#'character study' i say and then worry this is perhaps too ooc

[koinotame]

quick apology fic to xiao for missing his bday </3 which doubles as a character study of xiao and an exploration of how you as the player interact with the self aware characters in self aware au

it’s been a couple of weeks since you last used him.

or has it only been several days? whether it’s days or years, it all feels like the blink of an eye to him. the flow of time is somewhat of a nebulous concept for someone like him, especially since you first appeared.

it doesn’t matter. however long you take to come back, xiao will wait dutifully for you.

he spends most of his time when you’re not making use of him subjugating threats around liyue and fighting off any unwanted foes. perhaps you’ll come back faster if the area is freer of enemies. you’re kind, after all. you seem much happier when it’s peaceful.

lately, when there’s no demons for him to quell, he’s found himself returning to the same spot on wangshu inn’s upper balcony. it’s the spot you always drop him off at before disappearing. it’s not the place at the top of the inn’s roof he’d pick on his own, though you do sometimes take him up there as well.

you’re not actually there, but if he closes his eyes it almost feels like you are.

his birthday was a couple days ago. as usual, the traveller had suggested he write you a letter. as usual, he wasn’t sure what he could possibly convey to you that you would be happy to receive.

the traveller insisted anything from him would make you happy, but xiao doubts that.

it’s easier when you’re here. it’s easier when you’re here and he can submit himself entirely to you and doesn’t have to think for himself.

he’s been dreaming more lately, particularly of you. he doesn’t know what you look like, and after he wakes up he can never quite remember what you looked like in his dreams.

waking up after dreaming of you is always hard for xiao. it’s shameful how badly he wants to go back to dreaming of doing such mundane things with you, and it’s disgraceful how long it takes him to pick himself back up afterwards.

he wonders if you’d like doing dull things like that with someone like him.

he wonders if he deserves that.

probably not.

he left the letter at the railing of that same—your—spot, along with a serving of his almond tofu (he might not like dreaming, but he hopes your dreams are as sweet as his have been lately), some dream solvent (the traveller had mentioned you seemed to want more) and a small bundle of qixing (you frequently go out of your way to collect it).

you never touch it.

…after a couple days, he decided to move the offering to his room. it stays there, on his windowsill where the sun touches it in a way that reminds him of your warmth, untouched.

it doesn’t matter, he tells himself. he’ll wait for you for as long as you want. even if another thousand years pass before you appear again, he’ll continue his duty and wait.

and then he blinks and suddenly finds himself in front of the adventurer’s guild in the court of fontaine.

another blink and he’s back at wangshu inn, this time heading towards the kitchen. the familiar aura of your possession fills him with a warmth he doesn’t think exists outside of you. he zones out for what feels no longer than a couple seconds, and suddenly there’s thirty servings of almond tofu in front of him.

your mood drops.

dissatisfaction seeps through you and into him. something deep in his gut squirms.

you set a large amount of sweet flowers to boil, then seem to fuss with something he can’t quite see or grasp. smiley yanxiao gives him a curious look, but doesn’t (cannot) comment any further.

in another couple of seconds—your teleportation hardly fazed him when you first started using him, let alone now when he’s so used to your presence—he’s in front of the liyuean general goods store. you buy up the entire stock of milk, and only milk.

your mood hasn’t improved. if anything, you seem even more downcast.

the milk dissipates as soon as it’s been bought, safely held in your near infinite storage.

he’s behind mondstadt’s hotel next, jumping down the railing and towards the local general goods store. again, you buy up all the milk. next you head for the good hunter (is that what it’s called? he thinks that’s what the traveller called it some time ago) and purchase as much of their sugar as you can.

tendrils of something truly unpleasant move upwards and wrap around his neck.

he finds himself in wangshu inn’s kitchen again. barely any of the sweet flowers have been processed, but you take the two packs of sugar anyway. you put him to work immediately.

usually, he finds the process of cooking much to tedious and drawn out. with you, he doesn’t mind.

you seem a bit more satisfied this time, and xiao finds himself ashamed of having made a few more of his specialty dish instead of only regular almond tofu like you’d wanted him to.

while you seem a bit happier now, he still finds himself in front of inazuma’s goods store. again, you buy all the milk. you talk to the restaurant owner up the stairs afterwards. some confusion creeps into him through you, but it doesn’t last long.

he’s in sumeru next. more milk makes its way into your inventory, and you visit the local tavern for good measure, though this time you don’t buy anything at all.

exiting the building, you seem to notice there’s a stove just outside of it and walk over in excitement… and straight into the clay oven.

a sharp pang of panic shoots through him and he jerks backwards. it takes him a second to realise it’s your panic.

immediately, you pull the astrologer from mondstadt out and have her set down her little hydro puppet. you then walk him through it, which does absolutely nothing except soak his clothes.

your panic doesn’t subside.

i’m sorry.

he blinks and finds himself in front of dihua marsh’s statue of the seven, the fire and the tinge it brought with it disappearing in seconds.

it’s rare to be able to make out what you’re actually saying as opposed to just feeling your vague emotions and intentions. are you that worried about him not performing up to standard with this little damage?

he’s yours to use. a little singe like that would never hold him back.

you don’t bother with fontaine.

something like shame curls up his body and makes a home near his ears.

soon after, he’s back at the inn’s kitchen again. yanxiao doesn’t even look in his direction this time as he gets back to work under your guidance, making even more almond tofu. he makes sure to take greater care to avoid displeasing you again.

your mood doesn’t pick up this time, but you seem to have calmed down a little. he’s not sure why (or what use you could possibly have for so much almond tofu), but it’s a small comfort.

part of him wishes he could be there with you properly to comfort you, but he knows better.

he might be your formidable weapon, but that’s all he is. he has no false illusions about his role or purpose to you, no matter how much he wishes he could be the one you turn to for comfort. he isn’t suited to something so delicate. he’s accepted that a long time ago.

your dejection doesn’t retract, even as you move him around a bit more.

then you sit him down at a table at the inn’s terrace and pull out a plate of his specialty.

your presence lingers for a bit, envelops him like a gentle dream, then falls through the cracks of his existence and disappears.

happy birthday, xiao.

he wonders if he deserves this much effort from you for something as inconsequential as his birthday.

probably not.

he hopes he’ll dream of this next.

[cinnamoodles]

the language of flowers — part two, irises

warnings: more angst than part one which is great, also reader throwing stuff bc she’s a badass, and in character Anthony which is honestly more of a red flag than ooc Anthony but you love him anyway you nasty :)

word count: 1.4k (wow I impress myself sometimes)

author’s note: we love this part bc reader stands up for herself and Anthony is one major daddy issues boy.

read the other parts! — part one, daises | part three, peonies

i don’t consent for my work to be reposted or copied, translated, or transferred to any other platform, or this one, in part or whole.

--------- . . . ---------

ii. 1804, iridaceae versicolor. irises, trust

Anthony paced the length of this study—which wasn’t all too large, but stress relieving nonetheless. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, a tempestuous mix of newfound worry and lingering doubts. Today marked one year, one year without his father, one year his mother was cast into a depressive state, one year since he had taken on the mantle of viscount, and become the father figure that his youngest siblings did not have.

It had been far too long since he had last spoken to you—days? Weeks? He had never gone so long without even seeing your face, and that was a stretch. He’d spent his last few months mourning, brooding, and perhaps being a tad overbearing on himself, but he had to, for the sake of his family’s honour, it’s prestige. 

There’s a sharp knock on his door, it’s most likely Colin or Daphne, who are frequent in irritating him. He makes no effort to open the door, and with a practiced gesture, he dips his quill into the inkwell, resuming his task of poring over the estate's financial matters. How often had his father sat here, absorbed in these very same calculations? A pang of longing pierces through him at the thought, his heart echoing the emptiness his father's absence had left behind.

Another knock.

It must be Colin, his eyes sparkling, attempting to irritate him once again. “I’ve got a job,” he snaps, “and I suggest you get one as well, one that does not involve vexing me at every given minute.”

The door creaks open, candlelight flickering over the stacks of leather bound tomes and haphazardly organized scrolls, casting lanky shadows over his face, playing upon the strong angles, highlighting the lines of exhaustion that marred his usually composed countenance. His normally impeccable attire was slightly disheveled, as if he had been running his hands through his hair in frustration, and his ink-stained fingers spoke of long hours spent in diligent work. He wasn’t in a position to meet anyone, much less usher yet another one of his young siblings out of his room.

