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vivithefolle · 2 years

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Hi,

I was reading one of the metas about Dumbledore saying in The King's Cross chapters that he relied on Hermione to slow Harry down regarding the Deathly Hallows, and I can't help but agree that Ron was missing in the line. It should have been relied on Hermione and Ron to slow Harry down, because I have a feeling that Hermione can't fully rein Harry in, and she would need Ron's help to do so. I would like your thoughts on this.

OH MAH GAWD AS USUAL I HAVE OPINIONS ON THIS.

Honestly the whole "oh Harry you brave brave man" was already pretty annoying to me who is completely frigid to Harry's character but okay, why not, he's the hero and protagonist, we absolutely need him to be flooded in compliments so we know what to praise him for.

But then.

Of course JKR couldn't resist having her actual author's mouthpiece compliment her literal self-insert. When you realize this is JKR throwing herself flowers you just... lose any appreciation for that scene.

Dumbledore patted Harry’s hand, and Harry looked up at the old man and smiled; he could not help himself. How could he remain angry with Dumbledore now? ‘Why did you have to make it so difficult?’ Dumbledore’s smile was tremulous. ‘I am afraid I counted on Miss Granger to slow you up, Harry. I was afraid that your hot head might dominate your good heart. I was scared that, if presented outright with the facts about those tempting objects, you might seize the Hallows as I did, at the wrong time, for the wrong reasons. If you laid hands on them, I wanted you to possess them safely. You are the true master of death, because the true master does not seek to run away from Death. He accepts that he must die, and understands that there are far, far worse things in the living world than dying.’ - Deathly Hallows

(also notice how Rowling makes such a big deal about how there are things so much worse than death, but she's ok with Harry torturing someone while going through ridiculous loops to ensure Harry never has to actually kill Voldemort. Because killing a murderous maniac in self-defense is worse than literal torture according to Rowling. Thanks for this lesson in morality... I guess???)

Ok, so Hermione was supposed to slow Harry down, ok why not...

...

Except... that's absolutely not what happened.

Remember what happened instead?

‘Dumbledore usually let me find out stuff for myself. He let me try my strength, take risks. This feels like the kind of thing he’d do.’ ‘Harry, this isn’t a game, this isn’t practice! This is the real thing, and Dumbledore left you very clear instructions: find and destroy the Horcruxes! That symbol doesn’t mean anything, forget the Deathly Hallows, we can’t afford to get sidetracked –’ Harry was barely listening to her. He was turning the Snitch over and over in his hands, half expecting it to break open, to reveal the Resurrection Stone, to prove to Hermione that he was right, that the Deathly Hallows were real. [...] They packed up the tent next morning and moved on through a dreary shower of rain. The downpour pursued them to the coast, where they pitched the tent that night, and persisted through the whole week, through sodden landscapes which Harry found bleak and depressing. He could think only of the Deathly Hallows. It was as though a flame had been lit inside him that nothing, not Hermione’s flat disbelief nor Ron’s persistent doubts, could extinguish. And yet the fiercer the longing for the Hallows burned inside him, the less joyful it made him. He blamed Ron and Hermione: their determined indifference was as bad as the relentless rain for dampening his spirits, but neither could erode his certainty, which remained absolute. Harry’s belief in and longing for the Hallows consumed him so much that he felt quite isolated from the other two and their obsession with the Horcruxes. [...] As the weeks crept on, Harry could not help but notice, even through his new self-absorption, that Ron seemed to be taking charge. Perhaps because he was determined to make up for having walked out on them: perhaps because Harry’s descent into listlessness galvanised his dormant leadership qualities, Ron was the one now encouraging and exhorting the other two into action. [...] But not until March did luck favour Ron at last. Harry was sitting in the tent entrance, on guard duty, staring idly at a clump of grape hyacinths that had forced their way through the chilly ground, when Ron shouted excitedly from inside the tent. [...] Harry could feel Ron shaking. [...] ‘HERMIONE!’ Ron bellowed, and he started to writhe and struggle against the ropes tying them together, so that Harry staggered. ‘HERMIONE!’ [...] ‘Dobby, no, don’t die, don’t die –’ The elf’s eyes found him, and his lips trembled with the effort to form words. ‘Harry … Potter …’ And then with a little shudder the elf became quite still, and his eyes were nothing more than great, glassy orbs sprinkled with light from the stars they could not see. [...] ‘I want to do it properly,’ were the first words which Harry was fully conscious of speaking. ‘Not by magic. Have you got a spade?’ And shortly afterwards he had set to work, alone, digging the grave in the place that Bill had shown him at the end of the garden, between bushes. He dug with a kind of fury, relishing the manual work, glorying in the non-magic of it, for every drop of his sweat and every blister felt like a gift to the elf who had saved their lives. [...] The steady rhythm of his arms beat time with his thoughts. Hallows… Horcruxes… Hallows… Horcruxes… yet he no longer burned with that weird, obsessive longing. Loss and fear had snuffed it out: he felt as though he had been slapped awake again. - Deathly Hallows

Yeah... it wasn't Hermione's saintly good heart and patience that got Harry to stop being an idiot. It was Dobby.

