of theories and predictions about the album. (He was on Harry stan tik tok for some fucking reason, but he didn’t particularly mind that). He kept Harry filled in on the theories, despite Harry’s insistence that he didn’t want to know what people were saying.

“Can’t.” Harry said simply, taking a sip from Anders’ water bottle without asking like always. “I have, like, a whole thing planned.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, like… There’s gonna be these doors, right?”

“Doors?”

“Yeah-“

“And how does this relate to the album?”

Harry scoffed, throwing his hands up. “Let me finish a fucking sentence and I’ll tell you. So there’s gonna be these doors, right?”

“Okay…”

Harry paused, rolling his eyes. “You know what. Forget it. You’ll see when the album comes out.”

Anders just giggled, putting his hands up in defeat. “That’s fine. I like the authentic fan experience. I’ll stay up to date on Tik Tok and all that.”

Harry rolled his eyes again but giggled softly. “You wanna hear a song?”

“Don’t I have to wait for the album?”

“Forget it.”

Anders sat up further. “Joking! Just joking!” He laughed. “Of course I want to hear it.”

Harry gave him a long look, trying to seem annoyed before spinning in his chair and pressing a few buttons. A guitar started playing.

“You were riding your bike to the sound of ‘Its No Big Deal’…”

“It’s pretty.” Anders said, laying himself back onto the couch and closing his eyes.

“Shh.” Harry’s scolded. “I want you to listen.”

So he did. He rested his hands on his chest and let the music lull him deeper into the cushions.

“You can throw a party full of everyone you love, and not invite your family...”

The wind was knocked out of him. His breathing stuttered for a second before he recovered. He kept his eyes closed, letting the song continue around him. He could feel Harry looking at him.

By the time the song finished, Anders had managed to wipe away most of his tears nonchalantly. He sat up, clearing his throat.

“So?” Harry asked, sounding more nervous than he usually did when he showed Anders a song he’d written. “What do you think?”

“It’s sick, bro.” Anders smiled tightly, nodding his head. “A lot of people are gonna like that one.”

It was quiet for a minute. Anders wondered if he looked like he’d been crying or if he had managed to get away with it.

“What about you?” Harry pressed further after a second. He looked kind of choked up, too, but maybe it was just the lighting. “Did you like it?”

“I loved it, man.” Anders said, standing to give Harry a hug. “I loved it.”

Harry accepted the affection, pulling away quickly before letting himself feel it too much. He cleared his throat.

“Do you remember that time, on that hike-“

“Yeah.” Anders cut him off, his throat closing a bit again. “Yeah, I do. Of course I do.”

“It’s not about that, or anything. But it’s…” Harry was embarassed for some reason, looking away. He brushed the tip of his nose. “I won’t put it out if you don’t want. It’s not about you or anything, but you know. I was just thinking about it.”

“You should put it out.” Anders was quick to say, shaking his head. “A lot of people are gonna like that one. It’s, uh… It’s really..” He stopped, chewing his lip before sighing. “It's gonna mean a lot, to whoever it’s about. And to the fans.”

Harry nodded, understanding. “I hope so.”

“It will, man.” Anders gave him another hug, kissing the side of his head and making Harry push him away with a giggle. “Trust me.”

Even if the song wasn’t about him like Harry kept saying, Harry was still right. Anders could start a family who loved him relentlessly, who would take care of him. And Anders had done that. He’d, after a lifetime of searching, found the people who gave him all the things he never had before. People who thought he was smart and kind and important and didn’t only like him because he was funny.

Truth be told, Anders hadn’t talked to his mom in months. He called his dad from time to time, and his dad had made an honest effort at putting together some of the pieces. Anders didn’t hate him anymore, not like he used to. After months of giving everything he had to fixing the whole fucked uo situation with his parents, he had slowly started accepting the fact that his mom would never be the person he needed her to be. And that was okay. Anders couldn’t change her just like she couldn’t change him. It hurt like a broken bone that never healed right, but he lived with it. And he didn’t feel guilty anymore that it didn’t work out. It wasn’t his fault.

He’d told his mom how he felt, not long after the last time he’d seen her. He’d called her and decided that if he was just honest, they could make it work. He poured his heart out to her, hours away in the same house she’d committed all her crimes against him.

And she didn’t want to hear it.

She said he was calling her a bad mother, that he was ungrateful, that he was projecting his own mistakes onto her.

“You can’t blame me because you decided to throw your life away, Anderson. Is this about that Jena girl?”

He didn’t have it in him to correct her, or tell her she was wrong. He didn’t tell her that she misunderstood him, because he knew at this point she was just choosing to misunderstand. So he told her he loved her and hung up, and they hadn’t spoken since.

So, yeah. Even if the song wasn’t about him, it still meant a lot. Probably more than Harry knew. And, when he thought about it, Anders couldn’t help getting choked up thinking about how many other people it would mean a lot to, too. All the other people out there who felt the way Anders had felt. Who were let down by the people they were supposed to trust. The people who continued on living their lives and getting older when it felt like they had so much behind them they were still holding on to.

Anders asked before he left that day to hear it one more time, and Harry agreed. He didn’t try to act tough this time and cried along to the choruses like it was the backing vocals to the track. He nodded his head silently and gave his friend another hug. His family. Someone who loved him.

As the song ended for a second time, Anders thought for a second that he could still feel his shoes sinking into the mud next to that log next to that lake he and Harry always used to walk beside. They hadn’t gone back to that trail for a long time, but Anders could still hear the rocks cutting through the surface of the water. He still couldn’t skip rocks after all this time, which made him chuckle to himself.

“What’s so funny?” Harry giggled softly. “It’s a serious song!”

“I know it is!” Anders chuckled again, wiping under his eyes. “I know it is. I was just thinking.”

“Bout what?”

“About how mad I used to be that you could skip rocks and I couldn’t.”

Harry smiled, looking almost a bit shy. He knew what Anders was thinking.

“We’ll keep practicing.” Harry said.

“Okay.” Anders said back.

And it was quiet again. Anders could still hear the way the trees would shush them along that trail. He heard the way the sticks would crack under his heels. He could still hear Harry’s voice, too, along the edge of that pond.

“You don’t have to be sorry.”

And for the first time in his life, he wasn’t. He was still growing up, but he wasn’t doing it on his own anymore. And he wasn’t sorry, either.

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Books I’ve Read in 2020

AHello! I’m trying to read as many books as I can during the quarantine, here’s what I’ve finished so far:

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong (literary fiction): a son writes a letter about his life to his illiterate mother. Breathtakingly beautiful with it’s way with words this book is lovely and real in the hardest and sweetest ways. The author’s combination of prose and poetry is dazzling and intricate, this book has stuck with me for days afterward. 4.5 out of 5 stars.

Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik (fantasy): a money-lender gets in trouble after bragging she can turn silver into gold and is kidnapped and ordered to do so by a fey creature. It may be that I am the perfect audience for this type of book, but it’s my favorite thing I’ve read all year. It’s a book that equally takes on the fantastical and real-world with compelling female characters at the center of the whole thing. A wonderful fantasy journey inspired by eastern-European Jewish folklore. 5 out of 5 stars.

Through the Woods by Emily Carroll (horror graphic novel): a series of short horror comics. Absolutely bone-chilling! This was a really fun type of scary story, especially the last one which made my skin absolutely crawl. Deliciously eerie, this was treat to read if not a little too short. 4 out of 5 stars.

The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake by Aimee Bender (magical realism): a young girl can taste other people’s emotions in their cooking and begins to understand her family in new ways. This was a weird book, but it has everything you’ve got to love about that combination of the surreal and mundane. It’s sense of character was electrifying and I had fun engaging with this type of off-kilter real world. I was a little frustrated in parts bc of some characters choices, but that too was true to life. 4 out of 5 stars.

Crier’s War by Nina Varela (steampunk fantasy wlw): about a Made automaton heir to a throne and her human hand-maiden that is trying to kill her. This was an easy read with a lot of tension between the two main characters that I liked, but the writing itself was very weak. There was waaay too much exposition in parts and the dialogue had some really hockey lines. I enjoyed the twists and turns in the middle of the book, but the beginning and end didn’t have much movement. 2.5 stars out of 5.

The Huntress by Kate Quinn (historical fiction): honestly, I’m a little disappointed. This book just did not hit my sweet spots, it wasn’t fast-paced enough for me to get immersed in the plot, and the characters weren’t real enough to be wholly invested in them. That said I adored Nina Markova and the Night Witches, so that did help. 3 starts out of 5.

The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein by Kiersten White (horror sci-fi retelling): HAND IN UNLOVABLE HAND. A retelling of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein from the perspective of Victor Frankenstein’s wife and my God! The characters! The plot was well-enough, but the characters took the whole show for being complex and compelling. The main character was breathtakingly layered and I was wholly invested in Elizabeth and her story and the triumph at the end of this story was tangible. 4 out of 5 stars! 

Uprooted by Naomi Novik (fantasy): A story of a young woman who lives in a valley where a girl must go live with a wizard for 10 years. She is certain she won’t be chosen, but ends up having to be “uprooted” herself. I enjoyed most of this book! However, I think I liked “Spinning Silver” a lot more just because the ending of this one somehow lost me. The characters were good and plot compelling, but (SPOILERS) the big battle at the end seemed to drag and didn’t interest me somehow. 3.8 out of 5 stars.

Gods of Jade and Shadow by Silvia Moreno-Garcia (fantasy): excellent read! A story of a young woman in Jazz Age Mexico who goes on an adventure with a Mayan death God who is trying to regain his throne. A romp across the country absolutely brimming with likable characters and fairy tale twists. My only complaint would be that most of it felt a little predictable due to the fact we knew where we were going throughout the whole story, However, it was still greatly enjoyable for the heroine herself, Casiopea. 4 out of 5 stars!

Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng (literary): a story of two families in a progressive “planned” community, how their lives intertwine, their secrets, and a central question surrounding motherhood. Deeply empathetic to its characters and introspective, this is an every-day story of people in suburbia that reads like a thriller. I could barely put it down and felt deeply for its characters and situations, 5 out of 5 stars!

Wilder Girls by Rory Power (YA sci-fi suspense): a story of a group of girls at a boarding school on an island affected by the “tox” which alters their bodies in strange ways like giving them scales or an extra spine. This was an eerie, interesting read with a wlw romance! Watch out for the body horror in this one, but it was very gripping and held my interest. Some of the pacing was off in places (like the romance), but had a very creepy atmosphere that did it for me. 3.8 out of 5 stars!

If We Were Villains by M.L. Rio (thriller-mystery): A thriller about a group of Shakespeare actors in their last year of college and one of their classmates who turns up dead. I enjoyed the murder mystery part of this novel more than I expected despite the fact I had guessed who had “done it” pretty early on. I really enjoyed the James-Oliver dynamic with its growing homoeroticism, but I didn’t like how the character of Meredith was handled at all. She felt like a one-note aside. I might have given this book four stars, but the ending was EXTREMELY frustrating for me and I did not like the “open-ended” conclusion. 3 out of 5 stars.

A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman (literary humor): a weird character-driven comedy about an old grumpy man and a new family that moves in next to him. Warning for themes of suicide. Anyway, I don’t normally indulge in cliches like “I laughed, I cried, I loved one Cat Annoyance.” However, that’s exactly what I did. I laughed out loud, I cried my eyes out (THE CAT’S HEAD WAS IN HIS PALM), I loved this book. It was sweet and compelling and thoroughly immersive. 5 out of 5 stars!

The Ten Thousand Doors of January by Alix E. Harrow (historical fantasy): set in the early 1900s comes a story of a young girl and her experience with “Doors” that lead to different worlds. This book had a lot of great character development and really interesting descriptions, however, I didn’t like it as much as I wanted to. I found it hard to get myself to sit down a read it. There was just something missing with the push to “page-turn,” but it was still a really good book. 3.7 out of 5 stars!

Gideon the 9th by Tamsyn Muir (high fantasy, kinda gay): I AM FILLED WITH EMOTIONS. This was book was definitely a page-turner. I was very confused with it at the beginning, but the characters and their interactions were, forgive the expression, the life blood of the story and kept me wholly invested. The ending has CRUSHED my heart, but damn did I have a good time reading it. 4.5 out of 5 stars!

Harrow the 9th by Tamsyn Muir (sequel to Gideon the 9th): I really enjoyed this book. It was just as strange and twisting as the first book, though I think I enjoyed the first one a bit more since I love Gideon. It was fun ride overall, though the ending was kind of really confusing. So 4 out of 5 stars.

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo (historical fiction): Overall, I really enjoyed this book! The writing style was personable and grounded in reality. I found myself really liking the main characters and the exploration of the life of a bi main character was really well done I thought. A solid book with drama and glamor to boot. 4.6 out of 5 stars!

The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah (historical fiction): A story of two sisters during WWII and their resistance to Nazi occupation. To be honest, this book wasn’t my cup of tea. It was compelling, but also wholly depressing and I felt like gloried in the pain of the two main characters too much. The history was wonderful and realistic, but it didn’t make me feel anything good afterward. It was just dark. 3 out of 5 stars.

Red, White & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston (mlm romance): I finally finished this after the heaviness of The Nightingale. This is a story of the First Son of the USA falling for the prince of England. And it turned out to be a very fun and light hearted read! Some of it was kinda generic and too political, and it coulda been shorter, but I thought the romance itself made up for it. It just made me feel so sweet and lovely inside. 4 out of 5 stars!

Anxious People by Fredrik Backman (literary humor): I’m searching out heartfelt books and this one ticked off all the marks on my “sweet” list. A lovely book that made me cry more times than I would like to admit. Compassionate beyond belief, funny and heartfelt. I think I enjoyed A Man Called Ove slightly more, but this book was also dear to me and something I hope to reread in the future. 4.2 out of 5 stars!

Station Eleven by Emily St John Mandel (sci-fi): A post-apocalyptical story about a group of traveling Shakespeare actors and a symphony. Overall, an excellent read that somehow pictures a more realistic or even softer version of the apocalypse. At first, I wasn't happy with the jumping around of the story, but as I progressed I grew fonder and fonder of the interwoven characters and their journey. A very fascinating read about a world that hits a little too close to home. The appreciation of the arts and preserving humanity was somehow very hopeful and I was fully engaged with this story. 5 out of 5 Stars!

Up next: The Hidden Life of Trees by by Peter Wohlleben (nonfiction science), The City We Became by N. K. Jemisin (urban fantasy), The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern (fantasy)

[sunder-soul]

you make most of it up? That's amazing. Could you maybe share your method/thinking/resources for someone who also wants to write believable class stuff in the hp fandom? Thank u very much

Yayaya sure!

Short answer:

So I'll pull details from the HP wiki, and if I need a random plant name or potion ingredient and can't be fucked making one up (or I don't need it to be something symbolic etc) I often use this random generator and either use those names straight out, or tweak them a bit before using them.

