During a GQ "10 Things I Can't Live Without" video, Harry casually reveals item number four is a battered, sage-green portable speaker he stole from your trailer three years ago because its looping music drove him mad.
MATERIALIST
Harry shoots his solo essential-items video for GQ. Item number four is a heavily beat-up, vintage book or a specific portable speaker. He casually mentions, "I actually stole this from my co-star's trailer three years ago because she wouldn't stop playing it, and now it just lives in my house." The internet goes into an absolute meltdown when eagle-eyed fans cross-reference your old Instagram posts and realize it's been sitting on his nightstand for months.
The studio for GQ was minimalist, sleek, and bathed in the kind of crisp, high-end lighting designed to make everyday objects look like luxury items. Harry sat in a leather armchair behind a dark wooden table, looking effortlessly sharp, though he was already fidgeting with the first few items on his list.
The format of 10 Things I Can’t Live Without was a staple of internet culture. It was supposed to be a neat, curated glimpse into a celebrity's personality—a glimpse that Harry’s publicist had thoroughly vetted beforehand.
Items one through three went exactly according to plan. He talked about his favorite hair clay, a specific brand of throat lozenges he used during long shooting weeks, and his keys, which were attached to a heavily scratched metal carabiner.
Then, Harry reached into the black duffel bag beside his chair and pulled out item number four.
It was a small, rugged, sage-green portable speaker. It was visibly battered—the silicone casing was scuffed at the corners, the mesh grille had a tiny dent near the logo, and a faint smear of dried silver theatrical paint was visible near the charging port.
"Alright, so item number four," Harry said, setting the speaker down on the wooden table with a soft clack. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table as a fond, incredibly relaxed smile took over his face. "This is my portable speaker. I bring it absolutely everywhere. Hotels, press junkets, the trailers—it’s just always in my bag."
The off-camera interviewer chimed in, "Are you a big playlist guy?"
"Huge," Harry nodded, tapping his fingers against the table. "But the funny thing about this one is that it’s not actually mine. I actually stole this from my co-star's trailer about three years ago because she wouldn't stop playing this one specific indie album on loop, and it was driving me mad. So, I just took it. And now it just lives in my house."
He laughed to himself, a light, completely unbothered sound, and casually spun the speaker on the table. "She’s been looking for it for literally three seasons. She thinks she left it in a hotel room in Wales during a location shoot. If she's watching this... sorry. You're not getting it back. The bass is too good."
He moved on to item number five—a pair of designer sunglasses—without a single care in the world. He finished the shoot, thanked the crew, and went about his day, entirely unaware that he had just handed the internet a smoking gun.
You didn’t watch the video when it premiered on YouTube the following Thursday morning. You were in the middle of a dental appointment when your phone began to vibrate so aggressively in your pocket that the hygienist actually paused.
When you finally got to your car and unlocked the screen, you had forty-seven unread texts.
The cast group chat was a war zone.
Tom: @Harry Collett YOU CRIMINAL
Tom: [Screenshot of Harry holding the sage-green speaker]
Beth: Oh my god. The Wales hotel room tragedy. I spent an hour helping her look under the bed for that.
Tom: He admitted to grand theft auto on GQ. Well, grand theft audio.
Phia: Wait look at twitter right now. Look at what the fans found.
Your heart did a sudden, chaotic stutter. You closed the chat and opened your social media app. Your notifications were climbing by the thousands every time you refreshed the feed.
The video had been out for exactly three hours, and the fandom had already conducted a full, forensic investigation.
A viral thread with over eighty thousand likes broke down the timeline. The first tweet in the thread was a screenshot from Harry's GQ interview, zoomed in on the speaker. The second tweet was a deep-dive cross-reference: a cropped image from an old Instagram carousel you had posted back during season two. It was a blurry, behind-the-scenes photo of your trailer's vanity mirror, and sitting right next to your makeup brushes was the exact same sage-green speaker, complete with the silver paint smudge.
But it was the third tweet in the thread that turned the harmless joke into an absolute meltdown.