More specifically, Dobby dying.

If every time I was obsessed with something it took someone dying to snap out of it I'd have the police on my ass.

But, of course - we ABSOLUTELY had to wedge one compliment to Hermione in Dumbledore's last appearance. I mean, poor Hermione, that's a whole chapter without her being told she's clever/smart/astute, can you imagine? Our readers could forget she's supposed to be smart if they're not constantly being beaten over the head with it!!

#vivi answers #harry potter #hermione granger #ron weasley #albus dumbledore #dobby #dobby is a free elf #jkr critical #harry potter critical

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laraplisetski · 3 years

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Dating Iwaizumi Hajime

A/n: This isnt related to the headcanons but I have this request for Seijoh’s libero and since I'm doing dating hcs for all of Seijoh by their jersey numbers. So anyways please wait a little bit longer as I might tag you in the dating hcs for Watari. Sorry for any mistakes tho.

Special announcement!

I just reached a hundred follows today! Thankyou for for following me and I'm so thankful for all the support. If I could, I would try to show more gratitude in any way.

Words: 1790

Tags: @imthatchishiyasimp, @kekozume

(These arms tho)

Iwaizumi routinely calls you something like baka or dumbass but he says it in good faith.

For example whenever you do something stupid Iwaizumi call you a dumbass.

But he doesn't mean it, it's just how he shows his worry.

He's just a big ass tsundere, you cannot tell me otherwise.

A lot of people think Iwaizumi would be a gentleman but like I feel like he would treat you like Oikawa but like way less harsher.

Like he would let you call him nicknames like ‘iWa-ChAn’ and just blush and call you dumbass.

*cough cough* tsundere *cough cough*

Also he's bad at giving compliments,

Like you'll be wearing nice clothes that really fit your form and he’ll really like you wearing them.

And you'll ask him if he likes your clothes, and hell just blush furiously grab your hand and just start walking.

‘Iwa, do you like what I wore today? It's my favorite outfit.’

‘Ye-yeah, we have to go, we'll miss our bus.’

One time you guys had a huge argument over this.

You feel insecure because he treated you more like Oikawa who was his best friend than his s/o.

He tried really hard after that to compliment you whenever you looked good.

(In his opinion you always did)

And you really appreciated him trying.

After that your bond grew stronger as both of you knew that you would be willing to for the other.

As your bond grew stronger the more you started to open up to him about your struggles.

Now Hajime isn't a very open person. (Well he is but he doesn't like to admit it.)

And he's a little brash and very straightforward with his feelings or his thoughts.

So when you're acting down he straight up asks you what's wrong and doesn't consider that you don't/wouldn't want to talk about it.

This might make you a little more agitated since you're already very sad but when he realizes that you don't want to talk about it, he immediately regrets it and apologies straight away.

One thing I love about Iwaizumi as a character is that he isn't afraid to tell the truth even if he knows he's in the wrong.

But these things only happened in the start of your relationship because when you two spend much more time together he starts to notice patterns in your behavior and how you act based on how you feel.

That really helps him to know if you're sad, angry or irritated at someone.

Later in the relationship, he knows when to comfort you, when to give you space and when to scold you.

You really appreciate this because he doesn't sugarcoat his words and he gives you advice that is honest and comes from his heart.

Moving on, let's talk about his friends.

By friends I mean Oikawa.

When Iwaizumi first got a s/o Oikawa was fuming because

‘wHo wOuLd DaRe taKe mY iWa-cHaN aWay frOm mE’

Iwa slapped him on the back of his head after he said that.

After that every time you would come to school, Oikawa would stick to Iwaizumi like a leech

(for comedic purposes of course)

Iwaizumi found it amusing at first how jealous you would be that Oikawa was getting all your boyfriends attention.

But then as time passed you started waving to Oikawa whenever he was sticking with Iwa and he started waving back.

After that you two developed a friendship.

You know what this means.

Hell for Iwaizumi has started.

So Iwaizumi would always walk you to class in the morning and you guys would sit with Oikawa for lunch.

Now that you're friends with Oikawa.

Ohoho, I'm sorry Iwa you have to suffer.

So you guys get along very well and Iwaizumi is very thankful for that because the two most important people (other than his family) are getting along.