“Oh, I vex you? Is that why you've been evading me like the plague?” Your presence was like a sudden burst of sunlight piercing through the storm clouds—startling, yet warmly welcomed. The quill slipped from his fingers as his eyes widened in surprise, locking onto your face, a vision that brought back a flood of memories and feelings he had attempted to suppress.

Your stormy eyes burned through his deep brown ones, and you crossed your hands across your chest. Your soft hair was tucked behind your ear, and your eyes were wide, as if staring directly into Anthony’s soul, and for just a moment, he allowed himself to become lost, to dream, and to gaze into them as if he was merely a boy again, holding you in his arms.

“Say something, Anthony! I’ve not seen you in weeks, properly, and you’ve barely held a conversation with anyone other than your butler, and frankly, I—” 

Anthony quickly wrapped you in a hug, burying his face in your shoulder, your cotton dress soft to the touch. He mumbles. “I missed you.” He can feel you stiffen, but soon gently relax into his arms.

“That is why I came,” you smile, and pull away, holding him at an arm’s distance. “Oh, and my brother is getting married. I wanted to invite you personally to the wedding.” Your oldest brother, twenty eight years of age, was getting married, Anthony recalled. He was, of course, to be the next Duke when your father inevitably passed.

Anthony rubbed his eyes. “My sisters will come, of course, but I may not be able to.” Your invitation was tempting, and the prospect of seeing you again filled Anthony with a mix of excitement and trepidation. He hadn't realized just how much he had missed you until this moment, when you walked in the door. But his responsibilities as the viscount weighed heavily on his shoulders, and he feared that leaving the estate at this crucial time might jeopardize his mother’s already precarious emotional situation.

"I wish I could attend, truly," Anthony replied with a hint of regret in his voice. "But with the estate's financial matters in such disarray, I can't afford to be away for long. I must attend to my duties here."

You frowned slightly, concern glazed across your soft, delicate features. "Anthony, you can't carry the burden of the entire estate on your own. There must be someone who can assist you, even for a short time."

"I've considered that," Anthony admitted, his mind aching from the internal struggle. "But finding someone trustworthy, capable, and knowledgeable enough to handle the estate's affairs is not an easy task. I fear leaving things in someone else's hands might cause more harm than good.”

You crossed your arms, frustration evident in your expression. "Anthony, you can't keep shutting yourself off from the world. Your family's honor and prestige won't matter if you run yourself into the ground!"

He takes a step back, feeling defensive under your stern gaze. "I am taking care of things. I'm doing what I need to do to ensure the estate's survival, which is all that matters to me, at this point in time."

"Are you?" you snap, your voice tinged with disappointment that Anthony could see etched in your face. "You've barely spoken to anyone, including me, for weeks. You're burying yourself in work, and for what? To prove some sort of point? That you’re fit to be the man of the house?"

"I don't have a choice," Anthony replied tersely. "As the viscount, it's my duty to oversee everything. And after losing my father, I can't afford to let anything else slip through my fingers."

"You can't live in the past, Anthony," you urged, taking a step closer to him. "Your father's gone, and while it's natural to mourn, you can't let grief consume you. Of course, you have responsibility—"

His jaw clenched, and he shot back, "Responsibility? What would you know of responsibility? You don't understand the weight of responsibility on my shoulders. I can't just leave everything behind and go gallivanting off to weddings, like an immature child."

Pain flashed across your face, but Anthony was much too in his head to take a look at his surroundings. He continued, as if possessed by some spirit. “You’ve never had to work a day in your life. You’re spoiled, and the only thing your family has ever thought of doing for you is getting you married.” He spit. “So why don’t you worry about your responsibilities, and I’ll worry about mine.”

A single tear fell from your eye, and in that moment, Anthony wished he could take it all back, swallow the poison he had thrown at you so mercilessly. “I…” you bite your lip, and he wanted to take you in his arms, comfort you, and hold you.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out. “I’m sorry for whatever sin I’ve done to have you treat me like this.” You quickly wipe your tears and rush to the door. Anthony wanted to stop you, to scream about how he didn’t mean any of the words he said.

You quickly turn around, revealing a bouquet of irises, the specific ones Anthony had commented on the last time he visited your estate. He could barely remember when. “By the way, I bought you flowers. I thought they’d cheer you up,” you retort, before throwing the delicately tied bunch of flowers straight to his head, hitting his nose.

The door slammed, and Anthony was once again left alone, only this time, he’d have done anything to bring you back. Slowly, the petals of the irises cascaded down onto the ground, fracturing the flowers, and Anthony noticed a small piece of paper.

The Guide for Flora for Debutantes: In the quaint world of botany, the charming iris blooms have long been regarded as symbolic emissaries of trust and faithfulness. Like an ancient scroll unraveling before our very eyes, the iris, with its alluring hues and delicate petals, unravels the story of steadfast devotion and allegiance. Just as an honest man's handshake vouches for his sincerity, the iris bestows its trust upon those who approach with an open heart and gentle touch, and a receiving of this gentle bloom from either gender discloses that the gifter trusts you with their whole heart. Its regal demeanor, reminiscent of a gallant knight in armor, instills in us the assurance that this flower is a beacon of loyalty and constancy.

Trust. You had trusted him, and what had he done with that? He’d tossed it away, and your gift had broken. Anthony wasn’t usually one for symbolism, but these broken irises were pretty damn apparent.

[myfanfic-urfantrash]

I know this isn't really a request but if it's fine, can I ask for some advice? 😭

I want to write character x reader fics but I'm afraid of getting the character "ooc". What should I do?

Oh btw it's fine if this gets ignored, but if it doesn't then thanks so much in advance!

Sure I can try to give some advice though be warned I am typing so fast things might blur together :D

Under the read more cause it loooong

You're afraid of getting a character to be out of character? My suggestion is that you do your research! What do I mean by that? Well I mean study whatever information about that character you're able to find. This can be character audios that are within a game, pages of manga where they show up and dialog between them and other characters.

Every bit counts but don't ignore other characters in the process because in order to get a good feel of a character you need to see what others think of them. Like do other characters think they're pretty nice and caring, do people hate them and why do they. You should also consider the environment the character is in as well as whatever culture the character's environment may be based on.

I would say not to create and Alternate Universes until you've got a good hang of what you're working with first as you could add unnecessary details and get lost while trying to figure out what is what. But I do encourage writing shorter smaller works be it headcanons, short scenarios/imagines to get started. Don't worry about making the character out of character when you first start out because even the best of writers can make a mistake here and there.

I also encourage writing for yourself first before taking requests from other people. This can be hard if you don't have any ideas of what to write in the first place but think about what you'd like to read but haven't seen yet on any of the sites where you read. For me as an example I saw many fics where Scaramouche was rather degrading or down right abusive to the reader, I didn't like that so I wrote a few where while he's still abrasive, it's part of his personality, he does treat the reader with care with his actions rather than words.

If you still have no idea what to write I suggest looking up writing prompts! Those can be a great way to get started. I also encourage just writing but not deleting anything as you go until the very end because if you're too busy deleting stuff you're too busy to write!

I'd also suggest writing things in more than one point of view while writing character x readers it could help you figure out what style you prefer to use and what sounds better to you.

But back to the topic! If making a character ooc is what you're worried about when writing try to think about what would cause a character to say/do something rather than "____ would never say/do that!" I say this because you limit yourself by thinking a character would never do something like let's say for example murder if they're a kind a warm soul.

You need to think what would drive someone so kind and welcoming to kill someone. Perhaps they had no choice as it was either them or their enemy because they were trying to protect someone precious to them. Think about stuff like this and you'll slowly open your mind to the wonderful possibilities your writing can take.

Let's use Jing Yuan as an in game example for a scenario where you'd think he wouldn't do something: Helping Criminals. In the main quest Jing Yuan works with the Stellaron Hunters in order to get Dan Heng to awaken his powers again. Now The Stellaron Hunters are wanted criminals ALL over the universe basically, what would drive a General who has every right to arrest them to let them leave without capture? Simple: There's a bigger threat that they can't deal with that needs a specific person, Dan Heng, to gain access to.

I dunno if this is clear enough of what I mean but I hope this helps you and any other writer who wants to get into writing character x reader.