Long answer:

Well I'm a huge fan of soft worldbuilding (where you don't outline all the rules and details and instead have a sort of immersive description that leaves a lot unsaid) because I feel it makes things more realistic, like you're glimpsing little parts of things that are utterly normal and therefore don't need explaining ya kno. So when I write classroom scenes or any kind of 'lore' I try not to explain it and rely instead on characters reacting to things to convey its importance, normalcy, or strangeness.

I do this alllll the time but I did it HEAPS in white dove. When Tom is in trial and he gets a 'tier nine' cell (which I made up) I don't bother writing something like "oh my gosh tier nine is the worst and most intense type of cell you can get and it has these rules and these horrifying conditions" bc I don't need to. The whole room reacts with gasps and horror and even Tom looks freaked out (tho that's mostly bc he was expecting a sentence of a specific amount of years and was confident he could just outlive it bc immortal and that's the moment that he's like oh fuck, but the point still stands).

So the emotions/reactions of the people tell you everything you need to know without me having to outright describe it. You don't need to know what a tier 9 cell is, you get that it's fucking baddddd. In fact, it's sort of even better than explaining it bc our imaginations find the unknown even scarier than something horrifying described in detail.

In the same chap a bit further down, I make reference to a 'peeping charm' which I made up on the spot. Same deal but different context, it makes sense that magic users have a spell that'll act like a peephole in their doors, there's no reason to say 'this spell will let me look through the door without the person on the other side noticing so I can see who it is before opening it' because this would be a totally normal thing. So I just wrote it like it wasn't a big deal bc to this character in this context, this wouldn't be a big deal.

On the other hand you can also totally introduce something new that DOES need some detail/exposition. At the beginning of this same chap I say that Tom's lips and cheeks are flushed, that this a tell-tale sign of veritaserum poisoning, and that they've obviously given him heaps of the stuff. I made this up just bc I wanted there to be something the MC could visually and easily see from across the room that would establish that Tom's been given a SHIT TON of truth potion so that for the rest of the scene, the audience in the room with him AND the audience reading the chapter knows he's being forced to tell the truth. It just added to the tension of the moment and made sense for the context (a trial lol). It also gives the scene some layers - Tom was fairly brief and controlled when he actually speaks in that scene, and I wanted it to be unclear if this is because he's being super self controlled by choice as he's normally prone to being, if he knows that he'll be unable to lie and doesn't want to let on any more of his secrets, or if he knows honesty will destroy the picture perfect tragic image the newspapers have made for him if he's TOO much of a monster.

I'm rambling but the point is, if you're going to introduce details or concepts it's really important to have an understanding of who would know that stuff already, who would find it commonplace and who might be totally unaware of it. Sometimes everyone in the scene would know about it already but the AUDIENCE doesn't, and that's when you can use like casual conversation/questions between characters to give more info whilst also showing that this is all very normal.

Having a character not know something is an easy way to have another character explain something to them but there has to be a solid reason as to WHY one would know it and the other doesn't.

An example of a time I've used this is in Mimicry when the MC knows troll blood will ruin Tom's potion but Tom doesn't. Normally we'd be like 'wait what, why would a nerd-ass know it all like Tom not know this,' but it makes sense to my understanding of the character that he's the sort of person who got a recommendation that 'Zoological Potions Ingredients' was the BEST textbook on ingredients and went off and fucking memorised the whole thing and didn't think that anything could have changed in the 70 years after it was published (Tom strikes me as the sort of person who chases 'the best' and doesn't think much past that is worth considering). Hence why he didn't know that the classification for trolls changed and that further research was done, since he also strikes me as the sort of person who would consider reading up on the social status of trolls to be a little pointless lol, but surprise bitch it wasn't.

So I made up most of that except for the existence of Bundimuns and trolls - I went hunting on the wiki for some obscure substance I could reference in passing for a potions ingredient (and found Bundimuns), and honestly I can't remember how much about them I made up and how much is canon (I think they're mentioned to be used in cleaning products canonically...?)

But the point is more that this scene doesn't just flesh out the world, it tells u stuff about the two characters and how they interact. It tells you that Tom is very studious but doesn't like to revise his opinions, it tells you that the MC knows their shit, it tells you that Tom is suspicious (he instantly challenges them by referencing the textbook not saying what they're telling him), and it tells you that MC is a good bitch who would help out a dick like Tom just bc it's the right thing to do. It also shows Tom's flaws - his disregard of learning about other creatures/beings/people and the way they're treated in society tracks with what we know of his character, and I always think it's important to demonstrate (either directly to him within a scene or to the readers) that this is a stupid thing to do. In this case, his lack of interest in the struggles of others nearly fucked his own potion, he's only saved because MC 1) cares enough to read up about it, 2) sees the importance of revising formally formed opinions/understandings, 3) steps in to help him even though he probably wouldn't have done the same.

So that's soft world building, ya know, using these things to tell you about the characters, using knowledge and lack of knowledge, reactions, etc etc. Most of the details I make up are there to serve a purpose for the plot, but honestly that's just bc I'm writing short super condensed stories that don't have a lot of space for proper world building. In Seven Devils (and Mimicry to a lesser extent) I have a lot more of these details there to create an emotion/sense of the scene just for the sake of setting that scene, but that's for bigger works with more room to breathe.

Hmu if you want to know more but damn I DID write an essay huh 😅

[chunhua-s]

congrats on your milestone event!!! id like to request for kita soulmate!au with angst to fluff genre 👉👈 yknow sumn rejection shit bcs im hopeless like that wehee once again congrats! and i love your writing style :3

anon you’re gonna make me cry 🥺 seriously i’m happy you enjoy my writing and that you think my style’s okay! most of the time i go off of what kind of feelings i get when i’m writing or the imagery that comes up in my head and i’m never sure that it translates well enough for you guys to feel or see the same thing. hopefully as i keep writing then i’ll be able to show you guys what’s on my mind better when i’m writing! thank you again for requesting — seriously, it means a lot! and like always, you guys, don’t be afraid to come and talk to me on and off anon! your interactions mean a lot, especially for content creators! we love hearing what you all think, what you like/dislike about our work, what you think of certain characters — absolutely anything! come and talk with us more whenever you can 💕

writing for kita feels calming somehow. normally the things that come up in my chest or my mind when i write gets nearly overwhelming if that makes sense? like i’ll have to pause and remind myself to breathe because it takes up so much of my attention that i kinda get lost, but with kita, it feels more flowey to me. it’s not demanding but more like a gentle coaxing kind of thing or like looking at the surface of a calm river. i was initially scared to write for him because i was worried i wouldn’t get him right, but i feel satisfied with how this turned out, i think. i hope you guys will find it as calming as i found it too! it might not be exactly what you wanted, but because i had already written the rejection of a person for atsumu’s soulmate oneshot, i wanted to play around with kita’s character and make it instead the rejection of a concept/idea? which would indirectly lead to him... you know, rejecting his soulmate initially, but— ahhhhhh it might make sense to just read it!! these rambles keep getting longer and longer :v i’m sorry for that!! please go ahead and read and tell me what you think in the end! 💕

NOTNING MORE THAN HUMAN ➽ KITA SHINSUKE x READER

genre: angst to fluff

au: soulmate

warnings: none

shinsuke kita is human.

and of course, that much is obvious. he isn’t a machine that’s incapable of feelings and emotions, whose heart is unfamiliar with melodies of an overwhelming joy, or the quiet hymns of deep rooted sadness. his skin still burns under righteous fury and anger, his tongue still weighs heavy under hesitance and silent worries. at the end of every long day, he’s still human.

it’s because he’s human that the words on his collarbone feel so heavy, as if they might cave into the bone and destroy him under their weight. it’s because he’s human that the sight of black markings in the mirror clouds his mind with a new kind of fear and worry. shinsuke kita is human, but he’s long since taught himself how to abandon anxiety and nervousness. he surrounds himself in familiar routines that calm the turbulent voices of doubt, he builds habits that ground him to the earth lest he should be swept away by the current. shinsuke has taught himself not to be afraid for the things that will happen everyday, but meeting his soulmate isn’t one of those things he can prepare for.

it’s a strange concept, he considers to himself. shinsuke doesn’t believe in words like fate or destiny, doesn’t care for the higher powers that should judge his actions. as far as he’s concerned, his own will is what dictates where his life goes — he’s in control, and that’s how it’s always been for him. let the gods watch, if they must, but he’s already decided that he’ll live by what is right, and he wouldn’t dare falter in the face of it. and yet — and it’s such a strange thing for him to do so — he pauses under the notion of a soulmate, of a destined partner who’s supposedly bound to him for as long as he should live. at first, he hadn’t given the idea much thought; it wouldn’t serve any purpose to worry about something that would happen whether or not he wants it, he decided. the truth of it is inevitable, just as the leaves must fall in autumn and the earth should be buried under clouds of white in winter. shinsuke is human — what more can he do but to accept it?

the black words that spread across his skin like droplets of ink became the bitter seeds of doubt that he hadn’t felt in a long time. it’s raining a lot today, isn’t it? the sentence by itself is so bland, like something maybe aran or anyone else might say to him in passing, and at first, it didn’t shake him too much, until he was caught one day under a sudden summer storm. seventeen year old kita somehow found himself stranded beneath a small shelter, where the wooden covering could protect him more than his umbrella until the rain passed. it was nearly unconscious, but he somehow found himself on edge, his breath faltered with the harsh pitter patter of rainfall that tumbled from green leaves and tore ripples from the surface of the lake. shinsuke kita found himself with a stomach full of butterflies and a thundering heartbeat that stole him away from solace and calm, cast the peace that he would so often carry with him away and left him stranded among chopping waves. every trembling breath he took stung on cold air and left him with a burning feeling on his lungs. it’s unfamiliar in its presence and shakes him to his core, but shinsuke kita is reminded of his own humanity when he realizes that what he feels, is anticipation and nervousness.

and it’s an odd thing. as he becomes aware of it, he finds himself twisting his fingers together during spring time; he worries his bottom lip between his teeth during unexpected showers. he feels like a child who stands in line to ride a roller coaster for the first time in his life — wide-eyed and drowning in the millions of feelings that race throughout his body. the feeling itself is nothing new, though it’s unfamiliar and intense in its ferocity and demand, seizes his heart and squeezes so tightly that whenever it rains, he’s left breathless.

it’s almost enough to drive him mad.

his very foundation seems to fall apart with the thunder that rolls across grey skies. for every drop of rain that hits the pavement, he finds himself a jittery mess as his heartbeat tears through his chest. the man who taught himself to abandon his fears reverts into the young boy who watched out for god, for the higher beings who watched his every move. and the thought that comes with every brilliant bolt of lightning burns him just as hotly, invasive and demanding when it flashes through his mind on a single, low whisper:

will you be happy?

shinsuke kita is human. he learns as he sees and lives as he’s learned, and what he saw growing up was that soulmates were bounded together till death do them part. a connection that’s set deep in stone, never to be erased by unforgiving weather and to persevere during the cruelest of storms. it’s an inevitable reality that the gods designed, so that mortals like himself should dance on stage and tell them a story. but shinsuke knows that not all these stories have a happy ending.

there are plays that end in tragedy and loss, those that only knew memories of pain and sang with death’s violin. man becomes the actor to a play that he has no choice in and dances on the puppet master’s strings, he surrenders control and gives himself up to the music, and he has no way of knowing the end of it until the curtains should fall. shinsuke has never been one to lay down his will, and yet, as winter melts once more into gray rain clouds and scattered showers, he’s reminded of his mortality, of the fate that’s been sealed away in the falling of rain. shinsuke kita is human, and so he must, like all men do, bend to fate’s will and never utter a word against her.

and for a long time, the sentiment caused him to completely reject the idea of a soulmate.

that feeling of helplessness that would wash over him with the rain turned into a bitterness that crushed his lungs between tightened fist. the acceptance of an inevitable waltz — whether it be to eternal happiness or to a cruel melody — turned into rebellious loathing that spat in the face of destiny. it’s entirely childish in its tale, like a toddler throwing a tantrum because he doesn’t want to give up his precious toy. that toy is his control, the power he had to live his life by his truth, not by that of a higher being. he’s human, after all, and humans are selfish and resentful by nature.

he finds himself with a heavy chest today, as well, as he waits for the pouring rain to subside. the small shelter in the middle of the garden park is familiar, and carries with it the memories of his epiphany, the one that created thunder storms in his once tranquil heart, and for that, he hates this place. the sound of the rain hitting the roof is like nails scratching against the chalkboard; the sound of droplets hitting the lake like an annoying whining that he can’t get out of his head. shinsuke curses this little pocket away from the world with all the childish anger in the world — let it be damned that doing so wouldn’t change anything. for once, he let himself go on a petty grudge against the universe, and against that looming stage and its heavy curtains.

it’s nearly faint, but he picks up on the patter-patter of footfalls that quickly approach him, and he turns bronze coloured eyes to find your rain-drenched figure running for shelter under the little gazebo. you’re out of breath by the time you make it underneath, letting out an exhausted and frustrated sigh as you press your hands to your knees, and shinsuke finds himself sympathizing with the way you bitterly push your hair from your face. you’re an ordinary office worker, from what he can see; you’ve hidden what looks to be a messenger back beneath your coat, leaving you to tremble in a thin button-up. this day’s downpour had been sudden, unexpected as spring would soon surrender to the approaching summer, and he imagines that he would have been in a similar position as yourself had he not packed his umbrella beforehand.

a silence settles over the both of you that’s only broken by the heavy rain, but the presence of it is so soothing that shinsuke finds himself breathing on a lighter air. suddenly the smell of petrichor turns sweeter, the melody of raindrops melting into a distant lullaby, and for the first time, shinsuke feels his heart melt under an indescribable sense of warmth despite the weather. and when your eyes turn to find his, a helpless grin on your lips, he feels that warmth explode under summer fireworks and coarse throhgh his veins like liquid lightning.

“it’s raining a lot today, isn’t it?”

for the second time in his life, shinsuke has an epiphany under the shelter in the garden.

he feels every bit of resentment vanish on a sudden gust of wind, one that sends raindrops splashing against his skin, but he doesn’t seem to notice. not when grey clouds suddenly reveal to him pillars of sunlight that embrace your figure and makes you glow against a background of green leaves. the rain turns into something sweet and enticing, and it suddenly gives shinsuke this unexplainable urge to grab your hand and dance with you underneath the pouring showers, where he can hear your voice ring out on chimes of laughter and innocent bliss. in mere seconds, he manages to let go of the dark clouds that he’d unintentionally harboured on his chest, he let them burst with the weight of anger and childish fury so that they would hit the earth on giant droplets of rain.

shinsuke kita is human — he’s imperfect, mortal. he feels and he thinks and he speaks what’s on his mind. he can hate, and he can love: he can make that decision on whether or not to hold useless grudges and to curse a destiny he can’t change, or to welcome that inevitability with the willingness to learn and grow.

today, as he stands beneath a wooden shelter, hiding from the heavy rains, he decides to stretch his hand out and let the water hit his skin.

davi hits 200 followers — haikyuu!! au writing event! 💕

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[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars CXXXVII (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: Book 6 was beyond complicated to write due to some artistic choices I made lmao but again I do hope you guys like it even if I don’t feel it was perfect bc I enjoyed how most of it turned out -Danny

Words: 4,005

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘The Black and White’ -by The Band CAMINO.