It's fine for the first two weeks but then you and Oikawa develop this sibling-like bond.

It's almost identical to Iwa and Oikawa’s bond but because you share the same sense of humor Oikawa doesn't get teased.

Also one time Oikawa convinced you to call Hajime, Iwa-Chan for a day.

To say Iwaizumi was not pleased was an understatement.

The good thing is Oikawa got the bad end of it but it was worth it.

Also you guys eat lunch together and you and Oikawa keep making bad jokes and Iwaizumi has no choice but to sigh and deal with it, cause he loves both of you.

Poor iWa-ChAn.

You also tend to stick up for Oikawa during practices when the team is teasing him.

Due to you thinking of him as your little brother (It doesn't matter if you're older or younger Oikawa gives off major annoying little brother vibes.)

And the team cant rebel against you cause if they did Iwaizumi would murder them.

Other than that they absolutely love you cause you take care of the first and second years and keep them in line.

And you get along with Matsun and Makki and share memes with them.

Surprisingly Kyotani also respects you.

And he actually listens to your advice.

(Because of this Oikawa will whine about how no one respects him and goes on a rant and then you have to cheer him up while simultaneously giving everyone attention in the team.)

Being a team mom for Seijoh is very hard.

Also I feel like the reason Kyotani respected you when you became Iwa’s s/o was because you were Iwa’s s/o.

But now his view on you has changed.

He's very inspired by you and looks up to you.

He's always amazed by how you can be such a naturally caring person and be such a good leader and team player.

He also might come to you for advice if he had an argument with someone.

If you're a volleyball player as well and you're good, be ready for Kyotani following you around everywhere asking questions.

It's sort of endearing.

You and Iwa and Kyotani have this parent-son relationship and it's so wholesome I swear.

(Please adopt him.)

You do not only help keep the team in check you help them with matches too.

Like maybe getting their opponents videos for Oikawa.

You also sit down with the first and second years to watch their opponents videos and point out what seems peculiar and what not.

One time the person who usually took videos of the matches was unavailable so you went out of your way to do it yourself.

When Iwa found out he hugged you really tight and had this proud look in his eyes.

I bet when Oikawa found out he just clung to you and started full on crying.

(You're basically their manager at this point.)

Also when the team found out that you taped it yourself and all that, their respect from you went out the roof.

Now you are a goddess among them.

(Kyotani literally be looking at you with star eyes)

Enough about the team tho

Let's get back to Iwa and you.

You always try to be sneaky and steal his clothes but he catches you midway trying to sneak one of his jumpers out.

But he lets you have them anyways cause you look fucking cute in them.

Whenever he sees you wearing his clothes this man just blushes like 50 shades of red.

(I'm sorry pun wasn’t intended)

But anyways what I'm trying to say is that he blushes a deep red and basically just becomes a stuttering mess.

You like kiss him on the cheek like this once and he's putty in your hands.

I'm not even kidding.

Also Iwa’s pretty muscular so no matter how long you are his hoodies will always be loose on you in some way.

(sorry muscular people)

And Iwa finds it so cute like

His s/o in his hoodie that's all loose on them.

Just like internally crying at that point.

Also mind you Iwaizumi loves back hugs like.

Imagine you are wearing one of his articles of clothing and you just casually back hug him.

Man will short circuit but will never admit he likes them because hes a

Tsundere~~

But this might just be my love of back hugs talking who knows.

When he doesn't have practice he usually stays at home and cuddles with you or you have movie nights with Tooru but that is rare cause he has to take care of his cousin.

But you guys just calmly cuddle and no one is really speaking.

Just basking in each other's presence and being comfortable in each other's company.

Sometimes one of you falls asleep and the other just strokes their fingers through their hair.

It's basically the same when he comes back from practice but the only difference is that he takes off his shirt and you massage his strong muscles with some oil.

After that y'all cuddle but you're blushing the entire time because like Iwaizumi’s shirtless excuse me!

‘And this bitch just goes,

‘Take a picture it'll last longer’

Like what, how do you expect yourself not to short circuit.

And curse you Oikawa, you don't have to teach him the ways of flirting.

Usually you wouldn't react to that type of comment but he's shirtless and now you're putty in his hands.

So you both are like beans.

Also I'm like a hundred percent sure Iwaizumi is a big spoon.

He just loves caging you in his arms and making sure you feel protected.

It also keeps him very grounded and just honestly happy to have you there with him.

There was this one incident in which you and Oikawa were bantering and Iwaizumi wasn't having any of it so he picked you up and threw you on his shoulder. And walked away like nothing happened.

After that you guys sort of had an impromptu make out session in the club room, which was unfortunately interrupted by Kindaichi barging in.