[writingfortoomanyfandoms]

The Only Woman

Pairing: (Henry Cavill!)Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Requested: Yep - “Hello Ma’amMay I request a Sherlock Holemes x Redaer?That when they were younger she was BSF with Sherlock and Mycroft. And all of the sudden they disappeared and never wrote to her a letter or nothing. And she got closer to Enola and when Edoria disappeared she reunites with Sherlock and Mycroft and Reader is Mad and Sad that he left without saying nothing. She always was in love with him and at the end she finds out he also was in love with her! And lots of fluffThank You so MuchAnonymous (she/her/hers)”

Summary: Basically just the request

Warnings: Probably some swearing, some 20th century misogyny, pining, fluff, angst, denial, all that fun stuff, probably ooc Sherlock but we vibe with it because he’s soft af

A/N: My first full length Sherlock fic! I should mention that my requests aren’t actually open right now, especially not for full fics but I was inspired by this request and so decided to make it into a full one! I hope you guys enjoy, please remember to reblog, comment or send an ask letting me know what you think and if you want to see me write more for Sherlock (and Henry and his other characters for that matter) in the future!

Y/N had been essentially another resident of the Holmes household her whole life, having been introduced to the family through the two boys - Sherlock and Mycroft, whom she had run into while out playing in the woods. Her family lived in the house nearest to the Holmes residence, technically making them neighbours.

Sherlock and Mycroft didn’t exactly do ‘friends’, that much had been clear even to Y/N’s young mind after meeting them. She was a year and a half younger than Sherlock and yet she still knew more about interacting with other people than he did. Not that either of the Holmes boys had ever seemed interested in other people, they had their brains to keep them occupied, and when they failed to find entertainment in learning, they had each other.

Despite this, they took a shine to Y/N when they found her playing make-believe on her own in the woods and insisted that she come over to have dinner with them and their family.

Mr and Mrs Holmes had gone out of their way, following that initial visit, to make Y/N feel as welcome as possible at Ferndell Hall. At first this was simply because they were astounded that their sons had actually made a friend and seemed interested in maintaining this friendship, but then it was partially as a result of the somewhat turbulent relationship that it became clear Y/N had with her family.

Eudoria in particular had ensured that Y/N knew she could always come and visit, that there was a spare bedroom that could be set up should she require it, which Y/N only began to take advantage of as she grew up and the rows with her parents over her future became more frequent.

However, it was always Sherlock that she was closest to. While she considered Mycroft a friend, and he had grudgingly returned the sentiment, they had never clicked in the same way that Y/N had with Sherlock. Occasionally Mycroft would storm off midway through a game, frustrated by Sherlock’s intelligence which so trumped his and Y/N’s, or he would simply decide that he was ��above’ having friends.

Sherlock never much minded Y/N hanging around though. Truthfully, now that she was grown, Y/N looked back at their years of friendship and couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps his reason for tolerating her company was because she gave him the awed reactions that he secretly desired from his intelligence.

She had fond memories of her childhood with the Holmes. At Ferndell she never felt the need to pretend to be a young lady ready to be married that her parents so desperately wanted her to be, even as a child. Mr Holmes encouraged her to continue her studies beyond what her Governess would teach her, and Eudoria actively tried to teach her all that she could, going so far as to teach her alongside her sons on occasion - Mycroft wasn’t exactly fond of that, though Sherlock appeared to enjoy her company.

And then there was Enola, a surprisingly timid child considering the family that she had been born into - though Eudoria was convinced that her shyness was a trait that she would soon grow out of. Enola adored Y/N.

While Sherlock and Mycroft paid their little sister no mind, too caught up in their own lives to acknowledge their baby sister’s, Y/N was fond of Enola. Having grown up in a male-dominated household with only brothers for company, she had always wanted a younger sister.

It was Mr Holmes’ death that changed everything.

Not long after his death, Y/N was saying goodbye to her two closest friends as they left for Boarding School. Y/N had promised to write to them and had been encouraged to do so by Sherlock, who seemed thrilled by the prospect of their continued communication and Mycroft had also seemed somewhat in favour of the idea.

Y/N wrote to the brothers for a year after they left. Her letters to Sherlock in particular were long and full of detail about both her life, her parents continued attempts to interest her in marriage and her attempts to further her education, as well as the lives of Eudoria and Enola.

After a year of these letters, however, Y/N had yet to receive word from either brother and thus, with a heavy heart, she had halted her letter writing and turned her mind away from the Holmes brothers. 

Eudoria had ensured that Y/N still knew that she was welcome whenever she wanted to come over, however, and so Y/N’s life at Ferndell continued even with the absence of the boys she had considered to be her closest friends.

Y/N had been the first to be informed that Eudoria had disappeared, Enola having ran over to her house the day of her sixteenth birthday in a state of distress, imploring the older woman to help her. They had agreed that it was best for Sherlock and Mycroft to be contacted at once, with Sherlock’s career, Enola had been certain that her brother would make himself indispensable.

Y/N had been less keen on writing to the Holmes brothers, dreading having to see her old friends again, still far more hurt than she could care to admit about their silence following their departure. Every time in the past week that Enola had brought up the topic of her brothers, Y/N had been quick to change the subject.

A decision that she was coming to regret now that she approached Ferndell to find an automobile parked outside of it. Y/N bit back a groan, aware that its presence more than likely meant that Sherlock and Mycroft would be waiting inside.

Y/N didn’t knock before she entered, she never had as she had basically been a part of the family over the past few years.

She could hear the low mumble of voices coming from the drawing room, which were becoming steadily louder and Y/N’s expression dropped into a deep frown as she stepped towards the room, recognising Enola’s voice, breaking with emotion, even through the closed doors.

Before she could place her hand on the knob, however, the door was flung open and Enola rushed out, crashing into Y/N, who almost dropped the bags she was holding.

“Enola?” Y/N breathed, her hands gripping onto the young girl’s shoulders, steadying her. 

“Y/N!” Enola embraced her tightly, though not before Y/N caught sight of her face, flushed red and eyes shining with tears, her expression the picture of distress.

“What’s happened? What’s wrong? Why are you… in your undergarments?” Y/N asked in a rush as Enola pulled away. The teenager wiped fiercely at her face, clenching her jaw.

“My brothers are here…” Enola seemed to struggle with herself for a moment before shaking her head. “I wish to be alone.”

With that, Enola pushed past her and shortly after Y/N heard footsteps on the stairs. Y/N looked back to the door to the drawing room and caught a glimpse of a man holding a book, chestnut curls falling over his forehead, his brown eyes just visible, his brow furrowed as though he were frowning.

Sherlock was recognisable immediately. His eyes moved over to the door, away from the chair Y/N knew to be facing him in the room which she assumed seated Mycroft, and his book lowered, his head raising and his lips parting in slight surprise - an expression that Y/N had never seen on him in the entire duration of their friendship.

Before he could say anything, however, Y/N turned on her heel and walked towards the kitchen.

“Good morning, Miss Y/L/N,” Mrs Lane said from where she was kneading bread dough on the kitchen counter.

“Morning, Mrs Lane - I see that Enola’s brothers have arrived.”

“Yes, they got here yesterday,” Mrs Lane confirmed as Y/N placed down the bags of food she had bought and began to unpack them into the pantry. Knowing how overworked Mrs Lane had been, staffing the house alone, particularly since Eudoria’s absence, Y/N had taken to doing the food shopping for them.

“Enola seemed very upset,” Y/N said, unable to conceal her worry.

“Yes - Mr Mycroft has been less than impressed by both the state of the house and Enola herself.”

“Why?” Y/N demanded, her frown deepening, the beginnings of anger festering in her stomach.

“He doesn’t think Mrs Holmes did a good job of raising her,” Mrs Lane looked equally disgusted by the words even as she spoke them. “He wishes to send her to a finishing school to turn her into a proper lady.”

“But can’t he see that she’s happy here?”

“I don’t think Mr Holmes much cares,” Mrs Lane admitted.

“What does Sherlock think of all of it?”

“He has been rather silent on the matter, Miss Y/L/N,” Mrs Lane said, shaking her head and sighing. “I fear Enola has been rather disappointed by the brother she so idolised.”

“She said she wished to be alone for a while,” Y/N said, leaning on the counter and rubbing her forehead, wanting to ease out the deep concern she was feeling for the girl she had come to think of as a sister. “I’ll try and talk to her in a little bit,” she decided and Mrs Lane nodded her approval.

Y/N ventured out into the garden half an hour later, figuring that that was ample time for Enola to think it over for herself. Y/N knew exactly where the Holmes daughter would be, she knew that Enola had a favourite tree in the garden where she would go, should she want to get away from the house for a little bit.

What she wasn’t expecting was to find Sherlock walking back from the direction of the very tree Y/N knew Enola to be hiding in. He looked deep in thought, but there was no denying the very slight smile that lifted the corners of his lips.