Chapter Thirty-Five: A Prophecy.

Harry walked back to his chair and sat down heavily.

"Five years ago you arrived at Hogwarts, Harry, safe and whole, as I had planned and intended. Well — not quite whole. You had suffered. I knew you would when I left you on your aunt and uncle's doorstep. I knew I was condemning you to ten dark and difficult years. I considered it almost a miracle when Emily agreed to move in next door so she could keep an eye on you..."

Even though Lord Voldemort perished that night in Godric's Hollow, his followers continue to hunt down answers for months, neither Harry nor Mel would've been safe in the wizarding world.

"You would be protected by an ancient magic of which he knows, which he despises, and which he has always, therefore, underestimated — to his cost. I am speaking, of course, of the fact that your mother died —and your father too, Mel— to save you. They gave you a lingering protection he never expected, a protection that flows in your veins to this day. I put my trust, therefore, in your mother's blood, Harry. I delivered you to her sister, her only remaining relative."

"She doesn't love me. She doesn't give a damn —"

"But she took you. She may have taken you grudgingly, furiously, unwillingly, bitterly, yet still she took you, and in doing so, she sealed the charm I placed upon you. Your mother's sacrifice made the bond of blood the strongest shield I could give you. And as for you, Mel, you were just a baby, therefore Voldemort's followers couldn't tell if you were as skilled as your dad. It was only until last year when Voldemort realized you were hiding great power."

"I still don't —"

"While you can still call home the place where your mother's blood dwells, Harry, there you cannot be touched or harmed by Voldemort. He shed her blood, but it lives on in you and her sister. Her blood became your refuge. You need return there only once a year, but as long as you can still call it home, there he cannot hurt you. Your aunt knows this. I explained what I had done in the letter I left, with you, on her doorstep. She knows that allowing you houseroom may well have kept you alive for the past fifteen years."

"My mother isn't a Dumbledore," Mel frowned. "If that's what kept Harry safe, living with his aunt, then why did I only meet you after I turned eleven?"

"You were a direct descendant from my brother and not me, you weren't in danger as much as Harry. Once I found out about your outbursts I talked to him, I knew you'd need his protection... I'm afraid his guilt stopped him. I've been taking his place, having you come into my office for a weekly lesson as a way to make sure you would be both, protected, while also learning to defend yourself."

Harry came into a new realization.

"You sent that Howler. You told my aunt to remember — it was your voice —"

"I thought that she might need reminding of the pact she had sealed by taking you. I suspected the dementor attack might have awoken her to the dangers of having you as a surrogate son." 

"It did. Well — my uncle more than her. He wanted to chuck me out, but after the Howler came she — she said I had to stay. But what's this got to do with..."

"Five years ago, then, you arrived at Hogwarts, neither as happy nor as well-nourished as I would have liked, perhaps, yet alive and healthy. You were not a pampered little prince, but as normal a boy as I could have hoped under the circumstances. Thus far, my plan was working well."

The memory of that small boy came to her. He didn't look much different from the Harry sitting beside her, except perhaps, for the way his gaze had darkened. 

He'd always known Harry and Mel would eventually be hunted, and he'd made sure they'd be ready. Dumbledore had a plan from the moment they set a foot in the castle. She wondered exactly how much of everything happened accidentally, and how much had been planned.

"I don't understand what you're saying." 

"Don't you remember asking me, as you lay in the hospital wing, why Voldemort had tried to kill you when you were a baby? Ought I to have told you then? You do not see the flaw in the plan yet? No... perhaps not. Well, as you know, I decided not to answer you. Eleven, I told myself, was much too young to know. I had never intended to tell you when you were eleven. The knowledge would be too much at such a young age, just like I refused to tell Mel about the rumours surrounding our family."

'The knowledge would be too much at such a young age'. Now, after four years, Mel felt weaker than when she was eleven. Somehow thinner, and far more fragile.

"Do you see? Do you see the flaw in my brilliant plan now? I had fallen into the trap I had foreseen, that I had told myself I could avoid, that I must avoid."

"I don't —"

"I cared about you too much. I cared more for your happiness than your knowing the truth, more for your peace of mind than my plan, more for your life than the lives that might be lost if the plan failed. In other words, I acted exactly as Voldemort expects we fools who love to act."

Mel visibly deflated, a new wave of hurt crashing against her heart.

"So it's true, then?" She asked. "Caring only makes us weak?" 

"My dear, I defy anyone who has watched you as I have —and I have watched you more closely than you can have imagined — not to want to save you more pain than you had already suffered. What did I care if numbers of nameless and faceless people and creatures were slaughtered in the vague future, if in the here and now you were alive, and well, and happy? I never dreamed that I would have such a pair of young souls on my hands..."

Mel had held something similar whenever she would reach out to kiss Harry, and nothing else in the world mattered when they were alone together... but after the third task, they were always so alone.

"...You came out of the maze last year, having watched Cedric Diggory die, having escaped death so narrowly yourself... you, Mel, gave away part of your own life, selflessly risking your own well-being just for the frail chance to see Harry again, and I did not tell you, because to tell you after having almost lost each other in such a way would've been beyond cruel, though I knew, now Voldemort had returned, I must do it soon. 

And now, tonight, I know you have long been ready for the knowledge I have kept from you for so long, because you have proved that I should have placed the burden upon you before this. My only defence is this: I have watched you struggling under more burdens than any student who has ever passed through this school, and I could not bring myself to add another — the greatest one of all."

"...I still don't understand," Harry responded, though now his voice was a bit more quiet and fearful.

Dumbledore admitted what they already knew: Voldemort tried to kill him because of the prophecy, and he'd tried to stop it before it could be fulfilled. Now, years after and once again in a proper body, Voldemort set his mind on hearing the whole thing, looking for a way to end it.

The sun was fully out now, and as he finished, Mel felt the first glimmer of hope peering through.

"Mel broke the prophecy," Harry said quietly. "She crushed it against the ground..."

She closed her injured hand tightly without caring about the sharp pain that shot up to her elbow. 

"I knew we could get rid of it."

"How?" Harry frowned. "How could you know?"

"Because that orb was merely the record of the prophecy kept by the Department of Mysteries. But the prophecy was made to somebody, and that person has the means of recalling it perfectly," Dumbledore explained, looking at her with a strange glint in his eyes.

"Who heard it?" asked Harry, though he already knew the answer.

"I did. On a cold, wet night sixteen years ago, in a room above the bar at the Hog's Head Inn. I had gone there to see an applicant for the post of Divination teacher, though it was against my inclination to allow the subject of Divination to continue at all. The applicant, however, was the great-great-granddaughter of a very famous, very gifted Seer, and I thought it common politeness to meet her. I was disappointed. It seemed to me that she had not a trace of the gift herself. I told her, courteously I hope, that I did not think she would be suitable for the post. I turned to leave."

As Dumbledore stood up to retrieve something from a cabinet, Mel continued her story.

"That was the reason why my uncle knew what Voldemort was looking for," She swallowed harshly. "As soon as that thing broke I recognized the figure. How could I not? We've been seeing her for three years..."

Dumbledore came back holding the Pensieve, he put the tip of his wan on one temple and pulled, Mel stood up abruptly. 

"Maybe I shouldn't be here to hear it."

"You've earned your place in this conversation," Dumbledore replied. "Your life is linked to Harry's, is only fair for you to hear it too... that way you'll be able to make an informed decision."

"Only if he agrees." 

She was used to Harry keeping her at a proper distance from his doings, nevertheless, Harry grabbed her wrist.

"Sit down... please."

Before she could reply a figure rose from the Pensieve, there stood a small version of Sibyll Trelawney with a voice Mel had only imagined thanks to Harry's tales from two years ago:

"THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD APPROACHES... BORN TO THOSE WHO HAVE THRICE DEFIED HIM, BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES... AND THE DARK LORD WILL MARK HIM AS HIS EQUAL, BUT HE WILL HAVE POWER THE DARK LORD KNOWS NOT... AND EITHER MUST DIE AT THE HAND OF THE OTHER FOR NEITHER CAN LIVE WHILE THE OTHER SURVIVES..."

Professor Trelawney vanished slowly.

"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry said after a moment. "It... did that mean... What did that mean?" 

"It meant... that the person who has the only chance of conquering Lord Voldemort for good was born at the end of July, nearly sixteen years ago. This boy would be born to parents who had already defied Voldemort three times."

"It means — me?"

Dumbledore eyed both teenagers carefully before speaking.

"The odd thing is, Harry, that it may not have meant you at all. Sibyll's prophecy could have applied to three babies, one of them being Mel."

"What?" 

"I thought it was meant to be Matthew's baby," He sighed, "an Auror and a Dumbledore... but alas, you were born at the start of the month — and you were a girl. There were still two more babies in line. Both born at the end of July that year, both of whom had parents in the Order of the Phoenix, both sets of parents having narrowly escaped Voldemort three times. One, of course, was you. The other was Neville Longbottom."

"But then... but then, why was it my name on the prophecy and not Neville's?"

"The official record was relabeled after Voldemort's attack on you as a child. It seemed plain to the keeper of the Hall of Prophecy that Voldemort could only have tried to kill you because he knew you to be the one to whom Sibyll was referring."

"Then — it might not be me?"

"I am afraid that there is no doubt that it is you." 

"But you said — Neville was born at the end of July too — and his mum and dad —"

"You are forgetting the next part of the prophecy, the final identifying feature of the boy who could vanquish Voldemort... Voldemort himself would 'mark him as his equal.' And so he did, Harry. He chose you, not Neville. He gave you the scar that has proved both blessing and curse."

"But he might have chosen wrong! He might have marked the wrong person!"

"He chose the boy he thought most likely to be a danger to him. And notice this, Harry. He chose, not the pureblood (which, according to his creed, is the only kind of wizard worth being or knowing), but the half-blood, like himself. He saw himself in you before he had ever seen you, and in marking you with that scar, he did not kill you, as he intended, but gave you powers, and a future, which have fitted you to escape him not once, but four times so far — something that neither your parents, nor Neville's parents, ever achieved."

In her mind, an alternate life started to take form: Mel as the orphan, Harry's parents alive and well, it was her the one facing death every time... 

Then poor scarred Neville, while Mel and Harry lived surrounded by their families, perhaps even together. The fact that the only reason why Harry was the chosen one was a matter of gender and dates... 

"Why did he do it, then? Why did he try and kill me as a baby? He should have waited to see whether Neville or I looked more dangerous when we were older and tried to kill whoever it was then — or even Mel... She's a Dumbledore — She's the strongest!"

"That might, indeed, have been the more practical course, except that Voldemort's information about the prophecy was incomplete. The Hog's Head Inn, which Sibyll chose for its cheapness, has long attracted, shall we say, a more interesting clientele than the Three Broomsticks. As you and your friends found out to your cost, and I to mine that night, it is a place where it is never safe to assume you are not being overheard. Of course, I had not dreamed, when I set out to meet Sibyll Trelawney, that I would hear anything worth overhearing. My — our — one stroke of good fortune was that the eavesdropper was detected only a short way into the prophecy and thrown from the building."

"So he only heard..?"

"He heard only the first part, the part foretelling the birth of a boy in July to parents who had thrice defied Voldemort. Consequently, he could not warn his master that to attack you would be to risk transferring power to you — again marking you as his equal. So Voldemort never knew that there might be danger in attacking you, that it might be wise to wait or to learn more. And once Mel was born at the start of July as a girl, and you a boy, this only narrowed it down to his apparent advantage. He did not know that you would have 'power the Dark Lord knows not' —"

"But I don't! I haven't any powers he hasn't got, I couldn't fight the way he did tonight, I can't possess people or — or kill them —"

"There is a room in the Department of Mysteries," Dumbledore replied carefully, "that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than forces of nature. It is also, perhaps, the most mysterious of the many subjects for study that reside there. It is the power held within that room that you possess in such quantities and which Voldemort has not at all. 

That power is what has aided Mel to know if you're in danger and allowed her to help, that power took you to save Sirius tonight. That power also saved you from possession by Voldemort, because he could not bear to reside in a body so full of the force he detests. In the end, it mattered not that you could not close your mind. It was your heart that saved you. So you see, Mel," He added, "caring it's never useless."

"The end of the prophecy... it was something about... 'neither can live...' "

"'... while the other survives,' " Dumbledore concluded.

"So... so does that mean that... that one of us has got to kill the other one... in the end?"

"Yes."

They stayed silent for the longest time, Mel found her voice at the same time as her courage.

"Okay," She spoke. "We just have to make sure you're the one that lives."

Dumbledore's face hinted at a smile, but it did not form fully. Harry stared at her like the thought of surviving was next to impossible.

"I feel I owe you two other explanations," said Dumbledore carefully. "You may, perhaps, have wondered why I never chose you as prefects? I must confess that I rather thought both of you had enough responsibility to be going on with..."

Mel let out a dry chuckle, Harry just sighed. 

"The second and final... is about the decision you ought to take."

"What decision?"

"Your lifeline," He started, "I've been reading about it since the third task... It's called Unio Azoth — A universal cure for any kind of injury, you heal with life itself, and it's always effective. However, not many people dare use it because it demands great sacrifice from both sides of the connection. It's created through highly complex magic, or it can happen, as it was your case, after multiple shared near-death experiences," He paused. "It can also be removed."

There was a split second in which the students didn't know how to react. 

"You're saying," Mel started. "We've been hurting each other for a whole year — and you hid this from us?"

"You were on bad terms after the tournament, the removal can only happen if both sides consent, and you were holding onto it tightly, Mel."

"Is it dark magic?" Harry asked abruptly. "Our connection?"

Dumbledore took another long look at him.

"I believe that what you're trying to ask is if it's damaging for any of you," He replied. "Which is something that depends on the circumstances. There have been moments your connection has improved your lives, but it's also damaged you physically to a great extent. You're asking a question only you can answer, Harry."

"This could've fixed everything between us," Mel felt her anger increasing. "And you just let us argue instead? Why?"

"It was your impulsive actions that kept me from speaking, I couldn't risk one of you trying to cut it without the other knowing, it would've resulted in tragedy."

"We would've acted differently if only we’d known! The reason why we fought was because of how guilty Harry felt about putting me through extra pain — We could've just cut the damn thing — You thought I would've just decided to abandon him?"

"Isn't that what you were attempting this year?" Dumbledore asked pointedly.

"Harry and I couldn't stop fighting, I was tired — I had to keep my distance," Mel stood up. "He spent a whole year drowning in guilt thinking we couldn't change things —"

"When I found out it could be removed," Dumbledore's voice came out just as firm as hers. "You were already far too traumatized. Losing this would've felt like losing a limb. You weren't ready to make a choice then, but I can't keep you in the dark any longer, you have the whole picture now, so you can make an informed decision, but I must ask you to think —"

"I don't need to think it over," Mel said, but Harry spoke at the same time.

"I want to keep it."