Bless him.

And his eyes.

You and Iwaizumi had to sit him down and make him swear to not tell anyone.

After that you two continued but Kindaichi might've accidentally spilled to Kunimi

Opps.

Bonus points

Iwaizumi likes to buy purple hyacinths for you on valentines day because it's your favorite flower and to also say sorry for when he was not boyfriend like in the beginning of your relationship.

(Yes I referenced Purple Hyacinth the webtoon, go watch it)

Also the team has a custom made Seijoh jacket, just for you!

And the first time you saw it you just hugged Iwaizumi and started sobbing because these boys were too precious and just too pure. (I love Seijoh)

The end.

#haikyuu iwaizumi #iwaizumi hajime #iwazumi x reader #iwaizumi prompt #iwaizumi headcanons #iwaizumi dating hc #x reader #xreader #x gender neutral reader #haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#Haikyuu #haikyu x reader #haikyuu prompts #haikyuu headcanons #anyways #bye😃

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littlesparklight · 4 years

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Murder at Thymbra

Children die first. Troilus’ murder from the back end, with Ganymede and Apollo.

(angst, mention of a murdered child and other character death)

He hadn't meant to overhear. He hadn't been meant to hear it, Ganymede knew that, for it was obvious the two goddesses hadn't noticed him. Which was a relief, for then there was no reason to wonder if he had been meant to hear it.

In the end, of course, it caused the same amount of cold, twisting thorniness in his gut, as well as an undeniable, crawling burn through his limbs, which had replaced the immediate, threatening pressure at the back of his throat while he'd listened to Hera and Athena. It could still be okay. It could; nine years gone, so many resources (lives) wasted, surely the Achaeans would finally give up, now. Who cared if they'd finally been able to take the beach close to Troy and settle in for a siege? The walls were taller and more solid than anything mortal hands could have wrought.

Because those walls hadn't been built by mortal hands. So it'd be fine, right? Unless the fact that Laomedon hadn't properly and willingly paid for the wall would matter. For a moment, Ganymede stopped in his pacing, slumped against one of the pillars in the megaron's portico, kicking a heel back against the pillar's pedestal, and was once again overtaken by the well-worn but persistent incredulity attached to that train of thought. Why had Laomedon thought it was even remotely a good idea not to pay the agreed-upon price after it was quite clear the builders of the wall around the city could not be regular mortals? Who does that? How recklessly stupid could you be? For a brief, shining moment, Ganymede was uncomplicatedly frustrated over something that probably had no bearing on the current events, something he could be annoyed at, not worried about. It was nice.

Then his thoughts cycled back to wondering if the walls would truly be able to withstand the siege thanks to Laomedon's foolishness. If they could, if they could, then the Achaeans could dash themselves bloody against the thick, towering walls and the nine years would have left them nothing. Relatively, anyway. There were lots of cities up and down the Luwian and Thracian coastline and a little beyond, even, that had suffered terribly for this. So many lives lost... But if the walls could hold, at least Troy wouldn't join those.

If.

The word echoed in his head without dying away as Ganymede chewed on a knuckle, staring at the shining-smooth floor and the pattern of light and shadow the pillars cast. It took him several seconds to realize the rhythmic thumping wasn't his thoughts loudly going round and round in unceasing pattern like one of Hephaistos' mechanical inventions, but rather steps. Looking up and twisting around the pillar, Ganymede was just in time to see Apollo storm past him - the god must have gone into the megaron and now gotten out without Ganymede noticing. Or him noticing Ganymede, but then, by his dark, hollow-eyed expression, cast down at the ground instead of raised high in front of him, Apollo didn't seem to be seeing anything.

He was undoubtedly looking for Zeus, and had thought to look in the megaron first, which was, unfortunately empty. As Apollo went down the steps, Ganymede hesitated. If the god was looking for his father, then it wasn't something Ganymede should stick his nose in, probably. But...

"... Lord Apollo?" He spoke up, quietly, just as Apollo stepped off the last step, and it would have been easy for Apollo to ignore him. Instead he whirled around with such alacrity one of the loose tresses spilling down his throat and shoulder smacked him in the chin, blue eyes dark with some unmentionable fury. It made him look older, ageless and terrible. Ganymede could only remember him having looked like this once before. "Sorry! I was just---!"

Snapping his mouth closed as Apollo practically flew up the stairs again, Ganymede was proud to say he didn't cringe back against the pillar (though it was a near thing). He didn't truly fear any harm at Apollo's hands, but the god almost seemed to see nothing as he came up the stairs and then stopped in front of him. His eyes were fire as he reached out with hands that trembled slightly, and cradled Ganymede's face in both hands. The he just stood there. Staring, somewhere slightly above the top of Ganymede's head, his fingers catching in Ganymede's curls, his thumbs light as he stroked his cheeks. His hands were still trembling, and his mouth was twisted, lips pressed thin.