Six months ago, Harry had posted a casual, late-night photo on his Instagram stories of his dog sleeping on the rug in his bedroom. The photo was taken from his bed, and in the blurry background, sitting directly on his wooden nightstand next to a glass of water and a stack of scripts, was the unmistakable sage-green speaker.
The fan's caption read: “He didn't just steal it and throw it in a drawer. It’s been sitting on his nightstand for months. He looks at her speaker right before he goes to sleep, I am going to throw myself into a volcano.”
Your face burned hot enough to melt glass. You stared at the screen, your thumb trembling slightly as you scrolled through the endless stream of hysterical comments.
“‘It just lives in my house’ is a crazy way to spell ‘I want to marry her.’”
“The fact that she thought she lost it in Wales and he just listened to her complain about it for THREE YEARS.”
“He took it because he wanted a piece of her in his house, you cannot convince me otherwise.”
Before you could completely lose your mind, your phone screen switched to an incoming call.
Harry.
You answered it immediately, not even giving him a chance to speak. "You are an absolute idiot."
There was a brief pause on the other end, followed by Harry letting out a deeply stressed, highly embarrassed groan. "Okay, so you've seen it."
"Everyone has seen it, Harry! It’s trending! My publicist just texted me to ask if we need to release a statement about a speaker!" You leaned back against your car seat, covering your eyes with your hand, though a helpless, breathless laugh was bubbling up in your chest. "You told GQ you stole it!"
"I didn't think they'd zoom in on the paint!" Harry protested, his voice cracking slightly in a way that told you he was currently pacing around his apartment, blushing furiously. "I just thought it was a funny anecdote. I forgot it was in that photo with the dog."
"It's on your nightstand, Harry," you said softly, your voice dropping as the reality of the fan edit hit you. Your heart gave a heavy, distinct thud against your ribs. "Why is it on your nightstand?"
The line went completely quiet. The frantic, defensive energy Harry had been holding suddenly vanished, leaving only the sound of his quiet breathing over the speaker. The silence stretched for three seconds, five seconds, turning into that same heavy, intense weight that always caught you both off guard during interviews.
"Because..." Harry started, his voice dropping into that quiet, sincere register that always made your breath catch. He cleared his throat nervously. "Well. It plays that album you like. And it... I don't know. It reminds me of the trailers."
You stared out your windshield, your chest tightening in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with anger. "You're a menace."
"I know," he murmured, and you could practically hear the small, soft smile returning to his face. "Are you going to sue me?"
"I'm considering it," you teased, your voice barely louder than a whisper. "Or I'm just going to come over and take it back."
"You can try," Harry replied softly. "But it's item number four. I can't live without it."
Summary: The Prince gets send to gain a powerful alliance that the house targaryen has wanted for a long period of time, and he stumbles upon you. A gorgeous dornish queen.
Includes/warnings: dornish!reader this is probably horribly written so thats a warning in itself, not proof read but i believe Y/N has been used on multiple occasions. Did not give reader a description other than female & dark black curls. There is an age gap in this (reader is 16, jacaerys is 19, but it is never actually mentioned) like i said, not proof read, if you see any spelling errors feel free to point them out!
🪐notes: idk much abt the dornish, especially not in this timeline/au so please ignore any mistakes. Jace is not engaged to baela in this. :)
from my short & sweet collection
You were standing in the hall of your castle in SunSpear. Waiting for the arrival of the prince Jacaerys Velaryon, heir to the iron throne and prince of DragonStone. Or he would be, had King Aegon Targaryen not usurped the iron throne.
The weather in Dorne was always exceptionally hot, so you wore a sheer gown. One thing about the Dornish was that you were not ashamed of anything, especially not what the gods had given you. The dress was a dark blue, with red and gold detailing, your long black curls hanging loosely over your shoulders.
Once you saw the prince arrive, you stood up straighter, clearing your throat silently, allowing a faked smug expression to fall upon your face.
“Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, to what is the pleasure of your presence owed?”
It was all a different environment to what he was used to at DragonStone. The strong breeze of hot air, the lack of thick winter-like clothing, the more exposed body, the tanned skin... it was all such a strange sight to a prince accustomed to the cold. He bowed gently towards the young Queen of Dorne, and looked at her dress. He admired the work that her seamstresses had to do to look so good on her.