"What?" She looked at him in disbelief.

Harry stared at her. 

"It's thanks to this that I knew you were having panic attacks, you've saved my life many times now, I owe you — and it doesn't have to hurt, you can control it, I just need to learn how to do it too!"

"You've been nagging me about how much of a burden this was and suddenly you cling to it as if it were a blessing?" She narrowed her eyes.

"It's just..." His jaw tensed. "It works both ways — if I give it up and Voldemort takes you... I can't leave you to deal with it alone, you'd do the same for me. You've already done it."

Mel shook her head, speechless.

"The decision is yours to make..." Dumbledore concluded. "You have until next term to tell me, and then we'll do whatever you please."

They were walking side by side without speaking. She did not wish to fight, and she felt like it would happen if they were to bring up... well, everything. 

"I'm sorry," He muttered. 

"I don't want to hear it. I'm to blame as much as you are. I ignored you — Dumbledore's right, knowing would've tricked us into thinking we could deal with it on our own, it would've killed us... I've been selfish enough this year to know I would've felt tempted to try and cut it on my own. I won't admit it in front of him, though..."

"You weren't —"

"I don't want to have this conversation," She stopped walking. "Everyone thinks I'm like my father or my uncle... and I'm not. When I was with you I was just Mel... whoever that's supposed to be. When we fought I got lost — you said awful things to me, but you were the only one who wasn't treating me like some overpowered freak..."

"I can't promise we won't fight in the future, but there are worse things than disagreeing and the thought of dying without telling you that I..." He came to a halt, voice breaking.

They wanted to talk about so many things, and yet Mel felt like they would never get to say anything at all.

"You know," She said softly. "We've gone through so much already... and it's hard, looking at you and having to pretend I can continue like this."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm feeling so alone, Harry," She forced the words out of her. "I miss you."

She'd almost been murdered that night, treated like a ragdoll, and traumatized until there was no safe place in her world. Still, nothing made her feel quite as vulnerable and tiny as Harry's understanding of her, the way he knew every single corner of her mind as if it were his own.

Harry gazed at her with hurt, he clenched his jaw and shook his head lightly. She was ready to watch him leave when suddenly, he hugged her.

Mel was having trouble breathing against his shoulder but her arms kept him close, one hand made its way up to the back of his head while the other went to the middle of his back. He was a few inches taller than her, but she still felt like they were a perfect fit.

"I'm sorry," Harry mumbled against her hair, and Mel knew he wasn't just talking about Sirius.

"Me too," She closed her eyes tightly. "We'll find a way through this... together."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @21bruhs @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @dielgonacoffee @thelastpyle

[maraudersandlily20]

Hope

Okay, here’s the thing. About 2 years ago, when I was in the THICK of the HPRP community (which is dead now, honestly. RIP.), I found myself drawn to weird characters, SUCH AS: Charlie Weasley, Regulus Black (this one is still very much happening), and Hope and Lyall Lupin. I was doing a bunch of research and investigating on Remus’ parents, and the way those two met and fell in love was ADORABLE. So I started to write that story, and I asked Carolina (aka @the-moon-and-stars-my-love ) to read and edit it for me. I should have known that she would go above and beyond, as is per Carolina. But I was rereading HOPE, the story, a few days ago and decided that the only way I could post it was if I actually PUT Carolina’s commentary into the story. Because it makes me laugh and people need to see it. 

I’ve only written 2 parts of this story, because I hit a block after I finished the second part. So I’ll post what I have. 

Here’s Hope, part 1. Carolina’s commentary will be labelled, bolded, and italicized for less confusion. 

Part 1

If there was one thing that was certain, it was that Hope Howell wasn’t foolish. She wasn’t foolish. She knew better than to be out this late, especially in these woods. There were reports of robberies, rapes, and even murders that happened when people were out too long. But this time, it wasn’t people, it was her.

“You’re really done it now, Hope. Really. You just HAD to go to Carreg today to write. You couldn’t have just stayed home and had tea with mum?” Hope was babbling, of course, which she was hoping would soothe her nerves and help her dismiss the small sounds from the dark crevices of the forest. There were plenty of animals and bugs in this forest, they were probably just making a debut. And if it wasn’t animals, that didn’t necessarily mean it was anything bad.

“It doesn’t matter,” she reasoned. “There’s nothing bad in this forest. People just say there is to keep naughty children away or have them return at a reasonable hour. And I’ve never been reasonable, I’m a rebel. I go home when I want to, dark or not.” She was hoping, somewhere in the back of her mind, that if she could convince herself, even momentarily, and boost her confidence, she wouldn’t feel so completely stripped of all protection. 

She should have accepted Miles’ offer to go with her to Carreg, but she had been adamant that she would be perfectly fine. Besides, he would have read too much into it, and she wasn’t going to string him along. She shook off those thoughts and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. 

“I AM perfectly fine.” she reasoned. “They’re just old wives tales and superstitions. And I, Hope Howell, am not a superstitious person,” she said as if trying to reason with some stubborn part of herself. 

A branch broke, making Hope freeze in her tracks. She felt her pulse quicken, but refused to look in the direction of the noise. 

Carolina: girl these are your flight or fight instincts kicking in liSTEN TO THEM

She was just jumpy from remembering the stories and legends that were very much NOT true, she told herself. The noise was nothing. Just an animal. Or, maybe a bug. “I’m not superstitious. I’m not. Truly.” 

Carolina: sure jan

However, to give herself some form of comfort, she picked up a large branch on the side of the road and wielded it as though it were a weapon. It didn’t mean she was afraid, it just meant she was smart, she thought. 

Carolina: hahahahaha I'm just so amused because she is a stubborn woman who refuses to be afraid i love her

Her feet seemed glued to the ground and no matter how many positive thoughts she whispered into the air, she couldn’t will herself to move forward.

Carolina: ooo i see what you did there! with the boggart. uh huh uh huh yes good nice i like it she's already feeling the effects because she's probably looking at it but not realizing she's looking at it so she's already scared. nice little detail!

Suddenly, there was a low groaning noise and Hope’s eyes widened in fear. Slowly, reluctantly, knowing she should have already been running at this point, she turned to look into the darkness. 

There was nothing visible to her beyond the shadows of the trees, of course, but the possibilities of what could be lurking just out of view flooded  her mind . “I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid,” she whispered, over and over, but her mind didn’t seem to believe her. 

Frozen in place, Hope swallowed. “H-hello? Is there anyone…. Is there anyone out there?”

Nothing.

Silence. 

“I mean it. If you’re out there, this isn’t funny. If you’re looking to kill me or… or rob me or anything, let’s just move on with it.” she was impressed with how clear her voice sounded despite her high adrenaline. “I don’t even have any money on me, so I’m not sure why you would even want to rob me. But, you’re more than welcome to try.” She sounded ridiculous, she knew, but she wasn’t sure what else she could do. 

Again, nothing,

Just the silence.

Hope shook her head, loosening her hold on her makeshift weapon with the softest sigh of relief. “Silly girl. Of course there’s nothing out there. You’re not superstitious. People don’t just go around hiding in forests like it’s some fairytale. This is 1958 for Christ’s sake. Who in their right mind would-” She stopped dead as another noise manifested itself from the space right before her.

“Hello?” She said again, trying to keep her anxiety at bay, but failing miserably. “Hello?” It was practically a squeak.

And then, there, from the darkness, emerged a huge cloaked figure, with broad shoulders and gleaming eyes. It loomed over Hope and she felt all the blood rush from her face. She couldn’t help herself. She screamed.

She screamed and screamed and the figure moved closer to her. Finally, her heart couldn’t take it. Hope collapsed onto the ground, her vision fading in and out. Hope was swimming in and out of consciousness.  Almost as if it were a dream, she watched a man break through the trees, holding what appeared to be a small stick. He brandished it toward the cloaked figure and shouted a strange word into the air. A bright light filled her vision, and then the figure disappeared into the trees without a backward glance. 

As Hope tried to push her eyes fully open, the face of the man appeared above her.

“Are you alright?” were the last words she heard before everything went black. 

-

The air was cold against her skin, and it roused her from her sleep. It must have been a few minutes before she regained consciousness, as the man who had miraculously saved her was now sitting nearby with his back to her, his gaze trained on the forest, as if watching for more perpetrators. 

Hope shook her head, trying to dispel the dizziness that fogged her brain. She pushed herself up into a seated position with a groan. A pair of hands reached out to steady  her and there were definitely words being spoken to her, though it took a moment for her mind to unscramble them.

“Easy there,” the man said, trying to sound reassuring by keeping his voice low. His hands were calloused and rough, she noted, which was strange compared to the gentleness he was using with her. Her eyes trailed up his arms, taking in the overcoat he wore and the sweater beneath that looked hand-knitted. Her gaze slowly continued upward, and she couldn’t help but feel both fascinated and silly at her interest of his neck and his jawline. She prayed he hadn’t noticed her perusal of him when she finally met his gaze. Hope looked into warm brown eyes of this stranger and was struck dumb. This man had saved her? He was…. Beautiful.

Carolina: listen this is the cutest thing and i am so here for the moment of "shit they're beautiful" and i'm so glad you included it because yes she was aw awestruck of him as he was of her

Also Carolina: can i get uuhhhh mUTUAL PINING???

While they sat looking at each other, it wasn’t lost on her that there was a chance this was another ploy to rob her. But, at the same time, she was so relieved that the much larger and, frankly, more terrifying man hadn’t hurt her. The man in front of her was so handsome and gentle that she really couldn’t find it in her to care if he was going to rob her. 

Carolina: hOPE MY GOODNESS IF I DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS MA BOY LYALL I'D BE CONCERNED BUt also it's Lyall and he's been so good this whole time and it he wanted to do something he wouldn't have been there when you woke up bUT STILL (not a bad thing just a realization lol)

“I’m alright,” She whispered, holding a hand to her head.

“Are you sure? You took quite the fall, you know. And over a simple boggart too.” He chuckled, not registering the look of confusion on her face and then seeming to remember something. “Oh, here,” he muttered, reaching into his pocket and fumbling for a moment before pulling out a small wrapped candy. He noticed her wary gaze and shook his head. “Don’t worry, it’s just chocolate. Eat. You’ll feel better.”

Carolina: cries bc throwback/foreshadowing to remus saying this to harry about boggarts too

He handed it to her and she took it, though she wasn’t sure why. 

Carolina: dID YOUR MOTHER NOT TELL YOU NOT TO ACCEPT SWEETS FROM A STRANGER??? Hope i love you but dear goodness woman

When he looked away from her, apparently sorting through the contents of his pocket, she stuffed the chocolate into the pocket of her coat. It wasn’t that she wanted to be rude, but she was wary of accepting any sort of food from a nameless, though very handsome, stranger.

Carolina: !!! yes good on you Hope you gots to be careful! stranger danger

As her pulse settled into a normal rhythm, and as she realized there was no imminent danger, she took a moment to take in her surroundings. They seemed to be in the same piece of wood she had fainted in, but somehow, it looked brighter. Maybe it was just the beautiful man sitting beside her that made her think that. She couldn’t be sure.

Carolina: gOD Hope could you BE any more enamored by this man??? how dare you make this so cute, Jo???

And then she remembered what had made her faint. “You-” She turned back to him suddenly. “You rescued me!” 

The man laughed with a sheepish smile. “Really, it was nothing. You must have just lost your wits. You would have been fine without me.”

“Are you out of your mind? That man was HUGE! There’s no way I ever could have gotten rid of him without you.”

The stranger stopped. “Man…?”

“Yes, the big cloaked man that you chased off with your little… little stick?” her nose wrinkled as she remembered. “You were holding a stick, weren’t you? How did you even do that? And what did you say earlier? That he was a … a Boggart?”

They looked at each other and Hope felt as if she was being sized up. Some sort of clarity seemed to hit him. “Oh, uh, it wasn’t a stick, it was a knife. I always keep one in my pocket . An old habit I developed from the war.” He pulled out a small knife, holding it out towards her by the wood handle. She nodded. “As for the… the boggart part. In my hometown, Boggart was a name we called scary looking men who were weak.” 

Carolina: hA. Nice save Lyall v slick i like it. also, really clever on you for coming up with that being the explanation Lyall would have given her!

Hope nodded, as if she understood, but thought it was a right silly thing to call anyone. 

There was a pause. “Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked.

A little laugh left her throat. “Yes, I’m sure. I kept telling myself over and over that I wasn’t afraid and that there was nothing out there to worry about. But at the first sign of danger, I went and fainted.”

“I hardly think your reaction was unreasonable,” Lyall reassured her. “I had the benefit of being rescuer, and not the damsel in distress. It’s always easier to save someone else than to fight things off yourself. I very well might have reacted the same way.”

Carolina: Lyaaalllll what a sweet lad validating her feelings and admitting to probably reacting a similar way if he had been in her shoes. what a man :')

Hope smiled, finding it funny that he was trying, in a way, to save her pride. She had already fainted in front of him, she assumed that all presumptions of pride were long behind them. “Well, it wasn’t an ideal reaction either. You are right thought. Being a damsel in distress is hard work. Who knows what would have happened to me if you hadn’t come along. ” This made the man snort with laughter, which then made Hope giggle, which was something she never did. 

Carolina: pRECIOUS the absolute NERDS

Gratitude shone in her eyes as she smiled at him. “Thank you, by the way. For saving me.”

If Hope had been paying more attention to the handsome man’s face as she smiled at him, she would have noticed the flush that covered his cheeks and the nervous way he bit his lip. 

Carolina: cuuuuuute. he's already so into her and it's adorable and sweet and pure

However, Hope wasn’t always the best at picking up romantic signals from men. 

Carolina: lmao Hope is me can't pick up signals aT ALL xD seriously love when they're both pretty much oblivious at the signs

He studied her for a moment before clearing his throat. “It was my pleasure, truly.”

They continued smiling at each other, there in the fading light of the evening, neither sure what to say or what to do, but feeling very warm. It was almost like if they moved, they would break the sort of spell that they were wrapped up in, and so both were reluctant to move even an inch.

“I’m Lyall.” he finally said, his voice soft. “Lyall Lupin.”

It was a name that suited him, she thought. “I’m Hope Howell.”

Carolina: dO YOU HEAR MY CRYING??? MY PRECIOUS BABIES

The man, Lyall, her mind supplied with a giddy jump of her heart, got to his feet and extended a hand down to her, which she accepted. Once they were both up and dusted off, Lyall rubbed at his neck. 

Carolina: *nervous boi is nervous around cute gal he just met 

[h e a r t e y e s]

Hope’s eyes snapped to trace the movement, but she immediately tried to act like she wasn’t blatantly staring. He grinned. Not wanting to embarrass her, he played it off that he hadn’t noticed. He had definitely noticed. 

Carolina: seeeee?? she thinks you're handsome and wonderful tooooo you've got a shot boy-o!

“Well, I think, Hope Howell, that it may be time to get you home. Would you mind if I escorted you there?” 

Carolina: *insert more happy crying here* WHAT A GENTLEMAN! PUT ON A RING ON IT, HOPE

Her cheeks flushed red as her name rolled off his tongue and she nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’d appreciate it.” 