"... Lord Apollo? What happened?" Because clearly something had, and once again Ganymede was reminded of the only other time he had seen Apollo look like this. It'd been after Zeus had killed Asclepios.

"Sit with me."

Usually, Apollo asked. That, though, had not been a request, but Ganymede nodded anyway. Found himself sitting in between Apollo's legs, strong, sleekly-muscled around wrapped around his waist and Apollo's face buried in his hair. Rocking slightly, his voice almost unintelligible for how quiet he was being and for how deep he'd buried his face in Ganymede's hair.

He was singing.

Nothing like he usually would sing, and it took Ganymede long, precious minutes to actually figure out what it was, for it was a tangled mess that went between Achaean and Luwian, back and forth. It would have been a marvel if not for the emotion in the words, for the meaning was flawlessly preserved as Apollo slid from one language to the other. Ganymede rather wished he hadn't understood.

For it was deep-dirged and aching, every single syllable half-choked with as much fury as anguish, and he didn't need to be told to understand what had happened. Someone had died. Someone precious to Apollo had died, and as far as Ganymede knew, there were right now only a limited amount of people it could be and he feared, then, as selfish as despairing and compassionate, for the smaller number of which he really would rather not it be. The tangle in his gut grew up, out. Twined around his heart, and Ganymede had to swallow heavily before he tried to speak, but he was worried he'd end up embarrassing himself anyway.

Maybe it didn't matter, considering the song, pressing into his body, pulling at his insides, the already unsettled worries, considering the way Apollo was clutching at him with trembling hands, but then, really, the tears should be Apollo's, not his. What right did he have to cry about it?

(What right didn't he?)

"A-apollo---"

"Hush. Shh. Quiet." A kiss was pressed to the back of his head like he'd been the one singing, like his voice had been as sludgy as Apollo's was. Yes, it was close, but the lack of precise knowledge was as of yet protecting Ganymede from the full impact. "Just sit, Iliades."

He almost cracked, then. Almost. By the chosen epithet, it was obvious what this was about. What the Achaeans' nascent siege must already have wrought. Had Hera and Athena not known yet? Had they not cared about that? Maybe it hadn't happened until after their conversation. Ganymede hoped for the first or the last, despite everything. Maybe it was more than what was deserved, but he still hoped it.

"Who---"

"What's going on here?"

Jumping at Zeus' voice as his shadow fell over them, Ganymede might have stammered through a mess of absolutely nothing because he didn't know what he was supposed to feel at the moment, or how to react to being found like this. He glanced up sideways, wide-eyed and full of his own emotions as much as Apollo's, soaking through his singing. Zeus didn't look angry, just bewildered, then, as he met Ganymede's gaze, it started to slide over into concerned.

"Father," Apollo said, and then his voice cracked, right at the end. Depthless anger and distress wove together into a single, terrible emotion, and Zeus sat down. Reached out, not for Ganymede but Apollo, a large hand sliding around to cradle the side of his head, tangling in hair that was starting to fray. Apollo's hair never frayed. "Achilles--- killed Troilus."

Ganymede sucked in a breath that got stuck there, lodged in his throat like an arrow.

Child.

How old had he been? Thirteen, fourteen, maybe. Skilled enough with horses that if one was in pressing need one could have put the boy on a chariot and he could single-handedly probably have assured as many victories as would have pleased.

"Right in front of my sanctuary," Apollo said, hissing now, and Ganymede would have bruises but he said nothing, "he was... fleeing towards it, but didn't, get far enough."

Didn't get to the altar. Didn't get far enough to give Apollo the unquestionable and unalienable right to come down like night, like summer sun and starving lioness on the offender who would kill a supplicant at a god's (at his father's) altar. Close. Not close enough.

Closing his eyes, Ganymede managed to swallow the obstruction stuck in his throat, though it convulsed with it. Twisted around in Apollo's grip against his wounded protest, but only to get up on his knees and wind his arms around the god's shoulders, burying Apollo's face against his chest instead while he looked to Zeus. Gray met Ganymede's gaze for a moment before Zeus closed his eyes, mouth twisting into a flat line. Apollo twisted his hands into the back of Ganymede's tunic and straight up howled.

Briefly, the sun darkened, a flicker of night in the middle of day. The clouds appeared as if conjured, and then the sky opened up. They were just barely protected by the portico's roof from the deluge hammering down outside.

"Thanatos!" Zeus' voice rolled through the air, shaded with thunder, but Apollo didn't so much as twitch as the startled god appeared beside them, already looking wary. He didn't get a chance to speak.