Y/N allowed her head to fall, her eyes on the ground, hoping against hope that there was even the smallest chance that Sherlock may not notice her.

“Y/N - it was you I saw,” there was an edge of something like delight in his voice as he spoke and Y/N wanted to look up, to see his expression, to confirm that he was smiling as he acknowledged her.

Instead, she chose to ignore him and attempted to continue walking.

“Y/N!” Sherlock called, and reached out a hand to gently take hold of her arm, pulling her ever-so carefully back to stand in front of her.

“Mr Holmes,” Y/N returned his greeting, lifting her head to watch his features fall into a slight frown.

“I wasn’t aware that you would be here,” Sherlock said, his eyes searching hers.

“I was always welcome at Ferndell,” Y/N responded stiffly. “Now I must go and speak with Enola,” she said, turning ready to leave him.

“Y-” Sherlock cut himself off from saying her name. “Miss Y/L/N,” he corrected, and Y/N risked a glance at her old friend over her shoulder, seeing his brow crinkled in confusion, an expression that she had rarely seen during their childhood.

“Yes, Mr Holmes?”

“How have you been?” Sherlock was floundering, that much was obvious. All the articles about him that Y/N and Enola had read, all her memories of him from her younger years had always portrayed him as being calm, collected, ready with his words. Seeing him now, in this state of uncertainty, caused by seeing her for the first time after so many years, it brought her a sense of satisfaction.

“Fine thank you, now if you’ll excuse me,” she didn’t give Sherlock a chance to respond, walking away from him as quickly as possible, though she could feel his eyes burning into her back as she left him behind.

Enola was sitting on the grass at the base of the tree, her back pressed up against it, her sketchbook balanced on her lap but her eyes were glazed over and looking at the scenery rather than at the pages.

“Can I join you?”

The teenager started, her eyes widening in slight shock but then she relaxed as her eyes landed on Y/N, who she offered a small, tired smile and nodded her head. Once Y/N had seated herself on the ground, Enola scooted over to rest her head on her shoulder and let out a long sigh.

“I’m glad to see you’ve put on clothes now,” Y/N finally broke the silence and the younger girl laughed a little.

“Apparently my proportions are incorrect,” Enola informed her.

“Yes, I often find myself thinking that,” Y/N teased and Enola giggled again, playfully elbowing Y/N in the side. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t want to go to Miss Harrison’s Finishing School for Young Girls.”

“Finishing school is the worst,” Y/N agreed. 

“I remember when you went,” Enola murmured. “Mother said you hated it.”

“I did,” Y/N confirmed. “I begged my parents every holiday to not send me back, I think I even asked your mother at one point to adopt me so that I wouldn’t have to go,” Y/N chuckled at the memory, shaking her head. “It was a source of great amusement for my brothers.”

“Mine too,” Enola said darkly. “Mycroft is an utter pig, you know.” 

Y/N laughed again at the choice of words.

“Family reunion didn’t go quite as planned, I take it?”

“I didn’t have a hat or gloves,” Enola sighed. 

“So off to finishing school?”

“The only logical course of action,” Enola agreed, her tone biting. “You were friends with them, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” Y/N said, wary of where this conversation was going. “But I stand no chance of changing their minds. Mycroft was always stubborn, even when we were children, and I haven’t seen them since they went to boarding school.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry, I wish I could help,” Y/N said, her heart aching for the young woman.

“It’s okay,” Enola murmured. “I was just wondering, though… Sherlock was talking about me as a child - you must have known me at the same time as him, yes?” Y/N nodded her confirmation. “I think I have more memories of you than him or Mycroft.”

“I spent a lot of time with you,” Y/N shrugged.

“He said that I used to drag a pinecone around with me.”

Y/N couldn’t help herself from laughing as the memory struck her.

“Oh yes - a little pinecone, wrapped in wool that you dragged around on a string because of Queen Victoria’s spaniel. Called… Dash? I think?”

“That’s what Sherlock said, yes,” Enola straightened up, a slight grin on her face. “So it’s true?”

“Yes, you were rather obsessed with the thing,” Y/N confirmed, still chuckling a little. Silence fell between them, comfortable and thoughtful.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“What were my brothers like growing up?”

Y/N thought hard before answering, her mind going back to her childhood.

“They were fun,” Y/N said at last. “They both knew that they were smarter than me, and I think that that was at least part of the reason they kept me around. Sherlock would teach me things - things that my Governess wouldn’t have thought I ought to know…” Y/N trailed off. “They were kind,” she admitted at last. “Albeit a little aloof at times, a little arrogant, they were always kind to me. I think Sherlock could tell immediately that I was unhappy with my family, and that was why they brought me to Ferndell,” Y/N confided.

“Mycroft was kind to you?” Enola asked, staring at her wide-eyed. 

“He didn’t know any better until he went out into the world,” Y/N replied, smiling a little.

“I won’t let him send me to Miss Harrison’s Finishing School For Girls,” Enola stated defiantly.

“No,” Y/N agreed. “I don’t think that you should.”

///

Y/N was reading outside when the maid came to see her.

“Miss Y/L/N, there’s a Mr Holmes here to see you,” Freya spoke, her eyebrows raised just a tad in a teasing way, indicating that she thought it was a romantic house-call. Y/N frowned in return.

“Mr Holmes?” She repeated. “Not Enola?”

“If it’s Enola then she’s certainly changed a lot since I last saw her,” Freya said. “Mr Holmes is in the drawing room.”

Y/N closed her book and stood, following the maid inside, through the house and into the drawing room. She pushed the door open, still confused as to why either of the Holmes brothers would feel the need to make a house call to see her.

Sherlock was standing in the drawing room, his back to her as he stared at the painting hanging above the fireplace. She closed the door as quietly as she could, but the soft sound caught the attention of the detective anyway. Sherlock turned and offered her an unsure, gentle smile.

“Good morning, Mr Holmes,” Y/N said, bowing her head just slightly towards him. She thought she saw Sherlock’s smile falter just a tad before he returned her greeting. “What can I help you with?”

“I’m afraid I bring some bad news,” Sherlock said, walking away from the fireplace. Y/N stepped further into the room and indicated a chair. “Thank you,” he said as he sat down, Y/N seating herself in the armchair across from him. “Enola has run away.”

“Is that really all that surprising?” Y/N sighed, though his words did immediately cause her to worry for the young girl.

“Were you aware of what she was planning?” Sherlock asked.

“No. It just doesn’t surprise me.”

Sherlock looked at her for a long moment, seemingly analyzing her expression and finally he gave a slow nod of his head.

“So I take it that she hasn’t contacted you at all?” He asked.

“I haven’t heard from her since yesterday when I left Ferndell,” Y/N confirmed, attempting to keep her features as neutral as possible.

Sherlock frowned at her, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Even if she had, you wouldn’t tell me, would you?”

“No,” Y/N admitted, shrugging her shoulders. “But you can’t blame me for that. We both know that Finishing School is not where Enola’s time would be best spent. Besides, from what she told me Miss Harrison seems a foul woman.”

She thought she saw Sherlock’s lips twitch as though he wanted to smile, but then he schooled his expression into one of neutrality again.

“You know, there was a time when you would tell me everything,” he reminded her.

“And there was a time that you found me utterly insufferable for that,” Y/N countered, her words sounding like she was spitting venom at him.

“I never found you insufferable,” Sherlock said, a chuckle in his voice. 

“Is that so?” Y/N mused, quirking her eyebrow at him.

“Perhaps a little slow at times, but I wouldn’t take that personally,” she hated how teasing he sounded, as though nothing had changed since he left. Sherlock clearly picked up on the anger festering in the pit of her stomach and spoke again before she had time to lash out. “But I never found you insufferable.”

Y/N made a noise conveying how unconvinced she was by his words and she stood from the chair.

“If that’s all…”

Sherlock’s eyes flashed with something similar to disappointment before he, too, stood and adjusted his suit jacket slightly.

“Yes… that’s all,” he said. “I thank you for your time.”

Y/N nodded and watched as Sherlock crossed the room to stand in front of the door, reaching out a hand towards the doorknob. Before he could turn it, though, Y/N was hit by a sudden wave of concern.

“Mr Holmes?”

The man paused and looked back at her over his shoulder at her.

“You… if you find her, or here anything… could you let me know? She’s only young… I worry about her.”

Sherlock bowed his head in a sign of consent.