So the two walked together, side by side, along the forest path. Hope couldn’t help but notice that the trees no longer appeared menacing and somehow everything seemed lighter. Even though the stars twinkled down at the both of them and the air was growing chilly, the two new acquaintances didn’t seem to mind. They seemed to be desperate to speak to each other and so they talked. And talked. And talked. Back and forth they asked questions and told stories about things they normally wouldn’t have said to someone they had just met. But they just had a feeling.

Carolina: THE FEELING IS LOVE IT'S OKAY YOU CAN SAY IT

Hope couldn’t remember a time when she had laughed so much. She had been pursued by multiple young men in university, and even Miles was now pushing for them to “see where things went”, as he so eloquently put it. However, none of them, not a single one, had the ability to make her feel as warm as Lyall Lupin did. For some reason, she felt as though he were looking at her and seeing more than anyone else ever had. 

Carolina: do you know that this sentence made my heart melt just a bit more???

Hope led them along the path back to her village, where her farmhouse sat on the outskirts, away from the main square. She almost wished it had taken them longer to arrive, but she tried not to seem too disappointed.

“Well, here we are,” she said, standing at the end of the walkway that led to her door. She didn’t want to bring him too close to the windows, in case her nosy mother were peering out. She had made it very clear that mothers had a seventh sense when their daughters brought home boys. Hope had laughed at the time, but currently, she wasn’t anxious to test that seventh sense out.

Carolina: jokes on u Hope - mOMS ALWAYS KNOW IT'S THEIR SUPER POWER! but also if hope not wanting to bring him closer a'int a mood lol

“Oh.” He seemed as reluctant to part as she was. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Hope.”

Carolina: oKAY NOW ASK HER OUT LYALL DO IT

Also Carolina: go on and kiss the girl (on her hand bc that's cute as heck and she is a lady, lyall lupin

“You as well.”

“Don’t go wandering around in the woods in the dark anymore, alright?” he quipped, eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Wouldn’t want to attract any more Boggarts, now would I?” she replied, teasingly.

Lyall started a bit at the word and then let out a laugh a second later. “Exactly.” 

Carolina: lmao he must have been TERRIFIED for a moment. "oh no i just broke the statute of secrecy" must have been his internal monologue for a moment there

They stood, staring at each other for a moment, that same warmth covering them, and both wished that this didn’t have to be goodbye.

“I should… probably get going.”

Carolina: oh my gosh...that reluctance...my inner hopeless romantic is scREAMING

Hope nodded, sure that her disappointment was clear, though she was attempting to play it off as tiredness. She did not succeed. Lyall turned to leave before stopping. In a second, he was facing her again.

“Would you mind if I came to see you again? Just to check up on you? Would that be alright?” he asked, nearly stumbling over his words and his barely concealed excuse.

A grin covered Hope’s face and she didn’t even care to try and hide it. “I’d really love that.”

He laughed, his grin matching hers. “Good. Then, I’ll see you soon, Hope Howell.”

“I’ll see you soon, Lyall Lupin.” 

Carolina: full names?? fULL NAMES?? BECAUSE THEY JUST WANT TO KEEP SAYING EACH OTHER'S NAMES??? HI YES PLEASE AND THANK YOU

She bit her lip, trying not to burst into excited giggles, because, really, that was so uncharacteristic of her. After a beat she turned and walked swiftly to the front door. When she reached the handle, she couldn’t help herself and turned to wave at him. He was still standing exactly where she had left him, watching her as she went. He wiggled his fingers in return and she sighed, content.

She pushed into the front room, feeling the warmth from the fireplace cover her in an instant. Everything was where it had been that morning. Her house was still her house, the couches and tables and blankets were all exactly where they had been before she left for Carreg. But she was different.

Lyall Lupin made her feel different.

Carolina: can you hear my squeals of delight over how gosh darn lovely their feelings for each other are???

“Is that you, calon bach?” came her mother’s voice drifting out from the kitchen.

“It’s me mam.”

“How was Carreg? Did you have a nice time?”

Hope bit her lip, shaking her head in disbelief as she remembered the warmth and compassion she had seen in the eyes of Lyall Lupin. 

Lyall Lupin. 

Lyall Lupin who wanted to see her again, just as much as she wanted to see him.

Carolina: i love that her thoughts keep going back to Lyall it's cute

Her hand drifted into her pocket and pulled out the small wrapped chocolate, the wrapper shining in the light of the living room. She turned it over and over in her hands, grateful for the anchor to reality, the promise the chocolate seemed to portray. It was a promise that Lyall Lupin was real. And he was going to come back to her.

Carolina: imma just go and say it. chocolate is incredibly important to the lupins as a family even before remus became a werewolf and i think that's wonderful because it just carries on into each aspect of their lives. i really like that you brought it back to the chocolate

“Yeah, mam. I had a real nice time,” came her belated reply and she stuffed the chocolate away again, heading toward the kitchen.

Lyall watched as the beautiful woman disappeared from his view and the door closed behind her. He couldn’t help the grin that covered his face. He must have looked nearly manic, going on so.

“The lads will never forgive me if I carry on like this,” he whispered with a laugh. And then, suddenly, the place where Lyall Lupin was standing was empty, the young man appearing to have evaporated into thin air. 

-

Okay, well. That’s part one. Lemme know if part two is of any interest to you. I mean, I’ll probably post it anyway, but whatever. I hope you enjoyed Carolina as much as I always do!

[calumcest]

i took a walk with my fame down memory lane (i never did find my way back) - chapter five

[ao3]

cannot believe the malum is going somewhere now this is truly scenes...only 50k into the fic and all...would you believe that i don’t read fics over 8k long because i’m too impatient i’m literally the worlds biggest hypocrite i HATE slow burn look at me. i literally write everything i hate 

@tirednotflirting my lovely basically-co-writer i love you thank you for dealing with this shit i changed like half of it i cannot believe you had to read it in the state it was in...truly vile...also this chapter actually owes its life to @kaleidoscopeminds i wasn’t going to post today bc the laptop i have to use rn is doing my nut and bc i thought nobody cares but meg cares and so this is for her <3 

Noel gets back the next afternoon. 

He’s dishevelled, he’s sleep-deprived, he’s stone-cold sober and in a right fucking mood, but he’s there. Calum sees him at breakfast, sat at a table chatting to Alan - he’s just got off his flight, still hasn’t taken his suitcase back up to his room, looks like he hasn’t got changed in the four days he’s been gone - and when Noel spots him, he just stares for a minute, wavering, like he’s not sure how Calum’s going to react. It makes Calum falter too, because Noel’s always so certain about these things, always scoffs and says c’mon, then, don’t be a dick, all business-like, so it’s an unexpected reaction. It feels almost like a shift, feels like maybe something’s irrevocably changed, now, and he’s not really sure what to make of it, not sure whether the way his stomach flips is because of that or Noel or the comedown he’s currently pushing through. 

He heads to the table, though, because what the fuck else is he supposed to do - skip a free meal? No fucking chance - and Noel’s eyes follow him the whole way, a slight edge of trepidation leaking into the edges as Calum gets closer and closer until he’s hovering at the table. He’s not going to speak first, Calum realises. He’s going to let Calum take the lead, and that’s unusual too, nothing like the Noel that had left all of four days ago. Jesus, what the fuck do they do to the water in San Diego? Whatever it is, he hopes Noel’s brought some back for Liam to drink.

Alan’s watching the two of them, that managerial instinct telling him that something’s not quite right here, like he can see the way Calum’s skin is crawling with this strange, unknown hesitancy around Noel, and Calum doesn’t want to make a scene in front of him, so he just cocks his head and looks down at Noel.

“You’re a prick,” he says. Noel blinks, and for a brief moment Calum’s stomach drops, like maybe even that has changed, now, like maybe that’s not the right way to say I love you, you massive cunt anymore, and then Noel grins tiredly. 

“Aye,” he says simply, and Calum grins back, relief flooding his veins, and sits down opposite Noel.

It goes pretty much the same with Tony and Bonehead, although Bonehead does cuff Noel upside the head a little harder than strictly necessary. Liam doesn’t come down for food, even though he’s always the first up, and when he realises that the waiters are clearing away the chafing dishes without an indignant Mancunian telling them oi, I’ve only had six hash browns, Calum exchanges a look with Bonehead. Liam’s going to make Noel go to him, isn’t going to let them have a chance meeting. He’s going to make Noel go to him, which for Noel is the same as crawling through broken glass on his hands and knees. 

Noel does it, though, swallows his pride and heads up to Liam’s room when everybody else is chatting animatedly, relief powering the conversation. Calum doesn’t even notice he’s gone until he turns to ask Noel to back him up on Help! being better than Rubber Soul, which is probably what Noel wanted. He’d hate to make a big show of it, for everyone to know that the roles are reversed, that Noel’s going to Liam rather than Liam going to Noel. Still, though, Calum thinks, turning back to the rest of the group and launching into his impassioned defence of Help!, it’s not like Noel. Something’s changed, and Calum’s not entirely sure what, and he doesn’t fucking like it. 

The rest of them don’t see Liam and Noel all day, but when Calum passes by Liam’s room he hears two low voices talking calmly, quietly, rationally, and catches what sounds like look, you love me, I love you, so let’s make this work, and ...for mam’s sake, if nowt else. They emerge again at dinner, and don’t speak about it, and nobody dares to ask, not even Calum. It’s not like anyone else would understand, anyway; the two of them live on another fucking planet where the normal rules of brotherhood and family and basic fucking decency don’t apply. 

Once Noel and Liam have made up, though - or, at least, started calling each other cunts a little less venomously - the rest of the American leg of the tour goes off without a hitch. 

They’re there until late October, and despite an edge of tension in the band, a little uncertainty as they all try to find their feet in their new, post-Whiskey-a-Go-Go-disaster relationships, the tour goes well. Noel and Liam don’t escalate past their usual arguments, only ignore each other for a few hours at a time, and all their dates are sold out. On top of all that, the album’s hitting heights none of them had even dreamed of. 

(Well, maybe Liam had dreamed of them. In fact, Liam had laid it out plainly for them on the first day of recording, pointing accusingly first at Noel, then Bonehead, then Calum, then back to Noel, skipping Tony completely: it’s going to be number fucking one, you hear me, and it’s going to go fucking platinum, and whatever the fuck comes after platinum. It’s going to be fucking mega. ) 

Noel had written some songs while he was in San Diego, one candid acoustic ballad that makes Calum and Bonehead share a slightly alarmed glance when they hear it, and Alan insists that they’re masterpieces, so they head to a studio in Texas to record them. Calum stands with Liam behind the thick glass that separates the live room from the control room, watches as Noel blinks down at his acoustic guitar and sings I wanna talk tonight ‘bout how you saved my life and then looks up at either Calum or Liam, Calum can’t tell, and sings you and me see how we are. It sends a shiver down his spine, the sheer fucking openness of it, and for the first time makes him think shit, what was going through Noel’s head when he was gone? He’s been so preoccupied with their side of it, with Bonehead’s drinking and Tony and Maggie’s conversations and Liam shutting himself in his room that he hadn’t stopped to think about what Noel might have been feeling, about just how literally Noel means you saved my life. 

When the rest of them get back into the studio to record the other songs, though, it feels like something slotting back into place. It reminds them all who they are, what they are, and smooths over the discordance, evens out the dissonance. The five of them come out of it grinning, laughing, shaking their heads at some ridiculous tale Liam’s spinning, and it feels good. For the first time in weeks, giddy with nothing but adrenaline and love, Calum feels good. The music’s what makes them, and the music’s what fixes them. It’s an important lesson, that they can go through something like that and stitch up the wounds with a few guitar strings, and it makes them all feel a little more grounded, a little more confident that they’re back on their feet. 

The day of their flight back to the UK, when they’re all still nursing their incredible hangovers from the celebrations of finishing the North American leg of the tour the night before, Calum goes down for breakfast to find Noel and Liam already sat at the table, deep in what looks like a heated conversation. He hesitates for a moment - any conversation with the brothers whispering fiercely like that is likely a conversation he wants no part in - but it’s too late, because Noel’s seen him, and he’s beckoning him over, brows knitted together. 

“What?” Calum says warily, about three feet from the table, far enough away that he can still make a break for it if it devolves into a shouting match. 

“D’you know where we were this morning?” Noel says. Calum shrugs. He doesn’t even know where they are now, let alone where Noel and Liam might have disappeared to before he was awake. 

“We had a radio interview,” Liam says. Calum’s not sure why he’s supposed to care about that. 

“With Blur,” Noel adds, and Calum’s stomach drops. 

What the fuck? 

“What the fuck?” Calum says, trying his best to school his features into something neutral, feeling the two identical sets of blue eyes scrutinising him, watching for a reaction. “Why- what? Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“We didn’t know,” Liam says, a little coolly, and takes a sip of his tea, eyes still on Calum to see how he reacts. 

“What happened?” 

“What the fuck was s’posed to happen?” Noel says, raising an eyebrow. “We did the fucking interview.” 

“Without calling them cunts?” 

“‘Course,” Liam says, pulling a cigarette out of the packet lying between himself and Noel on the table. “We’re fucking professionals, we are.” Calum snorts. The most professional thing either of them have done is turn up to a bus call only twenty minutes late. 

“You did call Damon a prick,” Noel says mildly to Liam, who waves the hand that isn’t flicking his lighter dismissively. 

“Cal asked about cunt, though, didn’t he?” he mumbles around his cigarette, and Calum and Noel both roll their eyes, Calum huffing out a laugh and Noel tutting, both edged with fondness. 

“The Sun’s going to have a fucking field day,” Calum says, deciding it’s safe enough to sit down. The two of them don’t seem in too bad of a mood; in fact, they seem a little too calm, both of them looking at Calum with almost blank expressions, heads tilted one way. “What?” Calum adds, a little defensively, and Liam leans forwards, taking the cigarette out of his mouth just so he can speak properly. 

“Mike was there,” he says, like he’s revealing a big secret that he’s been bursting to tell. Calum’s heart skips a beat, but he keeps his face straight, and just blinks at Liam. So that’s what this is about. He should’ve known, really; it would have been too much to ask for the Gallagher brothers to forget about that part of Calum’s sexual history for, like, two fucking minutes. 

“Well, he’s part of Blur, isn’t he?” Calum says. 

“He asked after you,” Noel says, far too nonchalantly, stirring his tea. Calum swallows, feeling the all-too-familiar guilt surge up in his lungs. He shouldn’t be talking to Michael. He shouldn’t have taken Michael’s number, shouldn’t have learnt it off by heart, shouldn’t have sat in Noel’s empty hotel room and turned to Michael on one of the worst days of his life. And he definitely shouldn’t have done all of that without telling Liam or Noel. 

“Oh,” Calum says. “Well.” He’s not sure what else to say, what else the guilt will even let him say. “What did you say?” Liam throws him a slightly indignant look. 