"Fetch the body and make sure it's in pristine condition before you hand it to Priam and Hecuba for burial."

It wasn't a fix; there was no way to fix this. Done was done, and rarely were gifts such as Hyacinth given once, never mind twice. Worse was the implication of Zeus' words, that he expected the body to probably be mutilated. A boy. Did Achilles have no shame? Thanatos relaxed even as he frowned, mouth setting.

"It'll be done, Father Zeus." Thanatos bowed his head, fathomless eyes falling onto Apollo's bowed head. "I'm sorry, Phoebus."

He was gone in the next moment, leaving the three of them there on the highest step to the megaron, rain falling like thunder. Apollo was silent now, and for as much as Ganymede had had to defend himself against the swell of misery Apollo's song had been trying to dredge up, it seemed somehow worse that he should be silent, that there would be no singing for the child until Troy could get their youngest prince back for burial.

So Ganymede closed his eyes, relaxing a little into the warmth of Zeus' other hand as it landed on his hip, below Apollo's arms, fought with his memory for what he needed, a Luwian funerary song, and sang instead.

#greek mythology #apollo #ganymede #lightart

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shalebridge-cradle · 5 years

Text

Sibella probably spends more time in front of a mirror than most people. Not that she’s ever thought that’s a negative thing; there’s nothing wrong with taking pride in how you look. Hell, it’s practically a public service – everyone gets to enjoy her perfect makeup and her timeless sense of fashion, and she gets to enjoy being enjoyed.

Well, there hasn’t been any of that going on lately.

Sibella stares at her reflection in the ancient bathroom cabinet’s mirror – awful. Ugly. One out of – no, she’s at least a five, even with the bags under her eyes and the neck brace and the expression of complete done-ness. But, nevertheless, the fall and what came after have driven her to her wit’s end.

Well, if she can’t look nice, at least she can be clean. With great effort, she opens the cabinet to fetch her toothbrush.

Unfortunately for her, there’s a disembodied head dressed like a 19th-century explorer in the way.

“AH-HA! YOU FOOL! YOU’VE FALLEN RIGHT INTO MY AMBUSH! PREPARE -” The bellowing stops for a second, and the anger drops from the severed head’s face. “Wait, I told the rest of me to wait behind the door… shocking lack of military discipline. I shall give it a right thrashing later... a biting, at least...”

Sibella closes the cupboard, turns on her heel, and all but runs out the bathroom door into the long, long hallway.

Highhurst Castle. When that woman from the legal chambers told Monty he’d inherited the place through his mother’s family, Sibella’s reasons for marrying him (which were already pretty good) were immediately validated. A castle! They’d won the real estate jackpot, and people have to call her ‘Lady Navarro’ now! Monty’s a peer of the realm! Are you a peer of the realm, Lionel, you cardboard box of a man?

Well, now she bitterly regrets admiring how much space the castle had, all the hallways – she is a target when she walks down to and from the bathroom, in the dining room, and the myriad unnecessary rooms – not even the master bedroom is safe. Once she acknowledges their existence (and even when she doesn’t), they take the opportunity to drive her up the wall. Doors do not stop her foes, nor the stone walls supposed to defend her – nothing does.

The woman with the shocking amount of feathers (and blood) on her gown is further down the hall, and does a funny little run to keep up with Sibella.

“Good morning! Now, from where we left off, Lord Southcliffe and Basil are alone for the first time. The stage is set, you can cut the tension in the air with a knife – and it just so happens there are two swords mounted above the fireplace. Who shall make it out alive to confess their love to the fair Selene? Have you written the other part down yet?”

No, Sibella hasn’t. It’s the worst play imaginable. She is ashamed to have hallucinated the person who came up with it.

A young man in a green jacket steps through a wall, accompanied as always by a maddening buzzing noise. “Hello again! Did you know that bees have little teeth on their wings? They lock together when the bee is flying. Isn’t that fascinating?”

Don’t talk to them, Sibella reminds herself. They’re not real. You must have read that bee thing somewhere and you’re subconsciously remembering it. Ignore them, and they’ll go away.

They do not go away. Well, at least the fox hunter isn’t here yet. Just the buck-toothed priest, doddering about like a child lost at a fair.

“Hello!” the priest says as she passes, then, in the exact same friendly tone of voice, “You don’t belong here! Get out!”

Only a few more steps to the dining room. Monty will still be having breakfast. But, as she reaches the door, she hears his voice – unless he can see the phantoms too (which he definitely can’t), he shouldn’t be making phone calls this early. Sibella presses her ear to the door.