“I will keep you updated, I promise.”

“Thank you… Sherlock.”

Just as Sherlock had promised, he kept her updated on the situation with Enola as best as he could and she received letters from him every other day, even if he had found no new leads.

On the days that he had nothing new to report, his letters were filled with updates about his own life, general musings, his theories about both Enola’s whereabouts and other, unofficial cases that had caught his eye. 

In short, they were the most un-Sherlock-like letters that Y/N could have ever imagined receiving and every time the post came she felt her heart lift in hope that there would be another one for her.

The only letter that Y/N had replied to, however, was one dated about a week and a half after Enola’s disappearance, in which Sherlock told her that he had asked Mycroft to pass over his duties and to make Enola his ward, filing Y/N in on the details about what had happened with Enola and the case of the missing Maquis. Sherlock had also let her know that he had attempted to make contact with his sister via newspaper and that she had indeed come to the meeting spot but had been disguised.

From the tone of that letter, it had been clear to Y/N that Sherlock truly cared for his younger sister, and that he knew that she would be capable of taking care of herself despite the worry that he so clearly felt over her.

After having received a response from Y/N after that letter, Sherlock had implored her to keep replying, but Y/N had not. She was afraid of falling into the same trap that she had when they were kids - of allowing herself to get too close to him, to feel something for him, when it was never going to go anywhere.

Y/N had allowed her heart to be broken by Sherlock Holmes once before, when she was too young to truly understand matters of the heart. She wasn’t going to do it again.

About a week after receiving the letter recounting the tale of Enola and Tewkesbury, however, Y/N got another surprise in the post. A letter from Enola herself, detailing Y/N with much of the same information that had already been given to her by Sherlock, though with more detail and far more reassurance that she truly was safe and secure and comfortable in her newfound lodgings in London.

In the final paragraph of the letter, there was a plea from Enola, imploring Y/N to go and visit her in London - she had attached a date for the following week and the address of a cafe that she said she thought Y/N would appreciate.

And so Y/N found herself boarding a train the next week, ready to meet Enola in London, agreeing to stay with her for a couple of days so that they could properly catch up.

Just as she was settling into the carriage, the train about to leave the station, the door slid open again and a familiar face appeared.

“May I join you?” Sherlock asked, a somewhat nervous smile on his face. Y/N returned it and nodded her head.

“Of course,” Sherlock entered into the compartment, closing the door behind him and placing his bag onto the overhead luggage rack and taking the seat opposite her. “I wasn’t aware that you were back here?” 

“Only for a night - Mycroft demanded my help,” Sherlock explained. “I thought about visiting you, but I was unsure of how much it would be appreciated,” he added. Y/N bowed her head a little, finding herself unable to maintain eye contact with him. “You didn’t reply to my letters.”

“Yes I did.”

Y/N risked a glance up and saw Sherlock’s lips quirk a little, holding back a smile.

“I apologise - you replied to only one of my letters.”

“That’s one more than you replied to of mine,” Y/N pointed out, raising her eyebrows challengingly. Sherlock didn’t even attempt to keep his smile at bay, grinning at her in the familiar cheeky way that Y/N remembered from their childhood.

“I wasn’t aware of how good you were at bearing grudges,” he mused, leaning back in his seat.

“Well perhaps if you’d come to visit you would have realised,” Y/N muttered, opening her bag that rested on the chair beside her and pulled out the book she was reading.

Before she could open it, though, Sherlock’s hand pressed down on the cover, preventing her from doing so.

“I'm sorry, Y/N,” he whispered and when Y/N met his eyes again they were so filled with genuine apology and concern.

“I wasn’t aware that you knew what an apology was,” but she smiled a little, seeing how Sherlock’s eyes brightened 

“Well I’ve been attempting to catch up on them as of late.”

“Enola?”

“I have yet to find her to give her one,” Sherlock confessed, leaning back at last. “You’re going down to see her, aren’t you?”

Y/N knew there was no point in denying it, Sherlock was always capable of telling when people were lying. He had always been particularly quick at picking up on Y/N’s lies as well when they were children.

“Yes - she wrote inviting me down last week,” Sherlock nodded slowly.

“Would you… would you let me know that she’s safe - that her lodgings are comfortable?”

“I’ll let her know you asked,” Y/N said instead, her voice quiet and full of understanding.

“Thank you,” Sherlock swallowed hard.

Silence fell between them. The most comfortable silence that had existed between them since their reunion.

“I did miss you, you know.”

“I’m sorry?”

“When I left home - I did miss you. I know you think I didn’t, and it’s understandable, but I did,” Sherlock confessed.

“Why didn’t you reply?” Y/N asked and she hated the desperation in her voice, the plea to understand why so many years had passed in silence. “Why didn’t you come and visit?”

“I don’t have a good reason for why I did - or didn’t - do any of it. And I’m so sorry,” Sherlock sighed but Y/N frowned at him, noticing how his gaze briefly dropped her own as he spoke, how his fingers fidgeted slightly on his lap.

“I know you’re the detective of the two of us, but I know when you lie, Sherlock Holmes,” Y/N didn’t know what made her do it, but she lent forwards and grabbed one of his hands between her own. “Tell me the truth, Sherlock.”

Sherlock studied her hard for a long minute, his eyes sweeping across her face, taking in every inch of her features and there was an emotion that Y/N couldn’t quite place lingering in his eyes.

“Mycroft used to… make fun of me, when we were children. Because he knew how I… how I felt about you. I’ve never quite… understood why he did, he always liked you, even if he never admitted it, but I hated it. I hated Mycroft making fun of me, it made me feel like he was smarter than me…” Sherlock’s cheeks reddened. “I did not mean for that to sound as conceited as it did.”

“To be fair, you were quite a conceited child,” Y/N teased, squeezing his hand and Sherlock chuckled. “But… what do you mean, how you felt about me?”

“You really want me to spell it out for you?” Sherlock asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“You said it yourself, I always was a little slow,” she grinned, “at least compared to you.”

Her heart was pounding out of her chest, she could barely breathe from the excitement at the idea that Sherlock was hinting at what she thought he was.

“You have to know by now that you are the only woman who I have ever held a place for in my heart.” He paused, shrugging his shoulders bashfully. “Or you were.”

“Enola?”

“Of course,” he confirmed. He lifted her hand tentatively up, pressing his lips gently against the back of it, keeping his gaze lowered. “I just hope that you know you never left it.”

The rest of the journey passed in a blur, the two of them having the final catch up that had been missing for so many years, everything feeling as though it was falling back into place, just like everything had been when they were kids.

By the time the train pulled into the station at London, Y/N had no desire to say goodbye to Sherlock Holmes, and by the way he loitered with her on the platform, it appeared that the sentiment was returned.

“Where are you headed?” Sherlock inquired. “I know Enola wouldn’t want you to tell me her address, but…”

“I’m actually meeting her at a cafe,” Y/N told him, adjusting her grip on her bag and smiling at him.

“In that case… would you allow me to escort you? London can be rather confusing at times, especially for those used to the country lifestyle,” he suggested and if Y/N didn’t know any better, she would have thought he was blushing a little in embarrassment.

“I would appreciate that yes, thank you Sherlock,” she agreed and Sherlock offered her his arm.

Enola did not seem overly surprised at Sherlock’s presence beside Y/N. There was a slight raise of her eyebrows, a knowing smile on her face and a gleam of amusement in her eyes as she walked over to them, her arms laden with a bunch of yellow roses.

“It’s so wonderful to see you again,” she said, completely bypassing her brother and embracing Y/N as carefully as she could with the flowers in her hands.

“I was so happy to hear from you, I was so worried about you,” Y/N told her, pulling away and examining her surrogate sister for any trace of hurt.

“I promise I’m fine,” Enola laughed, holding out the flowers for her. “I bought these for you, though.”

“They’re beautiful, thank you.” 

Enola’s eyes slid over to Sherlock at last, who was standing awkwardly to the side. Y/N could sense how his own gaze was flicking continuously between herself and his sister, clearly overjoyed at seeing her again but also wanting to continue the conversation he and Y/N had been holding on the train.

“It’s more of an apology, actually,” Enola mused. “I’m afraid that something has come up and my assistance is required… elsewhere. Perhaps Sherlock would take my place?” She raised her eyebrows at her brother.

“I-uh-”

“Fantastic!” Enola cheered, hugging Y/N once more and giving a nod to her brother before rushing away.

“Did your sister just set us up?” Y/N asked, turning to face the younger Holmes brother.