“Told him to fuck off, obviously,” he says, like he’s a little offended Calum’s even asked. “Not telling him fuck all about you, am I?” God. If it were anyone else they were talking about, Calum would feel a pure rush of love for Liam, at the fact he’s so unquestioningly and unnecessarily protective of Calum, but because it’s Michael, a huge surge of guilt washes over the love that rises in him, lapping at his veins before the love can get there. 

“Oh,” Calum says again, and Liam just turns back to his tea, clearly thinking the conversation’s over, that what needed to be said has been said and satisfied with Calum’s response. Noel, though, is still looking at Calum, something too perceptive in his cool blue eyes. 

“Why would he ask?” he says, and there’s an edge to his voice, something cold and challenging. 

“What d’you mean?” Calum says, holding his gaze, trying to push all the panic rising in his chest back before it reaches his eyes. Shit, what the fuck had Michael said? Did he mention anything about the phone call? Does Noel know?

“Seems a bit friendly.” Noel’s eyes are carefully blank, expression guarded, not giving anything away, cards held close to his chest. 

“He’s a friendly guy,” Calum says, relieved at how even his voice comes out. “Just because you two are cunts.” At that, Liam looks up again, frowning. 

“Who’s a cunt?” he says, incensed. Calum almost lets out a sigh of relief - if Liam’s back in the conversation, Noel won’t say anything else. At least, not now, he won’t. Calum’s just buying himself time, really; Noel’s going to stew on it, mull it over on late-night bus calls and midday hangovers, and come back to Calum when he thinks he’s got something infallible to slash at Calum’s defences with.

“You are,” Noel tells Liam. 

“You are too,” Calum reminds him, and Noel shrugs. 

“Could be worse,” he says. “Could be Damon Albarn.” Liam snorts, and even Calum has to roll his eyes and shake his head, reaching over for Noel’s tea and pulling it towards him, wanting something to do with his jittery fingers. Noel lets him, even pushes a packet of sugar in his direction because he knows Calum can’t stand drinking tea unless it’s immediately going to give him diabetes, and Calum smiles, watching as something a little disarmed crosses Noel’s face for a split second before he schools his features back into that half-irritated, half-challenging expression that’s so Noel he might as well patent it. 

Strange, Calum thinks, as he empties the entire packet of sugar into what’s now his tea. Noel doesn’t have chinks in his armour, not really. At least, not when it comes to anyone whose name doesn’t start with an ‘L’ and end with an ‘iam’, and last time Calum checked, he wasn’t a loud-mouthed twat from Manchester that Noel’s been exasperatedly hauling out of trouble for the past two decades. He doesn’t really have time to wonder what it’s about, though, because then Liam’s sighing loudly, raising his hand to catch the nearest waiter’s attention, and saying: “Alright, mate, don’t happen to know where the best place to score coke around here is, do you?” 

“Liam,” Noel says warningly, the well-worn older-brother irritation already lacing his tone, and Liam just shoots him a what? sort of look, as the waiter stares back at them. 

“Coke?” he asks, a little hesitantly, like he’s sure he’s misunderstanding what Liam’s asking. 

“Yeah, mate, y’know, the old Colombian marching powder,” Liam says, nodding his head, like this is a perfectly normal conversation to have with a waiter at ten in the morning. 

“I- uh, sir, I’m not sure-” the waiter starts, a little nervously, and Liam leans forwards. 

“Cocaine, mate,” he says slowly, clearly thinking the waiter’s not caught on, like that’s the only possible explanation for why he’s not immediately gone oh, yeah, ‘course, hang on, let me my local dealer on the line.

“Piss off, Liam,” Noel says, a definite note of annoyance in his voice now, and Liam’s like a shark to blood, turns away from the waiter, all thoughts of getting whatever white powder he can procure up his nose forgotten as he spots a new drug of choice; arguing with Noel. It’s something Calum’s seen a hundred times, the way Liam will find a gap in Noel’s defences and worm his way in, make a home under Noel’s skin just for a few minutes of his attention, and it’s not something he fancies sticking around to watch, knowing it’ll end with fists flying with no regard for who might be caught in the crossfire.

“I’m going back up,” he says, even though he hasn’t eaten yet, but neither Noel or Liam are listening anymore, already caught in a half-hissed, half-yelled conversation about whether it’s inappropriate or street-smart to ask a random local guy for coke plugs at his job, Liam, at his fucking job, and do you know how many fucking hotels we’ve been kicked out of because of you so far this year? Liam’s raising his voice as Calum walks out of the room, shouting something about me? It’s not just me, you prick, you were in fucking Sweden as well, right, and you’re the one who took off to fucking San Diego, what the fuck else was I going to do while we all waited for you to stop being such a pathetic little cunt? , and Calum knows he’s left just in time when he hears the sound of crockery shattering in the distance as he jogs back up the stairs to his room. He doesn’t really mind, though, doesn’t care if they get kicked out of this hotel too, because all he can think, heart pounding, is why the fuck did Michael ask after me, when the last thing he might have heard is me calling him ‘no one’?

He doesn’t even get time to think about that, though, because Bonehead’s on his way down as Calum’s on his way up, and he blocks Calum’s path and insists Calum join him on a walk to the supermarket because the amount of beer he’s going to have to drink to deal with the brothers on an eight hour flight back home needs two people to carry it. Calum thinks shit, he’s right, so they fetch Tony to carry all the alcohol Calum’s going to need to drink too, and then spend the walk to the shop and the entire time traipsing around it arguing about whether or not Tony should get any of the alcohol they’re loading into their arms. Calum weighs in for the first ten minutes, but it becomes clear Bonehead and Tony are just looking to fight about something, so Calum draws back and lets them have at each other, walks next to them and lets the sound of their rowing wash over him as his thoughts turn back to Michael.

Did Michael really want to know? Or was it a power play, him saying something to Liam and Noel knowing it would get back to Calum? No, surely not, Calum thinks, as Tony and Bonehead bicker about whether or not Tony deserves at least one of the six-packs Bonehead’s picked up. Michael wouldn’t do that. He’s not that kind of person. 

Maybe Michael isn’t, a little voice in his head says, but maybe Mike is. You don’t know Mike, do you? 

(Calum thrusts one of his six-packs at Tony, suddenly feeling a little too sick to drink.)

  -------

  They head back to Europe in November, first to the UK to record Whatever, and then straight off to France. Noel even manages to make a joke about the Amsterdam ferry incident as they’re waiting to board in Dover, which is as close to saying I forgive you to Liam for the episode as he’s going to get. 

Calum doesn’t speak to Michael for almost two months. He doesn’t want to call first, after the way the last call ended and still uncertain about the whole Michael-Liam-Noel situation, and Michael doesn’t call him. Calum tries not to dwell on it, to think too hard about the sound of the dial tone and the way he’d called Michael no one, but Blur are fucking everywhere. It seems like they’re playing all the same places as Oasis but a few weeks earlier, because every time Calum walks down a French street he’s accosted by blown up images of Michael’s face, moody and pretty, staring down at him from billboards and bus stops and fucking lampposts. 

It’s one of those posters stuck haphazardly onto a lamppost in Berlin that Calum sees, a few hours before they’re due to play a show, that reminds him, with a jolt, what the date is. 

The twentieth of November. 

Michael’s birthday. 

Calum’s almost taken aback that he remembers. He’d forgotten for the past three or four years - the date had passed him by without so much as a second glance - and the thought makes him feel a little guilty, a little sick, like he’s broken a promise to himself that he never even knew he made. 

There’s a little phone booth next to the lamppost that looks like it might not even be working, and Calum finds himself striding in that direction, fumbling in his pocket for the few German coins he’d been given. It’s nothing, he tells himself, as he starts dialling Michael’s number. It’s just polite to wish someone a happy birthday. It doesn’t mean anything. 

It only takes two rings for someone to pick up, a soft click and a moment of silence at the other end of the line.

“Hello?” It’s not Michael; it’s a woman. Maybe Michael has a house-sitter? Calum’s pretty sure Michael must be loaded now, right, if he’s in Blur? He’s probably not pissing all his royalties away on drink and drugs. They probably have a group accountant to manage everything for them, rather than Noel cuffing them all upside the head and going eeyar, yous need to start buying cheaper coke.  

“Oh,” Calum says. “Uh. I’m looking for Michael?” 

“He’s in Japan at the moment,” the woman says. Her voice is sweet and warm, almost comforting, and oddly familiar. It’s probably just the Australian accent, Calum thinks. Anyone with an Australian accent has sounded familiar to him since he left.

“Oh,” Calum says again. He should’ve guessed, really. Of course Michael’s not at home. He’s in a fucking band. In Blur, no less. Of course he’s on tour. 

“May I ask who’s calling?” the woman says. Calum hesitates. 

“Just a friend,” he says, a little evasively. “Just- uh. Wanted to wish him a happy birthday, is all.” 

“Oh, that’s lovely,” the woman says, and she sounds like she’s smiling. “I can give you the number of his hotel room in Japan, if you’d like.” 

“I-” Calum’s not sure what to say to that. He might be sending a message he’s not entirely sure he wants to send if Michael finds out Calum had called his house first, and then got the number for his hotel in Japan. 

“Or I can pass along a message?” the woman offers. “What’s the name?” Calum bites his lip. It can’t hurt, he thinks. It’s not like Michael will have spoken about Calum to anyone who’s known him in the past few years, if he hadn’t told his own bandmates. 

“Yeah,” Calum says. “Yeah, that’d be good, thanks. It’s Calum.” The woman lets out a little gasp. 

“Calum Hood?” she says, and Calum’s stomach drops. "I should have recognised your voice! You've lost your accent, haven't you?"

“Uh,” he says intelligently, but she’s already started talking again. 

“It’s Karen,” she says. 

Oh, fucking hell. 

“Oh,” Calum says. Fuck. Jesus Christ. Of course it’s Michael’s mum. Of course Michael wouldn’t get a fucking house-sitter, rich and in Blur or not. It’s oddly steadying, though, that in this instance at least Michael’s Michael and not Mike, makes something electric shoot through Calum as he thinks maybe I still know enough of him. “Uh. Hi?” 

“I didn’t know you and Michael were still in contact,” she says, and he can hear the grin in her voice, how happy she sounds about it. It makes his stomach twist in guilt, heavy and leaden. 

“Yeah,” Calum says weakly. “Well. Not really. But- y’know. It’s his birthday.” He cringes at his own words, stilted and uncomfortable, but Karen doesn’t seem to notice. 

“I’m sure he’ll want to hear from you himself,” she says jovially. “I’ll give you his number, hang on a minute.”

“Actually, I-”

“Yes, here it is. Have you got a pen and paper?”

“I don’t-” Calum breaks off, looking wildly around him, and picks up the pen on the top of the telephone keypad, scratching it against the sign that tells him how much of his money he’s pissing away on this phone call. He’s roped into this, now, isn’t he? Karen will tell Michael Calum called, and if Calum doesn’t call Michael after telling Karen he would, it’ll look suspicious. Or it’ll look like he doesn’t care enough, which, with their fragile balance and Calum not knowing where Michael’s head’s at, is the last thing he wants. 

“Okay. It’s oh-one-two,” Karen begins, and Calum nods along as she reels off the number for him, phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder as he forces the last of the ink from the pen onto his hand. “Oh, and the country code is zero-zero-eight-one.” Great. Now he can’t even use that as an excuse. 

“Thanks,” Calum says, hoping it comes out genuine and not sarcastic. “I’ll, uh. I’ll call him, then.” 

“Do,” Karen says, and Calum can tell she’s positively beaming. God, he’s a terrible person. “I’m so happy you called, Calum. I should have known you two would have stayed in contact and not let any of this Blur versus Oasis nonsense get in the way of your friendship.” 

“Yeah,” Calum says feebly, feeling guilt tap insistently at his lungs, waiting to be let in. “Well. It was nice talking to you?” He’s not sure how to end a phone call that isn’t either a polite speak to you soon or an exasperated Liam, you cunt, don’t you fucking hang up on m- 

“Of course!” Karen says brightly. “I’m very proud of you, Calum. Y’know, I remember you getting your first ever guitar, and look at you now. I’m glad you kept your head screwed on straight.” Calum thinks of the three thin white lines Liam had cut for him earlier that are probably still in his bloodstream, and winces. 

“Yeah,” he says, trying for grateful. “I, uh, I try. Thank you.” 

“I’m sure I’ll speak to you soon,” Karen says. “I hope you manage to catch Michael!” 

“Thanks,” Calum says again, and hopes he doesn’t sound like he wants to gouge his own eyes out. Karen doesn’t seem to notice, though, just chirps a happy goodbye! and leaves Calum to stare at the telephone keypad, holding the receiver loosely in his hand, like he can’t really believe what’s just happened. 

Well, fuck. Now he’s got to call fucking Japan. 

Calum sighs and starts dialling the number, sending out prayers that Noel’s got some really big fucking tunes up his sleeve for the next album to pay for this call. It rings three times, and then there’s a click as someone picks up. 

“Hello?” It’s not Michael. Jesus Christ. Why the fuck is wishing someone a happy birthday this much of an ordeal?

“Is Michael there?” he asks. There’s a short pause. 

“Who’s calling?”

“A friend,” Calum says. “Who’s this?”

“Graham.” Which one was that? The one with glasses, right? The other guitarist? 

“Right. Is Michael around?” 

“Depends on who’s calling.” Calum sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. Wishing someone a happy birthday really shouldn’t be this fucking hard.

“It’s Calum,” he mumbles. “From Oasis,” he adds, in case Michael happens to have met a few more Calums in the past couple of years. 

“What the hell are you calling for?” 

“Why the hell d’you think?” Calum knows he sounds hostile, but he doesn’t care, not when the nervousness that had been contained in his stomach is starting to seep out into his bloodstream.

There’s another pause. 

“Alright,” Graham says, but he still sounds suspicious. There’s a rustling sound, and then Calum hears him yell Mike! Calum’s on the phone for you. Yes, Oasis Calum, d’you know any other Calums? Well, okay, yeah, but you haven’t spoken to him since last Chri-

Every second feels like an eternity - although that’s probably at least slightly to do with the fact that he’s spending his entire month’s pay on this call - but eventually there’s more rustling, some fierce muttering that Calum can’t understand beyond - in the bathroom, you dick, and then the sound of a phone being lifted to someone’s ear. 

“Calum?” Michael says, and there are footsteps, like he’s walking as far away from the handset as possible. 

“Happy birthday,” Calum says lamely. All of this for those two words. It feels incredibly anticlimactic. 

“Oh,” Michael says, and he sounds surprised. “I mean. Thanks. I didn’t think you’d remember.” Neither did Calum. 

“Well,” Calum says, because he doesn’t want to say that. “Just wanted to call and- uh, say happy birthday, I guess.” 

“How’d you get this number?” Michael asks, sounding curious. Calum bites his lip. 

“Your mum gave it to me,” he says. 

“You rang my house?” 

“Well, it’s the only number I have for you, isn’t it?” 

“Did you tell her it was you?” 

“Yeah.” Michael exhales heavily. 

“I haven’t told her,” he admits. “That we’re talking again. Or- y’know. I just haven’t mentioned.” 