“A pleasure indeed, my lady. May we chat inside? It is quite hot here, I confess.”
you nod curtly. “Of course. i am afraid i am in a bit of a hurry though, many important matters to attend.” You point out a hand, allowing him to walk beside you as you walk up the steps into the castle.
Jacaerys follows you, watching the way you walk and the environment surrounding the palace. The hot air, the sun, the tanned skin.
He looks over at you, trying to figure out more about the queen of Dorne. “You are quite young, my lady. Not that I'm much older, but tell me what's it like being queen so young?”
“I am quite used to it. I have been Dorne’s ruler since i was 6 summers old. The Dornish are respectable people, and very direct. It hasn’t always been easy, but it felt natural.” You spoke.
Jacaerys nodded as you walked, thinking it was somewhat impressive someone that young could ever rule. He smiled slightly at your comment.
“I can see the directness in you already, if you'll forgive my boldness. You don't seem like you're the type of woman to beat around the bush, are you?”
Jacaerys was trying to figure you out, as any man with an interest in women would do. He walked beside you as you both spoke, trying to gauge his chances.
after a few seconds you speak up “No, i indeed am not. And i do not expect anyone else to either, if i step on anyone’s toes with my words, they are not company i should keep.”
That comment made Jacaerys smile, appreciating your honest nature. He couldn't deny how attractive blunt honesty was, especially in a place where everyone was so used to keeping secrets and making alliances all the time. “So you speak plainly?”
He knew women with bluntness often became some of the most interesting ones. And a queen, with an attitude like that, made a very intriguing proposition. As curious as your boldness made him, he couldn't deny his physical interests.
That dress... Gods...
You bring him out of his thoughts with your reply. “Yes i speak plainly, and so should you, Prince Jacaerys.” You spoke softly, almost gentle-like. It was very refreshing.
Jacaerys took a long look at your body, his eyes slowly glancing at the details of your dress. The way the skirt of the dress swayed with your movements and how the gown itself left little to the imagination. The way your curly locks dangled and moved. The way your skin shone with the sun's blessing...
His gaze finally returned to your face, the soft features combined with the dark eyes and long wavy hair. He couldn't deny what was crossing his mind right now. Your blunt nature, combined with the way you looked, was certainly making him wish for things.
He couldn't help himself, as he took another look at you, before finally speaking. “That must come in handy for a queen like you, my lady. You're much less... complicated than one would expect from a ruler.”
Jacaerys approached one step closer, his eyes still locked on yours.
“If I may ask, are you married or betrothed by any chance?”
Your blunt words, your direct manner, and your pretty face only encouraged his desires. And it seemed the prince was rather blunt with his intentions as well.
Your eyes locked with his, as he asked the question you were certain was coming.
Of course, he must be interested in some deal. Just like any man, the prince wouldn't be able to simply let a beautiful young queen pass by.
You took a moment to think, wondering what to share.. or perhaps hide. "No, my prince. I am unmarried."
The corner of Jacaerys' mouth curled into a small, cocky smile. "Oh, is that so?"
A hint of teasing was clear in his voice, his eyes still looking for something in yours.
"Well, I suppose that does have some upsides."
He took another step closer, until he was at an arm's distance. The young prince could smell the scent of the air in Dorne, the sun-kissed skin, and the expensive perfumes of a queen. "Tell me, how might a man catch the interest of the queen of Dorne?"
The prince's voice had the tone of teasing, making your eyebrow raise slightly. His sudden proximity also caught you slightly off guard, his physical interests becoming very clear to you.
You couldn't deny how handsome he was. And you guessed perhaps you could use a bit of fun, considering you were unmarried and in your youthful prime.
You tilted your head slightly, looking up at him, his eyes burning a hole through your face. "Hm... What are you offering? Your family is at war, are they not? your visit is political.”
The prince let out a quiet chuckle, letting his eyes wander over your body for a moment.
The dress was certainly eye-catching, the way it hugged your curves, allowing his imagination to let loose...
The words you spoke only made his eyes find their way back to your own, and the smirk he had on his face only grew.
"Is the possibility of a political alliance enough to catch your interest, my lady?"