“I think so,” Sherlock confirmed. “For what it’s worth, she hasn’t gone far, I believe she has every intention of snooping on us.”

Y/N laughed at that piece of knowledge, rolling her eyes affectionately at Enola’s antics before placing her hand once more in Sherlock’s arm. He reached across her to take her bag to allow her to hold the flowers.

“Well we wouldn’t want to disappoint her, now would we?” Y/N said, nodding towards the door to the cafe, not missing the affectionate smile it brought to Sherlock’s face.

As he held the door open for her, Y/N reached up onto her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

[hello-everyfandom]

“You’ll get frown lines if you continue that,”

Warnings: Light making out/Light smut (very very very light)

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

Words: 2.5k

Summary: Draco’s Hufflepuff girlfriend is nothing but a delight and the exact opposite of him.

(I really really tried. I hope Draco’s character isn’t too ooc, but I thought it’d be so sweet to see cold stone Draco with a soft, cute girlfriend)

One of the things Draco loved most about you was your extreme compassion and empathy. You were, undoubtedly, one of the sweetest people at Hogwarts. Not just to your own house, but all, even Slytherins. Perhaps that is what drew him to you, your innate ability to look past house stereotypes and befriend even the snarkiest of Slytherins. If you were to see Draco and his lovely girlfriend walking the corridors, hand in hand, you’d assume they were holding hands accidentally. Your face always had a beaming, positive smile placed on it. You waved and greeted your friends kindly and exuded an aura of friendliness. Draco, however, was the exact opposite. He scowled, maybe not on purpose, but sneered at the poor souls who happen to look at him. You were light, he was dark. Not that you minded. Whenever you caught him in a glare, you’d squeeze his hand and softly tug.

“You’ll get frown lines if you continue that,” 

Draco looked down at your smiling face and couldn’t help but send a small smile back, “And what is ‘that?’” he asked.

“This,” you pointed to your face and pulled an exaggerated scowl, pushing your eyebrows together and pointed the corner of your lips down, “See? Unattractive,”

Draco chuckled softly under his breath and tugged his bag closer on his shoulder, “So now you think I’m unattractive?” 

“No no, darling, not at all. I’m calling your face unattractive,” you leaned closer to him, inhaling his sweet cologne before waving at another friend in the corridor.

“My face is unattractive?” Draco said, feigning hurt.

“Oh, you know what I mean,” you laughed and slapped his arm gently. “But, would it kill you to smile a little?” You reached you and tried to drag his cheek up with your finger to form a smile.

“I smile when I’m with you, that’s enough smiling for my life.”

“Draco, while that is quite adorable and does, in fact, flutter my heart, I mean smiling and saying hello to people, maybe greeting your friends in a nicer way?”

Draco stopped walking and pulled you into a more secluded part of the corridors where you were visible but not quite as seen. His eyes were playful and a smirk printed itself on his lips. Draco’s eyes were mesmerizing, you nearly forgot what you were talking about before raising your eyebrows,

“I don’t have to speak sweetly to anyone but you,” Draco bent his head and placed a peck on your lips. You rolled your eyes with a grin on your face, giving him another small kiss and spun sharply on your heel. “Where are you going?” he called, holding the strap of his bag.

“I’m going to Herbology. See you later, handsome!” 

Draco’s cheeks flushed a light pink as he watched you skip down the hall, giving nods and small ‘hellos’ to the people around you who were making their way to class. Draco shook his head to rid himself of the embarrassing colour that fully displayed his love for you and paced to his next class. 

By the time supper had come around, Draco searched the Great Hall for you. Usually, you were perched on the Hufflepuff bench, chatting happily away with your friends and even turning to talk to some of the Gryffindor’s behind you. However, you were nowhere to be seen. Dinner had started and Draco tapped his foot anxiously. It was only until you had run into the Great Hall, screeching to a stop and searched wildly until you found Draco’s blonde hair amidst the sea of students. You sighed in relief and started towards his table. Draco’s eyes widened as you reached him, pressing a kiss to his cheek and sitting next to him, and across from Pansy.

“Pardon me, I don’t believe you are a Slytherin, are you?” he jokingly whispered in your ear as you started to scoop helpings of food onto your plate.

“Slytherin Blitherin,” you waved your hand, “ ‘s it so wrong to want to sit with my boyfriend?” Your boyfriend shrugged and handed you a roll of bread before asking,

“Where were you anyway? Fighting demons? No, too mean. Were you making daisy chains with the house elves?” His elbow prodded you softly.

“What? No, but actually, thank you for reminding me. I need to have a little visit to the house-elves soon, they really are quite sweet. You really should come with me Draco, they really enjoy stories and absolutely are thrilled if you sit with them for a bit. But, I just woke up too late from a nap, thas’ all.” You smiled and sipped from the goblet in front of you.

“Of course you did,” Draco rolled his eyes and settled into his dinner bench, feeling happy you were beside him.

“Pansy, by the way,” Pansy’s back straightened, she didn’t hate you but she didn’t particularly like you either, nevertheless you continued, “My mother sent me a bottle of that muggle nail polish I told you about. It’s quite cute, I could do your nails later if you’d like,” You offered kindly. Pansy’s eyes widened as she glanced from you to Draco, he shrugged.

“It’s a muggle thing?” Pansy asked curiously,

“Oh yes, but it’s so much easier than doing it with spells, surprisingly. I think it’s quite genius actually, I did mine yesterday night.” you flashed Pansy your fingernails that were delicately painted a light shade of blue. Draco studied you as you began to converse energetically with Pansy, your yellow tie laid nicely on your chest whilst your hair was messily pulled back. He couldn’t help but fall further in love with you as you laughed and even spoke to Blaise a bit about the quidditch teams you were interested in. You were just so simply kind and generous that he even felt a bit guilty. He was worried he would scare you off or even worse, transform your kindness and friendliness to something cold and more like him. However, you seemed to be unchanged and remained the same front the first day he met you. 

“Draco?” His focus was blinked out of his eyes as you peered at you,

“Yes?”

“Is there something on my face?” You ask, wiping your lips insecurely.

“Only beauty,” Draco said. The moment he uttered those words, he regretted it immediately. Blaise howled with laughter whilst Pansy began to tease him. He scowled at them and sent his friends dirty daggers. You beamed at him with a delighted gleam in your eye, 

“Aw, Draco. You’re so sweet, isn’t he sweet?” you turned to Blaise after pressing a quick kiss on Draco’s cheek.

“Oh, the sweetest.” Blaise cooed sarcastically whilst catching his breath. Underneath the table, you squeeze Draco’s hand reassuringly and leaning your head on his shoulder. Draco would never admit this to anyone, except maybe you, but he was changing. He didn’t push first years, nor spend his free periods mocking the stutters and stance of the third years. In fact, he can’t even pin the last snarky comment he made towards Potter.

“Malfoy, maybe you should rethink having a blood traitor sit at our table. It’s quite despicable if you ask me, disgusting even,” A hateful voice sounded from behind you. A few Slytherin boys who you had sadly not friended yet sneered at you. Before Draco could respond angrily and tell him to piss right the fuck off, you chimed up.

“You’re Earl Elmer, right?” You turned and rummaged through your school bag frantically before removing a crumbled piece of parchment and smoothing it down on the table. “‘m sorry if it’s a little torn, I overheard you in Charms the other day. You said you were having trouble, so I took some extra notes for you. I hope they help.” The boy looked nervously at his friends and glared at the parchment before scoffing leaving the Great Hall. You frowned, “I know it’s a little crumpled, but I didn’t think it was that bad,”

Your boyfriend rolled his eyes and rubbed your shoulders comfortingly, “He’s a bloody twat, don’t bother with Elmer.” 

“I don’t want him to be upset. If I made him angry or something of the sort I’d be gutted.”

“You’re too kind sometimes,” Draco mumbled over the chatter of the Great Hall, “you barely notice when someone’s being a right arse to you.”

“I think he has the potential to be actually quite kind,”

“Don’t count on it. Now, eat your dessert or you’ll be cranky later.” You sniffed before nodding and reaching for a cup of pudding. Draco’s heart thumped, even after being treated awfully, you still went out of your way to be kindhearted to someone. You were too good for him, and he knew it.

“If you want me to, I’ll hex him,” Pansy offered, biting into her cupcake. 

“That’s nice, Pansy, but I think I’ll pass.” You said, leaning on Draco’s shoulder again, humming contently.

In your room, you laid on your stomach with your textbook. You groaned loudly making Draco look up from his spot on your bed. 