“I know,” Calum says. “She was surprised that I called.”

“What did she say?” Michael asks. Calum swallows. 

“Just, y’know, nice to hear from me, she’s glad I called, all that,” he says vaguely. Michael hums, like he’s mulling it over, and Calum’s stomach flips. Maybe he shouldn’t have called at all. Maybe Michael wants Calum to be his dirty little secret just as much as Calum wants Michael to be his. After all, Calum’s own mum doesn't know either, does she? It’d be hypocritical of Calum to hold it against Michael if he wanted to keep it under wraps too. 

(It still kind of stings, though.)

“I’m going to get a fucking Spanish Inquisition when I get home,” Michael says eventually, and Calum huffs out a laugh, stomach untangling itself a little from the tight knot it’s been in for the past five minutes. 

“Yeah, probably,” he says, the ghost of a smile flitting across his face as he thinks back to being grilled and reprimanded by Karen any time she got so much as a whiff of a secret from either of them. “D’you remember that time she thought we-”

“Remember when she thought we’d been out smoking weed?” Michael blurts at the same time, and Calum can’t help but smile properly this time, heart somersaulting at the fact that Michael remembers too. 

“She was so angry,” Calum says, through a grin. “Kept saying she could smell it on you.”

“Fucking crazy woman,” Michael says, but Calum can hear that he’s grinning too. “We couldn’t afford weed, what was she on about? We hadn’t even been drinking, just been-” he cuts himself off abruptly, and the smile drops off Calum’s face. 

They’d been fucking, is what they’d been doing.

“Good thing she didn’t smell that on us,” Calum tries, and Michael huffs out a small laugh, but it’s tight and uncomfortable. Neither of them speak again for a moment, the silence awkward and palpable, until Michael sighs. 

“What are we doing?” he mumbles, sounding a little pained. 

“I’m wishing you a happy birthday,” Calum says, because he doesn’t want to follow the road that Michael’s words are beckoning him down.

“You know what I mean,” Michael says. “We need to talk.” Calum’s stomach twists. Those words are never followed by any good conversations. 

“Do we?” he says, hoping it doesn’t sound as apprehensive to Michael as it does to him. He doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t want to have that conversation, to hear Michael say you fucked up, and this is it, doesn’t want to have to go all the way to see him just to hear him say I don’t want you anymore.  

“When are you back in the UK?” 

“December,” Calum says. “Late December. Near Christmas, I think. I’ll have to ask Maggie.” 

“Maggie?”

“Our tour manager.” 

“Oh.” There’s a moment of silence. “Well. Call me when you’re back?” 

“Look,” Calum says, a little desperately, clutching the receiver to his ear. “I- if you want to, like, end whatever this is, not talk to me anymore, I’d rather you just do it now. I don’t want to travel all the way to London for you to tell me you never want to speak to me again.” Michael inhales, and doesn’t exhale. 

“I didn’t say that,” he says carefully, after a minute. “But we need to talk.” Calum blinks at the telephone keypad. He’s not sure what to make of that. 

“Okay,” he says. “I- uh, yeah. Okay. I’ll call you when I’m back home?” 

“Yeah,” Michael says. He pauses, and then adds: “I should go. I locked Graham in the bathroom to take this call.” Calum can’t help the snort that escapes him. 

“I should try that on Liam,” he says. 

“I think it’d take more than a bathroom door to contain Liam Gallagher,” Michael says. He’s got a point. 

“You’ve got a point,” Calum concedes, and he hears Michael huff out a small laugh at the other end of the line, crackled and tinny but genuine and soft. “I should probably go too. I’ve got a show in a few hours.” 

“Where?” 

“Berlin.” Michael hums. 

“We played there a few weeks ago,” he says. 

“I know,” Calum says, without thinking. “Uh. I mean. The posters are all still up.” 

“Surprised Liam and Noel haven’t gone around tearing them all down,” Michael says, and Calum can hear the smile in his voice. 

“I think they’re planning on pasting posters of us over you.” 

“Hope they have a lot of them.” Calum grins, eyeing the three Blur posters he can see in his line of vision. 

“That’ll be my entire share of the royalties gone,” he says, and Michael snorts. 

“I really should go,” he says, sounding a little regretful. “I’ve got to spend at least half an hour convincing Graham not to tell Damon I locked him in a bathroom to talk to you.” 

“Why?” Calum’s not sure why he asks, because he’s fairly certain he doesn’t want to hear the answer. Because I don’t want anyone to know we’re talking. Because I want to keep you a secret. Because I’m ashamed of you. It’s even worse because he can’t blame Michael for it.

“If I do anything to Graham, Damon takes it as a personal attack.” Oh. Well. That probably shouldn’t make something warm blossom in Calum’s stomach, the fact that it’s not because of him, but it does. 

“Damon doesn’t seem particularly intimidating,” Calum says. 

“You fucking wait,” Michael says, and there’s a fondness to his tone that makes Calum’s heart ache, because Michael used to talk about him like that. “Call me when you’re back in the UK, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Calum says. “Bye, Michael.” He’s expecting a click, the thin sound of the dial tone, but it doesn’t come. 

“I’m glad you called,” Michael says after a moment, all in a rush, like he’s had to build up the nerve to say it. 

“I’m glad I did, too,” Calum says, and he can’t help the small smile playing at his lips. Michael’s glad he called. 

“I’ll see you soon,” Michael says. 

“Yeah,” Calum says, smile slipping off his face as his stomach flips unpleasantly thinking of the inevitable conversation. “Soon.” 

The dial tone rings loud and harsh, and Calum listens to it for a good few moments before putting the phone down and stepping out of the booth. Three Michaels stare at him from different angles as he heads back for the hotel, declaring something in German that he can’t read, eyes seeming to follow Calum as he turns the corner. They seem almost disapproving, like they know Calum doesn’t want to talk. Or maybe that’s Calum’s guilt-ridden imagination. 

Well, Calum thinks, stomach flipping as his eyes find another picture of Michael plastered to a lamppost. At least they aren’t posters of Noel and Liam, in that case. 

  -------

  December comes far too soon. 

The album goes platinum while they’re in Southampton, or maybe Sheffield, and Calum joins the rest of the band at some grimy nightclub, drunk and high and full of adrenaline because shit, that’s their fucking album. Number one and platinum, fucking hell. It doesn’t feel fucking real.

They film a video for Whatever somewhere in London, and Noel turns up late to the filming, still dressed in his clothes from the night before, so drunk that he can barely play his guitar. Liam’s fucking furious, probably because this is the first time Noel’s ever been drunker than him, and Calum has to spend the rest of the day making sure Liam doesn’t go into the same room as Noel, because they still have a few weeks worth of dates in the UK and they could do with having both the lead guitarist and singer alive for them. 

The UK dates pass so fast in blurs of games of Frustration on the tour bus as green and grey whip past the window that Calum barely notices that it’s their week off until he sees a river that looks suspiciously like the Mersey and asks Noel where they are. 

(“Liverpool,” Noel says, throwing him a strange look. 

“We’re going home tomorrow,” Liam adds.

“Too right you’re fucking going home,” Noel says. “Not fucking kipping at mine again.” Liam scowls, opens his mouth with an indignant expression, and Calum decides now’s a great time to find Alan and ask him about the re-stringing of Calum’s bass he’d said he’d sort out before the gig.) 

He’s so exhausted after their last show, having his first proper comedown in weeks, that he can’t do anything but crash through the front door and stumble to his bed at six in the morning. He sleeps like the fucking dead, and by the time he gets up and showers, feeling a bit more alive than he has done the past few days, it’s nearly dark outside. 

“Good morning,” his mum says pointedly, when he wanders into the kitchen, yawning, and pulls open the fridge. 

“Morning,” Calum says, pulling out a beer and some leftover pasta. “Where’s Dad?” 

“Gone fishing,” his mum says. Calum grunts to let her know he’s acknowledged it, and heads to the microwave. 

“Liam called earlier,” his mum says, as he presses some random buttons - he really should figure out how this microwave works - and then sets it off. 

“Oh?” Calum says. 

“He was asking if you wanted to come round tonight,” his mum says. Calum hums, frowning a little. Liam’s not very good at being on his own, no one to take his endless energy out on now that both Paul and Noel have moved out, but he can usually take at least a day or two. 

“Might do,” he says, because there might be something more to it if Liam’s already itching to see him again after less than twenty-four hours, and then sees the disappointed look on his mum’s face. “After dinner?” Her face clears, and she nods. 

“We’ll be eating around seven,” she says. “Oh, and another bit of wall’s fallen in. Could you take a look?” Calum groans, and tips his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. 

“Fucking hell,” he mutters under his breath, drawing out the first syllable. His mum tuts, and the microwave dings. “Yeah, alright.” He opens his eyes and reaches for the microwave. 

“Michael called, too,” his mum says, and Calum swears again as the plate drops out of his hand and crashes to the floor, smashing to pieces and dropping hot, steaming pasta everywhere. His mum jumps out of the way, swears loudly, and says: “Bloody hell, Calum.”

“Sorry,” Calum says, scrambling to his knees to try and pick up as many pieces of plate as he can. “It was hot.” His cheeks are burning, partially from embarrassment and partially from whatever’s making his heart race like it is, and he stares steadfastly at the floor as he shuffles around. 

“What did he want?” Calum asks, as casually as he can, speaking to the floor. 

“He didn’t say,” his mum says. She hesitates, and then adds: “What’s going on with you two?” Fuck if Calum knows. 

“I don’t know,” Calum says, still not looking at her. He doesn’t want to see the inevitable disapproving look on her face, the motherly instinct to stop him doing something that’s probably just going to get him hurt etched on her features.  

“When did you start speaking again?” Calum hesitates, hand hovering over a shard of ceramic. He’s not really sure himself. Would it be the awards show? Or Glastonbury? Or that first phone call a few weeks later? It’d be Glastonbury, he supposes, because Michael hadn’t even acknowledged his existence at the awards show, couldn’t even look Calum in the eye. Glastonbury had been the first time Michael had admitted to the both of them that he still remembered Calum. 

“Glastonbury,” he says, and his mum inhales sharply. 

“Why didn’t you say?” she asks. Calum sits back on his heels, looking up at her, and shrugs. 

“I didn’t know how,” he says, which is sort of the truth. He leaves out the fact that he hadn’t really wanted to tell her, had wanted to squirrel it away, the last little piece of Michael that he could have to himself. 

Her expression softens, and she purses her lips, a little sadly. 

“Be careful with him,” she says, and Calum’s not sure whether she means Calum should protect himself or protect Michael. After all, she’d seen all the unopened letters Michael had sent.

“Yeah,” he says, looking back down at the pasta still spread across the floor. It feels sort of fitting, somehow. “I’ll try.” His mum sighs, and pushes herself off the kitchen counter she’s been leaning against. 

“Go,” she says. “I’ll clean this up.” 

“No, it’s alright, I-”

“Go,” she says, a little more sternly, and Calum gets to his knees, wiping his hands and dusting his knees off. 

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll just-” 

“Call him,” she says. He hates that she knows him so well. 

Calum heads out for the phone in the hallway, not wanting to take the call in the living room or kitchen where his mum might eavesdrop, and dials Michael’s number. He twirls the cord around his finger while it rings three times, until there’s a click and someone picks up.

“Hello?” 

“Hi.”

“Oh,” Michael says. “Hi. Your mum said you were asleep.” 

“Yeah,” Calum says, a little apologetically. “I didn’t get up until, like, half an hour ago. We played our last show for a while yesterday.” 

“Oh,” Michael says again, a note of recognition in his voice. Of course, Calum thinks; Michael’ll know what last shows - particularly home shows - are like. “Well. I just wanted to see if you were home, really.” He doesn’t say why, but they both know. 

“I am ‘til the twenty-seventh,” Calum says. Michael hums. 

“When can you come down?” Calum exhales heavily. He could go down any day, really. Tomorrow, if Michael wanted. He’s not sure whether he should just get it over with, or whether he should make the most of the last few days that he might have with the secret feeling of maybe there’s still hope. It’s been six months; he can probably stand a few more days of anticipation. But then again, it’ll be better to get it out of the way now, to have as long before Christmas as he can to gather himself after whatever Michael will throw his way so that it’s not overshadowing the few days his parents will get with him before he’s off again. 

“Tomorrow?” he offers, a little tentatively. He’s not sure whether it seems a bit too keen. 

“Yeah, tomorrow’s good,” Michael says. 

“I can be in London for twelve?” He winces, thinking about how early he’s going to have to get up for that. 

“Twelve works. Where d’you come in?” 

“Euston.” 

“Can you get to Camden?” Michael asks. “Or d’you want me to pick you up?” 

“No, I can get there,” Calum says, even though he’s not entirely sure he can. 

“Alright. I’ll give you my address, hang on-” there’s scrambling at the other end of the line. 

“D’you not know your own address?” 

“I- well, sort of, but-” Calum can’t help but laugh. “Fuck you,” Michael says, but Calum can hear he’s smiling too. “You got a pen and paper?” 

“Yeah,” Calum says. Michael reels off an address, postcode and all, and Calum dutifully jots it down, only stopping him once to ask whether he’d said D or E. 

“Alright,” Calum says, re-capping the pen and tearing the sheet of paper off the pad next to the phone. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” 

“See you tomorrow,” Michael echoes, and Calum only hesitates for a moment before hanging up. It feels strange, he thinks, not to hear the dial tone ringing in his ear, one last reminder of Michael even after he’s gone.

(He wonders whether Michael lingered like he always does.) 

  -------

  Liam ends up coming round for dinner, sounding relieved and grateful when Calum calls him and offers, making Calum frown and file the information away to quiz him on later. Calum’s mum rolls her eyes and makes exasperated noises when Calum tells her he’s coming, because now I have to make dinner for four people, Calum, couldn’t you have told me a bit earlier? but Calum knows she doesn’t really mind. Brash and corrosive though Liam can be, he’s got a childlike charm to him that captivates anybody who meets him, Calum’s parents included. They spend dinner laughing at stories Liam tells about tour, exaggerated and carefully skipping over all the drug use, and Calum’s mum even waves them away when they go to help wash up, tells them with a smile to head to the pub, go on, enjoy yourselves, you deserve it. 

“I fucking love your mam,” Liam says, practically skipping as they walk down the dark street to the pub. He’s not even wearing a coat, the fucking madman. Calum huddles further into his own, nosing into the collar of it as the cold wind whips at him. 

“You’re just saying that because she made your favourite pasta,” Calum says, and Liam turns back to him and grins. 

“Didn’t hurt,” he says. “C’mon, it’s cold.” 

“Why the fuck didn’t you bring a coat?” Liam shrugs, hopping from foot to foot. Calum’s not sure whether it’s because he’s cold, or because he’s Liam. 

“Nearly there, anyway,” Liam says, as they round the corner to the street the pub’s on. “Mam gave me a tenner for drinks.” Calum snorts. 

“Why’s your mum giving you money for drinks?” he says. “You’ve got a fucking number one album.” Liam grins. 