You watched the prince's eyes as they caressed your body, the boldness in his gaze, and the clear interest that you knew was there. You knew how to take advantage of an opportunity..
"Depends on what kind of a deal you're suggesting, my prince." There was an undeniable flirtation in your voice, your own subtle way of teasing him.
The prince didn't hide the smirk that spread across his face after that statement. His hand slowly reached over to your waist, his touch feeling the silky fabric of your dress.
"Would a marriage perhaps suffice?"
Your dress, as thin as it already was, provided no barrier against his touch. You could feel each stroke of his fingers, his thumb moving in circular motions against the thin fabric.
The marriage proposal was expected, but it seemed the prince had a more hands-on approach in mind.
You kept a straight face, not to give away how your mind was beginning to wander with the possibility of a marriage. "What would I gain? And what would you expect in return?"
He didn't let your serious expression stop his hands from wandering over the silk of your gown, his hand moving across your waist and down your side. "You would gain protection, support, and a powerful alliance."
"And I would gain..." He leaned closer, his breath against your skin, "A gorgeous Dornish queen as a wife..."
Your heart began to race as his words and his hand continued it's exploration of your side, the anticipation of where those hands might end up was growing.
The prince's proximity and the way he slowly looked at you, expecting some kind of reaction. You stayed firm, holding back the subtle reaction you felt with his words.
a/n: so hi! this idea came to me in a dream, i finished watching thunderbolts and kept thinking about ava starr (ghost) then i started thinking about how harry collett (jacaerys velaryon on HOTD) is the faceclaim of some when they write that isaac night has a son. so i thought what it would be like if isaac's son was dating an outcast who has the same problem as ava starr from marvel (who suffers from intangibility and invisibility due to a molecular imbalance which causes her immense chronic pain). and this came up, hope you really like it!
originally posted on @feliciasharpclaws.
a night will always cross the boundaries of science for someone he loves; that's what his mom told him since he was a child. damian had heard the story of how his father isaac night died countless times. 30 years ago, he had tried to save his dear sister françoise, who was a hyde and lived with the pain of her transformations, by building a machine that would extract his hyde with the "help" of his roommate, gomez addams. but when morticia frump sabotaged it, the machine exploded and killed his father.
his mother had always told him that he was similar to his father, both in appearance and intellect, and that this could work against him someday. mom told him about the mistakes his father made by believing himself to be a god, and that was a daily reminder to damian: don't make the same mistakes he did and don't get attached to anyone so much that you end up doing the same things as him. but that changed with your arrival.
you weren't like the other vanishers in nevermore; you were different. damian had noticed you in professor orloff's class when your body involuntarily vanished for a few seconds and reappeared instantly as if it had been a mistake. he didn't miss the way your right hand pressed against the desk and your body hunched slightly, as if your ability had caused you pain. he even considered asking professor orloff about you but he doubted he would say anything, anyways orloff seemed to have something against him, so he took matters into his own hands.
he monitored when principal weems would leave her office so he could enter it and look for your file. with a chilling calm, he scanned the office until he found the filing cabinet with the files of the current generation of nevermore, his fingers ran over the name tags until he found yours. your name. damian shouldn't do this, he knew it, but his intrigue was more than his morals, he opened the folder and when he read your file, something inside him broke.
severe molecular imbalance. intermittent intangibility. *risk of permanent disintegration if the cellular structure does not stabilize*
the coldness of the document didn’t do justice to what you must have felt. it did not speak of the trembling in your hands when you tried to write, nor of the seconds of absolute terror on your face when your body dissolved and returned with a sharp pain in your chest. it didn’t describe how your eyes, for a moment, seemed to lose their color when the imbalance took you by surprise.
leaving the file in its place, he left the office with his mind racing a thousand miles an hour. from that day on, damian looked at you differently. no longer with simple scientific curiosity, but with a dangerous kind of devotion. it was the same look his father once had, the look of someone willing to defy logic for love.
he had never believed in coincidences, but he began to find you everywhere: in the cold corridors of nevermore, in the gardens when everyone was asleep, in the reflections of the stained glass windows. and over time, you began to notice it too.