“I know it’s unusual, but if I just give the money back… yes, I know that’s not how loans work, but there are medical reasons… no, she’s not dead – well, she came back from… She isn’t sleeping. She’s miserable. I don’t know what it is about this castle, but it’s damaging her recovery, and I want what’s best for her. I ask you, out of common decency -”

There is a long silence.

“I see. My mistake. Thank you for your time.”

A numb sensation comes over Sibella. She’s touched, if unsurprised, that Monty would be willing to give up his birthright to keep her, but from the defeat in his voice it sounds like that isn’t an option. If only renovations were cheaper! If only the housing economy were more open to young buyers! If only she hadn’t fallen out of a bloody window and been cursed with highly realistic hallucinations!

A deep, disapproving female voice says in her ear, “It isn’t ladylike to eavesdrop.”

Sibella jumps back. A sopping wet Victorian woman gives her a disapproving look.

“It isn’t ladylike for you to exist,” Sibella replies, far too fast to sound confident, and makes her escape while the woman makes the most offended scoff she’s ever heard.

There is nowhere to run, she realises. Not from her mind, not from her economic troubles, not from the castle itself. It’s like something out of a horror movie, or a gothic novel. Yes, that’s what it is, she’s the innocent maiden who gets driven mad, stuck in a house that may or may not be haunted, and the author-slash-director leaves it up to the audience to figure out. She hates stories like that. They can’t just tell you, can they? It’s all symbolism, it’s all vague because they need to feel clever and artistic and pretend they’re so much smarter than you. Bloody hell, if she has to be stuck in a story, why does it have to be this one?

Sibella is so lost in how bad the novel of her life is that she almost misses the sound of someone limping down the hall.

Oh, shit. It’s the fox hunter.

Since this is probably the worst time for insensitive comments on... well, everything, Sibella ducks into the nearest room in hopes of evading him. She’s quick enough, but the dust old reading room (It has to be, with all the bookshelves) reveals yet another problem.

She’s young. In blue, probably another Victorian. Sibella’s walked past a portrait that looks just like this one so many times. She’s reading an open book on the side table, its pages covered in dust, before she jumps at the sound of Sibella slamming the door.

“Stop it!”

The blue-clad phantom’s eyes are wide. “Stop what?”

“Stop yelling at me to get out! I can’t! Not until me and Monty pay off his loan, and in this economy that’s probably gonna be the rest of my life!”

“But I’m not the one haunting you,” the woman stammers, shrinking in on herself. Her voice is high, soft, and ridiculously upper-class. “I never agreed to it. It’s a beastly thing to do, to drive you out of a place you rightfully own!”

“Listen. Even though you’re a much nicer broken part of my mind than the others, you’re still part of the problem. Connect – what’s those electrical parts of your brain called – connect to the other neutrons and tell all those other hallucinations to bugger off!”

The young woman’s jaw hangs open for a good ten seconds, before she says, “Oh. I understand. You think we’re figments of your imagination.”

“Well, what’s more likely, that the castle is haunted or that I have brain damage from falling out of a window?”

“Ah, well, yes. I am afraid this is the exception to the rule. But, the good news is that you’re not mad. There are ghosts bound forever to the grounds of Highhurst Castle, and through whatever twist of fate,a living person can see us for the first time.”

“Bullshit.” At the absolutely horrified look she receives from the ‘ghost’, Sibella feels a knot of unjustified guilt twist in her stomach. “If you’re ghosts, how did you die? Suicide? Murder most foul?”

“Well, my brother, Henry, the one in the olive suit. He was stung to death by bees.”

…Okay. The buzzing sound made sense now, at least. “I can hazard a guess with the guy in the pith helmet.”

“Major Bartholomew, yes, decapitated while weightlifting. Reverend Ezekiel fell from the eastern tower, Lady Hyacinth drowned in the lake, Lord Adalbert – red coat – died in a hunting accident, and Lady Salome’s prop dagger was mistakenly replaced with a real one during a performance.”

“What about the one with no trousers?”

The ghost’s face turns red. Surprising, given the lack of blood. “We’ve all been trying very hard not to think about that. It was quite embarrassing for everyone involved, as I understand it.”

“Oh, so, like, a sex thing.” Sibella ignores the sharp intake of breath. “And you? Or is it still too soon?”

“No, no, it’s quite all right. You know, I can’t recall how I died. This didn’t come across as strange to me, you would think you’d be a bit distracted with... well. You know. Henry passed before me, apparently he saw the whole thing – he says I was poisoned.”

Sibella feels like the ghost should be more than mildly concerned by this. Then again, she’s had time to get over it, hasn’t she? Wait, no, no she hasn’t, Sibella thinks, because she’s not real and you’re talking to thin air. It just so happens that thin air is very knowledgeable, and way more posh than you.