“Still the youngest kid, though, aren’t I?” he says, eyes twinkling. He’s got a point. Peggy would never give Noel a tenner for the pub. 

“Y’know, I can see why Noel hates you,” Calum comments, and Liam’s grin widens as he pushes open the door of the pub. 

It’s warm inside, and Calum says he’ll get them a table if Liam gets the drinks, which Liam doesn’t want to do until he sees a pretty girl tending the bar, and then he’s off like a shot. Calum squeezes between a bunch of tipsy men laughing far too loudly into a table in the back corner, wrinkling his nose as he steadies himself on the table and comes into contact with something sticky. Gross. 

Liam, inevitably, takes a good twenty minutes to come back with the drinks and a phone number tucked into his shirt pocket, grinning and eyes twinkling as he sets Calum’s pint down opposite him. 

“Took your fucking time,” Calum says, raising an eyebrow, and lifts the pint to his lips. 

“Did you fucking see her?” Liam says. “‘Course I took my bloody time.” He takes a sip from his own pint, and then nods at Calum’s. “You owe me for that.” 

“No I don’t,” Calum says. Liam scowls at him.

“That’s your fucking Christmas present then,” he says, and Calum rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling into his beer.

They drink in comfortable silence for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts. Calum’s enjoying the warmth of the pub, the familiarity, the way it feels a little like home. He wonders whether Sydney would feel foreign to him now, whether he’d still love the feeling of the warm sand under his feet at Christmas. 

“We used to go to the beach at Christmas,” he says, without thinking. Liam shoots him a strange look, before his face clears. 

“Oh, ‘s all the wrong way round down there, innit?” he says, like he’s just remembered. “Must be weird for you, Christmas being cold.” Calum shrugs. 

“It was at first,” he says. “I’m used to it now.” 

“Oh aye?” Liam sounds genuinely interested, so Calum carries on. 

“Yeah,” he says, with another shrug. “I never saw snow until I moved here.” 

“Did it freak you out?” Liam asks. “Seeing things all white, and that.” Calum blinks at him. 

“What?” 

“Well, if you’d never seen snow, what’d you think all the white stuff was?”

“I knew what snow was, you fucking idiot,” Calum says incredulously. “Fucking hell.” 

“Well, how the fuck am I meant to know that?” Liam says defensively. 

“You ever seen a camel? You think camels don’t exist?” 

“ Yeah, but-”

“You thought I didn’t know what snow was?” 

“How the fuck am I meant to know what they do and don’t teach you in Australia?” Liam demands, and Calum snorts and shakes his head. 

“You’re fucking unbelievable,” Calum says, even though Liam thinking Calum didn’t know what snow was until he moved to the UK is entirely believable. Liam scowls, but it’s good-natured. 

“Fuck you,” he says. “You wait, I’m going to fucking leave you in Australia when we tour there.” 

“You wouldn’t last a minute without me,” Calum says confidently. “Who’ll save you from the bities?” 

“The fucking what? Bikeys?” 

“Or the freshies and salties?” 

“What? Those aren’t words. You’re fucking making this up, you are.” Calum laughs, and Liam folds his arms, resting his elbows on the table.

“Watch it,” Calum says, nodding at his elbows. “Table’s sticky.” Liam looks down, and grimaces, unsticking himself from the table. 

“Couldn’t’ve told me that before, could you, you prick?” he grumbles, dusting off his elbows, like it’s going to get rid of the stale beer. 

“Didn’t know you were going to put your fucking elbows down, did I?” Calum says, and Liam just sticks two fingers up at him as he reaches for his drink again, making Calum grin in response and wink at him over the rim of his own glass. 

They drink in silence for a while, listening to the chatter in the pub as they let the cosy atmosphere and the drinks warm them from the inside out. It’s nice, Calum thinks, downing the last of his pint. He hasn’t been alone with Liam in God knows how long, been stuck on tour buses and in planes with him and at least five other people for far too long, and he realises just how much he’s really missed his one-on-one time with Liam, the easy comfort of a friendship that both of them fall into without even thinking about it, the security of knowing their lives are irrevocably intertwined now. It’s nice that they don’t have to speak, that they can just sit here and drink each other in, just exist alongside each other in quiet peace.

Liam’s not usually this quiet for long, though, usually can’t contain his incessant energy for more than three minute bursts at a time, but Calum knows better than to push. There’s something there, but Liam will say it when he’s ready to say it, and not a moment sooner. Calum’s been burnt one too many times by his own good intentions in that area, so he just sits back, pushes his glass away from himself and waits. It only takes another few minutes of Liam staring down at the bottom of his glass, brows furrowed and deep in thought, until he suddenly says:

“Noel’s moving to London.” The penny drops. 

Ah. 

“Is he?” Calum says, although really, he’s not that surprised. They’re getting somewhere, and Manchester’s not exactly the place for an up-and-coming musician to be based. It’s been at the back of his own mind, but he’s been pushing it aside, preoccupied with too many other more pressing issues to worry about the logistics of moving that far out. 

“Yeah,” Liam says, still staring at the bottom of his glass. 

“You knew he would,” Calum says, trying to make it as gentle as possible. 

“I know,” Liam says. He doesn’t sound as upset about it as Calum had expected, actually. “He’s going to look at houses tomorrow.” Shit. London’s big, though, isn’t it? What are the odds that he’ll bump into Noel? 

“Did he say where?” Calum asks, hoping it comes out casual. He wishes he had another pint in front of him, wanting something to do with his hands and feeling just how sober he is all of a sudden, so used to either being on a high or a comedown. 

“Yeah, but fuck if I remember,” Liam says, with a shrug. “I’m going with him. Cunt’s making me get up at eight to catch the train.” Oh, fucking brilliant. Two Gallaghers to avoid in London, not just one. Is it too late to call Michael and reschedule? Probably; his mum’ll be listening if he makes a phone call when he gets back from the pub, and he doesn’t want to deal with all those questions. It does explain, though, why Liam doesn’t seem all too torn up about Noel moving so far away; Noel allowing Liam to come and look around with him is a silent acknowledgement that he knows Liam’ll be spending more time there than he will at home, most likely, so it’s got to be a place he likes too. 

“You’re a fucking scrounger,” Calum tells him, knowing Liam will know what he’s talking aout, and the ghost of a smile crosses Liam’s lips, but doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he plays with the rim of his glass. Calum frowns. He’s missing something.

“What?” he asks, and Liam shrugs, a little uncomfortably. He’s feeling something he’s not sure how to articulate, then, something he can’t channel into punches or barbed words. It’s something to do with Noel, because that’s the only topic he never knows how to approach while knowing exactly how to navigate it with his eyes shut and his hands tied behind his back, but it’s not something that Noel’s done, or Calum would be fucking hearing about it, and it’s not something that Liam’s done, or Calum would also be fucking hearing about it, but from Noel. It’s got to be something else, something that Noel doesn’t know about yet, something internal for Liam. Something about him moving to London, maybe, since he’s managed to bring that part up. Something that Liam feels about Noel moving to London, something that’s making him hesitant about accepting that he’s going to be spending a lot of time at Noel’s new place-

Oh. 

“He’s not doing it to get away from you, Liam,” Calum says, and Liam swallows, finger stilling on the rim of his glass for a split second, and Calum watches a little apprehensively as two conflicting emotions flash across Liam’s face; anger, irritated and embarrassed at the fact that Calum’s just called him out on it, and vulnerability, afraid and wanting Calum’s reassurance. Calum knows Liam better than almost anyone, and even he can’t ever tell which way it’s going to go. Luckily for him, though, Liam seems to struggle with himself for a moment before he exhales heavily, and slumps back in his chair.

“You don’t know that,” he says.

“I do,” Calum says. “He’s your brother, Liam.” Liam looks pained at that. 

“Yeah, I know,” he says. “But- y’know. After LA.” He doesn’t say anything else - probably doesn’t know how or what to say - but Calum gets it. Everything had changed after Whiskey-a-Go-Go, shifted a few centimetres to the left, and even though everything’s okay again, it’s a different kind of okay to before. 

“That wasn’t your fault,” Calum says, because it wasn’t. 

“Wasn’t it? I was a right cunt.” 

“You’re always a right cunt,” Calum says, but he doesn’t mean it unkindly, or even teasingly. He means that’s just how you are, and we’re all still here, aren’t we? “And anyway, so was Noel.” Liam has to concede there, tilts his head to indicate yeah, I s’pose.  

“I dunno,” he says, still staring steadfastly at his empty glass. “Maybe he just needs a break from me.” 

“He always needs a break from you,” Calum says. “But he never takes one.” 

“Took one in LA.” 

“Yeah, and then he came back,” Calum says. Liam seems to mull the words over, let them roll around in his mind, see how they feel, but Calum can see from the look on his face that they aren’t quite enough. 

“Maybe you should get your own place in London,” Calum suggests. Liam looks up for the first time, brow furrowed. “Then you could be close, but not too close.” Liam’s brow stays furrowed, but he hums thoughtfully. 

“You think?” he says, sounding a little uncertain. Liam moving out of Manchester is quite a big step, the city etched into his veins like none of the rest of them, but it makes sense. And, Calum thinks, they’ll probably all have to move to London, eventually. It might be better to get it done at the same time as Noel, to have someone who knows how to navigate Liam’s inevitable misplaced temper tantrums at the fucking movers or traffic or furniture shops when he’s really just stressed about the change.

“Yeah,” Calum says. “It’d do you good, anyway, being on your own. Probably do you and Noel a world of good too, not living on top of each other all the time.” Liam scrunches his face up, looking ten years younger than he is, like the annoying little kid that Noel must see him as, and then sighs heavily and nods. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, you’re right. Yeah. Might have a look myself tomorrow, then.” Calum swallows. Not in Camden, he thinks as loudly as possible, in case Liam’s psychic. 

“Yeah, do that,” he says out loud. Liam nods again, a little more decisively this time, clearly not listening to Calum’s thoughts, and then grins at Calum, bright and easy, like the past five minutes hadn’t happened at all. 

“You’re getting the next round,” he says, and Calum sighs, all long-suffering, but heaves himself out of his seat, forgetting that the table’s sticky and squawking when he puts his hands down on it to support himself. Liam laughs delightedly, like there’s nothing in the fucking world that brings him more joy than Calum’s misfortune, and Calum scowls good-naturedly and flips him off as he heads in the direction of the bar. 

Well, he thinks, as he jogs down the steps leading up to their seating area and weaves through tables of increasingly tipsy old men laughing far too loudly. At least Liam’s sorted. And London really is big, right? Must be twice the size of Manchester, at least. And he’ll be in Michael’s house, anyway, won’t he? There’s no way he’ll see Noel and Liam there. 

Yeah, he thinks, flagging down the bartender. It’ll be fucking fine. 

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chapter six

[kenmab]

a sad and sorry defense of Mr. L*mb from Vegas ✨

as you would expect the worst person in the world (me) to typically say, i don’t........hate lamb? 

i don’t think his intentions with baz were bad (except maybe he was a lil predatory bc he never asked for baz’s age) (plus vampire dating must be weird bc like. everyone is 25 but also everyone’s been alive for 100 years so it’s hard to tell....) anyway, he saw himself in baz, back when he was a confused lil gay english vampire and had no one to tell him what to do or how to do it, and remembering how awful and scary it is to have to live in hiding. that’s how they ended up talking in the first place. when he taught him how to keep his fangs in while eating.......baz is so adorably lost and never even had the chance to know it? im really grateful for lamb for giving baz answers to things that people normally just solved with fire, for reassuring him that he isn’t a monster for existing as he is—especially with the otherness he feels from his friends and the way everyone (baz included) all talk about vampires. for baz to learn that not every bite is lethal, not every vampire is afraid to be Out, vampires can live normal lives, that vampires are thriving in their own kind of way (also the chilling fact that his family for generations are literally known for killing & driving out vampires......feels bad scoob) that’s important for his healing. even though london is still a terrifying place for a closeted vampire, at least now he can eat in front of people and not feel so afraid

all that to say........the way we (okay i personally) trusted him immediately........absolutely ridiculous. we don’t trust anyone. we aren’t supposed to trust anyone. especially not adults!! baz’s dad is loyal, but to a certain degree and certainly not when it comes to vampires. penny’s mom Will Not hesitate to throw them all in prison, whether they’re her kids or not. this has been established on multiple occasions. we don’t trust josh, who’s older than agatha & ginger, bc there’s something strange about adults who like to talk to ~younger~ adults. we don’t trust agatha’s parents, they’re kind but, only take things at face value. we have learned first hand from the mage himself that there is absolutely no adult you can trust. and we don’t trust someone we haven’t met: shepard......who are you? why are you asking so many questions? why do you know so much already? despite knowing every single one of these things, ruminating on them, internalizing them, we still meet lamb. he’s still flirty and sweet and helpful, and we still get a little drunk under his presence. we still say ‘wow fascinating...’ anytime he tells us abt his past. when he tells us the horrors of how he lives in vegas, we still want to know more. he’s just so......charismatic (we’ll never survive against vampires in real life.........well at least i won’t kshsksj) we giggle with him, lean against his shoulder, listen to his tales, let him pay for our lunch, get into his car, get irritated with the people who tell us he’s not someone we can trust. and we’re right, he is someone that we can trust, but they can’t.

lamb isn’t here for simon or penny or shepard, he very obviously has no desire for them, he’s annoyed when they’re around. even tho baz told lamb that those were his friends, lamb didn’t have a reason to care about some magicians and their random kid tag along, his only loyalty (drenched in pity & mirrors) is to baz, who is very clearly annoyed with the people who’ve broken into, and kind of destroyed, lamb’s penthouse & also tried to kill him.......(read: that one time baz tried to kill the mage but this time it’s simon trying to kill lamb..) so he doesn’t really feel all that welcoming to them, on top of the fact that he, lamb the vampire king, was abt to be killed in cold blood—does he know that baz is not going to be murdered in cold blood by his own friends when he goes back to the homophobic mother england? (which, spoiler alert: they won’t) he doesn’t know. their first impression didn’t really help him gain their trust, and all he felt was sorry for baz after learning about the way he lived, thinking about the way he had to live before he emmigrated. maybe im just forgiving but, i don’t think he really understood how his tunnel vision on helping baz just ended up hurting him—all the way until the end he helped him fight to save his friends, but then still asked him to leave them behind. he still can’t imagine that a vampire & a mage can live in harmony, and his old way of thinking sabotaged something they could’ve had. (which suuuuuucks) (no pun intended) (but could you imagine baz in london calling lamb in a “okay uhhhhh what do i do” kind of panic since he seems to do that? he called fiona but she didn’t answer)

anyway im not excusing lamb in the slightest, but instead of angry i felt let down by him. being let down again and again by the people who should be protecting (and listening!!!) to you is exhausting, but just so.........expected. i have this overall feeling of “i should’ve known it was too good to be true” instead of a “aahh fuck i can’t believe you’ve done this” bc this is a lesson we’ve already been taught. we were so wary of shepard, how did we (i) let our guard down so easily? why did we trust him like that? rainbow rowell is an evil genius