"if you're going to follow me, at least try not to seem so obvious," you said one afternoon without even looking at him. your voice sounded ethereal, as if it came from another frequency.
damian froze, awkward, surprised that you’d noticed it.
"i wasn't following you... i just..." he searched for words that didn't sound like a cheap excuse. “i saw you disappear in class. i wanted to make sure you were okay.”
you turned around. for a second your face distorted, and your skin glowed with a translucent flash. then you went back to normal.
"i'm used to it, night. i don't need someone to take care of me.”
"i'm not taking care of you," he lied. "it’s just that i found it intriguing how you disappear."
you raised an eyebrow "really? well, i'm not a circus act for you to be analyzing, just leave me alone.
damian tried to convince you to let him help you. "we could monitor your energy levels, analyze your pulses."
"no," you cut him off. "i don't want to become an experiment, night.
and before damian could answer, you disappeared in front of him, leaving him in the cold corridor to the rooms.
"you wouldn't be an experiment," he whispered to the runner, but even as he said it, his voice sounded hollow.
that night he didn't sleep. in his notebook he wrote dozens of nonsensical formulas, trying to understand the frequency that caused your molecules to collapse.
by dawn, i had filled entire pages with the same phrase, written over and over again: i can't let her go away. every refusal of yours was one more spark inside his head. he started to stay after school, to observe your routines, your reactions, your moments of weakness. he didn't do it out of morbidity, not even out of curiosity. he did it because he needed to understand you. and the more he understood, the less he could stop. it was as if his mind was rewriting itself around you. his thoughts were spiraling: your cells, your frequency, your pain, your smile, the way your body blurred in the classroom light. and that drove him crazy.
one afternoon, while professor orloff was giving his lesson on biomolecular energy, you had another episode. your pupils dilated, your shape distorted, and a vibration ran through the air. everyone moved away, except him. damian approached without thinking. he held you, although his hand passed through yours, and in that instant, he felt an electric current run through his arm. it was not electricity, it was something else. a momentary molecular union, impossible to repeat.
i felt you, he thought. i finally felt you.
and there, in that microsecond, damian night was damned. it wasn't about curiosity anymore; it wasn't about empathy. it was love. love disguised as science. love that hurt that vibrated in his chest with every time he saw you vanish.
the next few weeks became a mixture of experiments and secrets. damian began working in his laboratory, in the old yago tower, where the echoes of his father's past still seemed to vibrate. from that day on, he stopped eating, he stopped sleeping, he lived locked between planes of energy and impossible equations, with the echo of your voice reverberating in each issue.
"don't get attached to anyone so much that you make the same mistakes as him." his mother's warning sounded like a curse and even so, he ignored it. every night, that damian had repeated to himself that he wouldn't be his father, vanished when he saw you every time you screamed in silence, twisted by pain. he was already his father. and you, unintentionally, had become his françoise.
in the center of the room, a mock-up of a containment chamber took shape: a sphere of glass and blue electrical filaments, designed to keep your body's molecular frequencies unified. in theory, it could stabilize you. in practice, it could destroy you. the lights in the lab had twinkled when the first prototype was finished. it lay in glory in front of it, and as the machine whirred, his mind was buzzing with it, too. i do it for her. just for her. but deep down, an older, darker voice murmured: or maybe you do it for yourself. because you can't bear to see it go away.
the next morning he found you on the roof of the south building, where the wind from nevermore was rattling the windows. your legs were dangling over the edge, your fingers trembling with that vibration that heralded the onset of pain.
damian approached slowly, without a word. "does it hurt again?" he whispered.
you nodded, your voice breaking.
"i don't know how much longer i can take it, damian. every time i fade away... i feel that a part of me stays there, among the atoms. that one day i will not return."
he sat down next to you. he didn't dare touch you. "i'm not going to let that happen.”
"you can't promise that. you don't even understand what i am.”
"i understand more than you think," he replied; his tone was soft, but his eyes "there was something feverish about them, something you didn't know how to read then. i've been working on something. in a way to stabilize you."
you looked at him, alarmed. "working? what does that mean?"
damian lowered his gaze, his hair falling over his eyes. "my father dedicated his short life to trying to save his sister. he failed because he thought he could control life. i don't want to control you, i just want to give you a chance to live without pain.