“What’s the matter?” He asked, pulling you lay back so your back was on his chest.

“I hate Transfiguration,” you grumbled, “I can barely make out the words anymore.”

“Oh? Hate? I wasn’t sure that word was in your dictionary,” Draco teased, combing his fingers through your hair.

“It’s not, maybe I’ve been spending too much time with you,” you teased back.

“Maybe,” he bent his neck to kiss your cheek, “Transfiguration can’t be that hard.” 

“It is, you don’t even understand, my brain is exhausted, it’s simply too hard,” you said dramatically,

“I’m in your class, Love.”

“But still! You’re a smarty smarty pants. And I’m just a dumb dumb.”

“You’re a Prefect,” He pointed out. “And, not to mention, one of the smartest witches in our year.”

“You know what, you are the loveliest boyfriend ever,” you switched positions so you were in his lap and cradled his face. You pecked kisses on his face affectionately, his hands sliding on your hips and down your thighs. 

“What’s with all the kisses?” Draco wasn’t complaining, but he didn’t want to turn your head from studying either. 

“You just look so cute sitting there, I couldn’t help it. Thought you deserved some kisses!” you smiled and kissed his neck lightly and then locking your lips with his. Everything about your kisses made his head swoon, he forgot about the war, the darkness his family that engulfed his family and even his own battles with anxiety and sadness. He melted instantly into your touch, moving his hands tentatively to hug your waist. You tasted of berries and the muggle chapstick you insisted on wearing in the winters to prevent chapped lips. You felt his hands wander softly, almost scared as you nipped at his bottom lip leaving him breathless. For someone so sweet, you kissed like a woman on a mission. Your hips slowly grinding into his and the top buttons of his shirt coming undone. His lips trailed down your neck and above your collar bone, focusing on the soft skin that begged him to bite. Draco felt as though his heart would plummet into the ground as you pulled your shirt off. 

“I-” he stuttered,

“Yes?” You asked innocently,

Draco raised so he was leaning on his elbows whilst you straddled him. Your fingers quicker to unbutton his shirt, as he ran his fingers through your hair, gripping it softly. You moaned as he slipped his tongue in your mouth. A sudden knock at the door made you bolt upright. Your hair a mess from Draco’s pulling and your lips swollen from Draco’s kisses. You gasped, realizing your shirt had been thrown across the room and Draco’s was mostly unbuttoned. Draco whined at the lack of contact but you shot him a warning look before shoving a sweater over your head. You swung open the door looking for who had knocked only to lower your eyes and see a young Hufflepuff from first year.

“I’m sorry to interrupt!” She squeaked, “I just had a, uh, a question on my Transfiguration homework but I can go,” as she turned you caught her shoulder and sent her a soft look,

“No worries! Transfiguration can be tricky, can’t it?” You looked over your shoulder at Draco who looked up at the ceiling with annoyance, tapped his wrist to signal to hurry up. Obviously, he wanted to get back to kissing his gentle girlfriend. You shooshed him and twirled to speak to the Hufflepuff, “Maisie, right?” She nodded, “Will you just hold on one second, then my brain and my skills are all yours.”

You closed the door and rushed around your dorm, throwing clothes into your chest and frantically tidying up. Draco watched amused, legs stretched out on the bed with his arms under his head and his back against the headboard.

“Can’t you just tell her to bugger off?” he asked, motioning for you to come closer,

“Absolutely not. One, that’s rude. And two, it may seem foreign to you, but I do actually want to help her.”

“But we were... doing stuff,” Draco whined, it was unlike his character to beg but he had just gotten a taste of you and was starving for more.

“Were we?” You joked and pointed at his shirt, “You better button-up, buttercup!” Draco grumbled and complied as you threw the door open. 

“Come in, come in!” You motioned her forwards, she stepped cautiously into your dorm, observing the nice moss plants you had hanging as well as the cozy rug you had placed on the floor. Her eyes wandered to Draco’s figure and instantly froze in fear,

“If-if you have guests, Y/N, I can always come later,” She stuttered, fiddling with her textbook.

“What him? Don’t worry, he’s nothing but a big ole bloke who just so happens to be dating me. Plus, what are Prefects for? Now, take a seat, you can sit on the bed or on the desk,”

Draco sent her a glare making her respond quickly, “I’ll sit at the desk.” You mentally scolded Draco before helping your first-year friend with her homework.

As you bid her goodbye after helping her with her homework and sending her off with a lolly, you shut the door and sighed with happiness. Draco’s arms opened, motioning for you to fall into them and lay comfortably on his chest.

“I’m so happy,” you mumbled into his shirt,

“Is that so?”

“I love helping people,”

“I noticed.” Draco rubbed soothing circles on your back,

“‘m tired,” you yawned.

“How is it that you have so much energy to help people and care for them when you’re just a small little thing?” Draco’s voice was low, nearly lulling you to sleep. He truly was amazed at your capabilities to be so good-hearted and pure.

“I love helping people,” your eyes drooped, “just as much as I love you,”

“I love you as well,” Draco soothingly petted your hair and placed a kiss on your forehead, allowing you to drift into a lovely and blissful sleep.

[bokoutoe-retired]

— #51 “i’ll always be here for you, ok?” & #6 “i’ve been falling in love with you since the first day we met”

characters; shoto todoroki

synopsis; todoroki seems troubled and it’s up to his best friend to find out why

total w/c; 2030

warnings; a few brief mentions of anxiety, but thats it :) i also mention end**vor like once lmao

「a/n」 requested by @greywarenns oh my god!! i literally rewrote this thing four times until i got here, and i’m decently happy with how it turned out. but i found it super hard to write todo so he’s defintely a little ooc, but i hope it’s decent! this was a challenge but i enjoyed it nonetheless so thank you for the request! <3

the realization that you’re in love with your best friend is shocking, to say the least. and it certainly was to todoroki. y/n and shoto did everything together. they studied together, trained together, ate together, made fun of endeavor together, the two were practically attached at the hip. wherever shoto went, y/n went and vice versa. but when todoroki found himself staring at you for just a little too long during one of your regular sunday study sessions, it hit him like a ton of bricks.

i’m in love with y/n l/n. i’m in love with my best friend.

that night, you didn’t notice any change in shoto and the next couple of days were pretty normal too. going about your school days and training schedules as usual. but you and shoto never ended up spending time alone together so there was no opportunity to even recognize any shifts in his behavior. you two were always separated or with another classmate, but never alone.

it wasn’t until your scheduled friday hangout that you first noticed a change. every friday night, without fail, you and todoroki set aside time to hangout. either to study, to watch a movie or even to just lay around in the same room. it didn't matter as long as you were together. during the last friday night you two had agreed that tonight's hangout was to be a movie night. now normally, todoroki wasn't an outrightly affectionate person but he did mention to you once in passing he found physical closeness comforting, and even longed for it from those few he was close with. ever since that late night conversation, it wasn’t uncommon to find yourselves situated near each other. just casual stuff like your legs touching during lunch and your feet thrown over his lap or your shoulders touching during movie nights. on particularly cold evenings you might even find your head tucked into the warm curve of his left shoulder. this subtle form of affection between you had soon become the norm, as it was welcomed and appreciated by both parties. after growing used to the comfortable, casual affection it was understandable that you felt a bit out of place when he showed up to your dorm room and took his seat on the opposite side of the bed, as far away from you as he could get. your laptop resting in the space between, almost mocking the distance while the movie sits waiting to be played. his act of separation sparked a flame of anxiety and worry in your chest. maybe it had gotten to be too much or you were making him uncomfortable, and he didn't have the heart to say anything.

“everything okay sho?” you really didn’t realize how accustomed to his touch you had become until you no longer had it. he may have only been less than a few feet away but it felt like miles compared to previous nights.

“yes, why?” he looks over to you as he answers. his face appears neutral, with no signs of being uneasy.