Then again. Adalbert is not a name she would have thought up in a million years, even for a lord’s ghost. She wonders how much that man’s mother hated him, if he had one.

“What’s the name of the sex ghost?”

“Asquith. Asquith D’Ysquith Junior, actually, and please never call him the… that name you said just now, again.”

“Asquith?!”

The detrousered phantom in his music hall outfit pokes his head through the wall. Sibella doesn’t flinch as badly, this time, and silently congratulates herself. “Yes?”

“Is that your name? Asquith?” Sibella asks.

“It is,” he hums. “You could have asked me yourself. I admit I didn’t take you for the bashful type, but, nevertheless, it is something I can work with.”

“She’s married,” the seated phantom snaps, “and this is a private conversation. Please take your leave.”

Asquith winks at Sibella, and vanishes once again. After suppressing a gag, Sibella turns back to the remaining ghost.

“I can’t believe Asquith is a real name, let alone one good enough to use twice. You know, I’m seriously starting to believe you’re real.”

“I should hope so,” the ghost remarks.

Sibella sits down opposite the apparition. “Right. I’m stuck here. You’re stuck here. How do we make this work?”

“If I knew a simple answer to that, you would not be in this situation.” The ghost thinks for a moment. “I do think some of my family members could use a reminder they are no longer the lords and ladies of the house. The others may do better with a softer touch, however. Henry is a gentle soul, after all.”

“Can you ask him to stop telling me bee facts when I’m trying to sleep?”

Then ghost smiles. “I can manage that.”

“Great. And the actress wants me to publish her play – I’ll post it online anonymously and hope she’s happy with that.” The ghost has the blank eyes and nervous smile of someone who has no idea what’s being said, but wants to remain polite. “The priest has no idea what’s going on, does he?”

“Not most of the time, no,” the phantom admits.

“So it’s really just the fox hunter left to worry about.” Sibella thinks telling him women have the vote now might make his head explode, and then the problem would be solved. She tries and fails to stifle a smirk at the thought.

Then, a sudden thought hits her.

“What about you?”

The ghost blinks. “Me?”

“Surely you need something. Do I have to find your murderer and get revenge? Get a reverend to bless your grave? What will help you?”

The ghost blinks again. And again. Then, tears start streaming from her eyes..

Oh. Oh no. Sibella is no good in these sorts of situations. When she makes someone cry, she usually means to. What is she supposed to do here? She raises her hand to pat the spectre’s shoulder, but it passes straight through her body. The ghost shudders at the failed contact, and does break out of her despair for a moment.

“Did I say something wrong?” Sibella asks, still semi-panicked. Now that she thinks about it, the ‘blessing her grave’ thing is probably what set this off. You wouldn’t hire a cleaning lady for someone else’s house, now would you?

“It’s been s-so long since someone’s done something for me,” the ghost sobs. “It’s been all squabbling and brooding for decades! Then, when someone alive can finally hear us, they keep doing the same thing, over and over again!”

Another dull realisation settles over Sibella, as she mumbles reassurances to the weeping phantom. That’s what ghosts, do, isn’t it? They cling to the lives they once had.

Is that what she does? Replay victories and ruminate on failures, time and time again?

“They will change,” Sibellla says, “I shall make them change. I shall do what you advised. A good shock to the system might get them out of their rut, and I am excellent at providing those. Just ask my sister – ten years and she still hasn’t forgiven me.”

The ghost gives a watery smile. “Thank you. Thank you so very much.”

With new-found purpose, Sibella strides towards the door, uncaring of whether the beings are truly ghosts or simply strange reflections of herself. Whatever is being confronted, she will be better for it.

When she opens the door, it’s not the dreaded fox hunter, the actress, nor the wet moral guardian.

It’s Monty. He looks over her shoulder, his gaze passing over the still-hiccupping phantom – he doesn’t see her.

“Now Sibella – I don’t want to upset you, but I have checked that we’re the only ones in the house. I mean, apart from the pigeon, but unless you’re talking about all his pigeon friends when you say you’re going to make them change, it might be a good idea to go talk to the doctor again.”

That’s a thought. It would prove it, one way or the other, if these quirky characters are bound to the house or just arguing personifications of her brain damage.

But, Monty is the one who convinced her the ghosts are just hallucinations. If they are ghosts, how is she going to convince Monty she hasn’t just gone insane?

A lightbulb goes off in her head.

She checks none of the other spirits are listening in, leans over, and whispers in Monty’s ear. His eyes widen, and his mouth hangs open.

“Asquith? Junior?!”

#gglam #the cradle will write #i'll post the other thing when i get home

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