"what if it goes wrong?" you asked in a thin voice.
"then it will be my mistake, not yours. but at least i will have tried.”
there was a long silence, broken only by the wind and your irregular breathing. "i don't want to be another experiment that destroys you, damian," you said at last.
he looked up and his eyes were shining, moist, honest.
"you don't destroy me. you make me feel human. that's reason enough to try.”
his words hung in the air, so fragile and warm that they hurt.
in the end, you took a deep breath and nodded.
"okay... but if something goes wrong, promise me you won't blame yourself.
damian smiled, sadly. "i can't promise that.”
now you were there, inside the machine he had built for you. the fear was noticeable in your hands, but also something else: faith.
"i don't like this, damian," you muttered. "you said it was safe, but it feels... as if something was pulling me.”
damian adjusted a dial with trembling fingers. sweat ran down his forehead, but his eyes, fixed on you, burned with a strange calm.
"trust me. just a few more seconds.
"and if it doesn't work?"
"then i'll vanish with you."
you looked at him, and for a moment, fear gave way. there was something in his voice, a broken tenderness, a certainty that anchored you to the ground.
the energy rose in tone. the light became almost white. your molecules began to vibrate again, but this time not from pain. damian introduced the final sequence, the data he had spent nights perfecting.
"come on, come on," he whispered. "rewrite the pattern, don't let her get away from me."
the monitor beeped. your body arched, the light enveloped you, and for a second he thought he had lost you. then the silence. when he opened his eyes, the air was still. the machine was smoking softly, the filaments had fallen off. and you were there. whole. solid. damian didn't breathe until he saw you come out of the cage with trembling steps.
"does it hurt?" he asked, his voice breaking.
you waved your hand in front of your eyes. your skin didn't tremble. you tried to fade your fingers but they didn't, they wouldn't fade.
"no," you whispered, surprised. "it doesn't hurt."
he laughed, a faint and beautiful laugh, as if he didn't know what to do with the relief. and you ran to him, grabbed his face and put your lips together with his. damian froze for a moment, he hadn't expected that reaction from you, but he managed to put his left hand on your cheek and his right hand on your waist as the kiss followed. you slowly separated and the two of you laughed softly.
"thank you very much damian, seriously, if it wasn't for you i don't think i would have finished the semester."
he placed his hands on your waist and said, "you don't have to thank me, i'd do anything for you."
your gaze watered, you put your arms around his neck and pulled him into your body, his warmth enveloping you. for the first time, when he hugged you, there was no emptiness. there was no cold. only warmth.
weeks later, the laboratory was still silent. the machine remained covered by a tarp, forgotten, as if both had decided to leave behind the science that almost consumed them.
in the garden at nevermore, you lay on the grass while damian read one of his father's notebooks.
"what does it say?" you asked, your eyes closed.
"you say love doesn't belong to scientists. it destroys everything." he paused, then smiled softly. "i think i was wrong.
you turned your head, looked at him, and for the first time, he felt that his mind was at peace. not with formulas or equations, but with the simple fact that you were alive, and real, and there.
"a night will always cross the boundaries of science for someone they love."
but this time, love didn't kill. this time, love saved.
a year later
a new year had arrived at nevermore. the cold was beginning to be felt outside, the stained glass windows were shining with pale light, and calm had returned... or so it seemed.
damian and you were still together. from the night of the machine and the night of his kiss, there was no more pain, no more disappearances, just a constant, soft, invisible connection. he said that your molecules had found their perfect frequency; you said that your soul had simply found its anchor.
they lived between classes, experiments, dates, and nightly walks in the gardens, where it all began. until one night, the electricity crackled in the air again. literally.
now damian was in the lab, finishing an investigation so he could go to your room and have dinner together when the sheet covering his machine, which had been dormant for months, fell to the floor.
"that's not possible," he murmured.
the air turned cold. suddenly he heard footsteps heavier than yours going up the stairs. and he saw a young man, there was someone there. someone who had been buried for 30 years. the young man had pale skin, tousled brown curls, wore a sack and had a look that damián recognized from old photos. he recognized him before the name formed in his mind.
"father...
isaac night watched him, bewildered, with the amazement of seeing his own reflection looking directly at him but with eyes that he would recognize anywhere.
"i never thought i'd see this lab again," he said hoarsely. "how long has it been?"
damian stepped forward, trembling.
"thirty years. it's not possible, you died in an explosion right here. how come you're here?"
isaac lifted his chin and in a hostile tone replied. "pugsley addams."
damian didn't need any more information to join the wires, he had heard of the skill of merlina addams' little brother. then you appeared, from the stairs of the laboratory. father and son looked at you and your eyes widened in surprise.
your eyes were fixed on damian, you hesitated but spoke in a firm voice: "i'll be back later."
your boyfriend walked towards you with his hand outstretched for you to take it and replied calmly: "it's okay, sorry i took longer than i expected."
"no, it's okay, i thought you'd want company. now i see that something entertained you. how? how is that possible?"
"an addams."
"wednesday?" you questioned.
"no, pugsley" damian replied.
"huh, that makes more sense." your head bowed in agreement.
while the younger ones had their brief conversation, isaac began to walk through his old laboratory, inspecting the machine that was in front of him, under his eyes and opening the door he found the plans "machine to save her (containment chamber to stabilize her molecular frequencies)" read as the title of these, that surprised him. returning his gaze to his son, which seemed crazy to him to think, and the one he wanted to think about was his girlfriend and the girl the shots talked about, he couldn't help but feel something inside him writhe, he hadn't identified if it was his stomach or his ego but it didn't take long for him to join the wires.
if the blueprints were from a machine to stabilize his molecular frequencies, then the girl must have some ability related to it, his mind immediately took him to intangibility and then invisibility, the girl must be a vanisher. and so far, he hadn't seen any hint of it, a tension ran through his body like a rope about to break. isaac put the blueprints down on the table and frowned, his ego had definitely been hurt.
"you saved her," he said at last, his voice heavy with disbelief. "do you tell me that you did it? that you saved her. that she—" he pointed to you, "that she is intact and alive, and without pain. how is it possible that you have accomplished what i could not?"
damian turned his gaze to his father, swallowed, holding his gaze firmly and pointed to his creation. "with that, it took me months to build it and i didn't sleep for months, just to try to have it by my side forever. i did what you couldn't: i learned from your mistakes and didn't let them consume me.
isaac blinked, as if processing each word slowly. his initial hostility was still vibrating in the air, but something about the way damian spoke, honestly and fearlessly, began to loosen the tension.
"so... you learned from my mistakes," he murmured, his voice low, his eyes softening a little, revealing a hint of pride and relief. i never thought i'd see this... and that i would understand that you accomplished something that i couldn't. congratulations."
isaac took a step back, his shoulders lowering slightly, and let out a sigh. for the first time since he appeared, hostility gave way to understanding. you remained silent, watching the elder of the nights in front of you, your expression mixed with fear and curiosity.
damian felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders. thanks to you, in a way. everything that came in your notebooks, what mom told me about you, about your mistakes, everything helped us get here.
isaac nodded slowly, and though he still retained a young, powerful air, his expression was lighter, almost human.
"it's okay," he said with a hint of a smile. "it's okay. you" his eyes fell on you "you're awesome."
you smiled softly, and damian took your hand, bringing you closer to him.
"yes," he said, "she is."
isaac watched them for a moment longer, the echo of thirty years of obsession and mistakes slowly dissipating. he raised his eyebrows and asked something that made him feel 15 again.
"how’s your mother been?" he murmured, almost to himself.
damian smiled and cocked his head, encouragement from her indomitable curls fell on his face. "we live in oregon. if you want to recover from these 30 years she has lived without you, i could take you with her."
his father's eyes flashed faintly as a sideways smile appeared on his face, "thanks, i'd love to."
you leaned against damian, smiling at the moment between part and son as you felt all the weight of the past melt away.
"at least it was a good night, wasn't it?" you whispered.
they laughed softly, damian hugging you by the waist, a place he had become obsessed with.
"yes. this time, everything went well."
and as night shrouded nevermore with its silent mantle, for the first time, love and family seemed complete.