“oh nothing...” you trail off and shift in your seat while awkwardly adjust the blanket you had draped over yourself. it’s not like either of you had outright asked for it or mentioned anything about it out loud. truthfully, it just kind of started happening. and at this point you didn’t want to be the first person to say anything and make things awkward. you opt to keep your concerns unspoken and just roll with it for the night. your friday movie night came and went. it was nice to spend time with shoto and it wasn’t unenjoyable by any means, but you will admit it felt odd not having him pressed against you like usual.

over the course of the following saturday and sunday you invite him to hang out a few times. and all he gives you in response is a blunt “i can’t” or “i’m busy”. being his best friend you're more than aware how straightforward, or even how dense, he can be but this time it’s different. it’s sharp and curt, maybe even bordering annoyed. maybe he was just a little tired today. but maybe it was something more? between his attitude now and actions friday night, perhaps it was. it could be that something was bothering him or something put him in a sour mood. you can’t help but give into the lingering fear that maybe you had done something wrong. you let it go for the rest of the weekend, knowing that he would hopefully come to you, his best friend, if something had happened and he wanted to talk. hopefully.

it’s not until monday that you finally get truly fed up.

to start the day, there was no todoroki waiting outside your dorm room. normally, every morning without fail, you and shoto would walk together across campus from the dorms to your first class of the day. it was a wonderful way to start your day, but this time he wasn’t there. ten minutes later, when you arrived to class he was already sitting in his seat, notebook open and pencil out. had you really done something wrong? said something unintentionally rude, or had you really made him that uncomfortable while spending time together? you meet his eyes from across the room and offer him a small wave as you enter the classroom and slide into your seat across the room. he gives you a small nod and returns to looking at the textbook on his desk.

as much as todoroki wanted to walk you across campus, and as much as he wanted to talk with you before class started, he had come to a conclusion late friday night. when he walked back to his dorm after finishing the movie and saying goodnight, he decided that maybe if he stopped talking to you for a little bit he would be able to clear his head a little, sort out his feelings and figure out what he should do. as genius of an idea todoroki thought it was, a conversation with you was inevitable as you easily fell into step right next to him on the way to your second class. you immediately start talking about an album jirou had recommended to you. he listens to you speak while also doing his best to not get caught up in thinking about how pretty your smile is, or how cute you are when you get excited. it’s only when he catches a soft smile forming on his own face he realizes not talking to you would be a lot more difficult than he thought and not nearly as effective as he had hoped. he knew you would eventually realize he was purposefully disregarding you. he also knew you well enough to know that you would probably think it was your fault. that outcome definitely wasn’t what he desired. the last thing he wanted was to have you think he was upset with you for some reason, when in reality he was upset with himself for feeling about you the way he does.

it’s honestly a big relief to you when he starts engaging with you again, but you can tell somethings still bothering him. he gives you that soft smile often reserved only for you, but it doesn't quite seem complete. he nods and makes small comments as you continue talking, and it does little to soothe the nagging fear that somehow you messed up. you begin to wrack your brian for any possibilities. he hasn't mentioned his father in a while so it probably wasn't that, he did spectacular on the last three tests and as far as you know he was still ranked number one in class. he even got off campus last week, to visit his mother in person and said it went well so it’s likely not that either. there’s always a possibility that you really did do something to upset him.

after observing his abnormal behavior for the rest of the day, you manage to finally pull him off to the side on your walk back to the dorms. you gently grab him by the elbow and tug him down by the arm to sit with you on the bench.

“listen, shoto” you begin to speak, and he doesn't miss the anxiety that flashes across your face as you gently squeeze his arm with the hand still resting there, “i uh, i don’t know what's going on with you, but i know something is up and i’m really worried. you’ve been distant and moody and maybe i’ve done something wrong and you're upset-” he cuts you off in the middle of what he knows could’ve been a very long rant.

“y/n it’s not like that, i could never be mad at you. please don’t worry yourself over nothing” he does his best to reassure you without completely spilling his feelings. it’s difficult to not share everything with you like normal, but the fear of losing you holds him back.

“sho, it’s clearly something if it’s causing you to act so different. if you don’t want to talk about it right now that's fine, but just know i’ll always be here for you ok? i’ll be here to listen whenever you wanna talk” you have the softest look in your eyes as you speak and place your hand on top of his. your skin is so soft and much warmer than his. he feels an unusual heat begin to crawl up his normally cold right side, and he resists the urge to turn his hand over and intertwine your fingers with his.

“i’m in love with you!” his eyes widen as he realizes what he's just blurted out, but continues on anyways, “i’ve been falling in love with you since the first day we met. and it's so scary and i’ve just now realized it, but you’re my best friend and i don’t know who else to tell. i don’t want to lose you but i don’t think i can keep it to myself. i understand that you don’t feel the same way, and i apologize if i’ve made you uncomfortable...” his words start out bold but he quiets down as he loses confidence and sees a look of utter disbelief flash across your face. he begins to regret his words immediately and his first instinct is to leave. thinking maybe he could just walk away and pretend like this never happened, but your grip on the back of his hand tightens and prevents him from running. he stops and looks down at you only to meet your eyes, glassy with tears. he feels his own eyes begin to grow hot, he must’ve really messed up huh? he flumps back onto the bench next you, as your hold on his hand never loosens. the tears welling in his eyes threaten to spill over but his heart skips a beat when he sees your lips stretch into a smile.

“sho, you idiot! i thought you were mad at me” out of relief tears begin to stream down your cheeks “i’m in love with you too, a whole lot” you sniffle and let out a laugh, before moving your fingers to interlock with his.

“you? you what?” the breath leaves his body and he squeezes your hand in an attempt to ground himself. not once had the idea of you returning his feelings even crossed his mind, in his head he had already written himself off as unlovable in that way. yet here he is, on a bench with someone who truly loves him back. the emotions that swell in his chest are nothing but overwhelming and its all he can do to smile and pull you into a big kiss. with one hand still holding yours, he uses the other to tug you close. it’s inexperienced and clumsy as your lips slot with his. you bump noses and you can even taste a hint of your shared salty tears, but in the end none of that matters because it’s so good and so full of love.

[bigfootwrites]

{escort fic}

This idea has been in my head for a while. People on the server seem to like it. I’ve gone back and forth on whether this is ooc or not but nobody has mentioned that it is so I’m gonna roll with it. It’s just a concept idea but if people are interested I’m happy to turn it into a full fic so please do let me know. Can also be read on ao3.

@today-in-fic @mypanicface  @improlificinsarcasm  @baronessblixen @foxscully @gillywitch @arboreta @agirlcallednarelle @starbuckthirteen @clarke-oswald

- - - 

He should go out and meet somebody. Get to know them, fall in love with them, build a relationship with them. Yet, relationships took time, he had been down this road multiple times and each one had ended just as badly as badly as the other, this recent relationship taking it to the next level.

He was divorced from somebody he once worshipped and the custody of their child on the line.

He wasn’t going to make a habit out of this. His hand and porn usually did the job but it didn’t always fill the void, fill that sense of loneliness that has been there since he was twelve. Sometimes he just wanted physical human companionship, sometimes he just wanted that too much.

Yet still even after swiping a leaflet that fell out of a magazine at the Lone Gunmen’s for an escort agency it took him a week to build up the courage to call them.

He chooses something called “A Girlfriend Experience”, picks someone somewhere within his age-range and tries not to feel guilty about the whole thing.

.:.:.:.:.:.

She was running late.

Tardiness never felt like an option with her yet Emily had refused to go to bed even after Dana told her she had to go to work. It had ended with Dana a few minutes behind and Emily asleep in her bed.

But it was time to push that life aside for now, to enter this restaurant as Danielle and Danielle doesn’t have a child named Emily or a pile of textbooks to study through.

The restaurant her client had chosen was nice enough; one of those business-y type places that not many wealthy people touched but it was still classy enough to be considered decent to use.

It was rare that she would be fed- food wasn’t often part of the price, after all, it was an extra expense. Besides, most of the men she had encountered just wanted a suck and a fuck and maybe the odd therapy session. Maybe around three of her requests were for this Girlfriend Experience and it wasn’t like she was rolling in requests that much anyway.

Dana had realised quickly the types of women men went for: blonde, tall, boobs. Short redheads who just about fitted into a B-cup never made the cut that often.

Yet, for whatever reason, she had be chosen. From the emails sent this man seemed nice enough of course from the stories she would hear that wasn’t something concrete to go off. People could carefully choose the words they typed, could portray themselves in a certain way online. The same could be said for in person interactions too but people were more likely to slip up during those.

For now, Dana is tucked away, she dons Danielle and approaches able 25 where her companion for the night waits for her.

When she gets there, it’s a gentle tap on the arm, a smile, and a simple “Hi, Mulder.”

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Mulder’s heart stops in his chest as he stares at her, struck with the thought of how breath-taking she is.

He wouldn’t say little redheads was his ‘type’ but as he was going through the countless lists of girls he hadn’t wanted somebody his type, he wanted no reminder of Diana and so he had chosen her; Danielle, 5’3, 26 years old and the complete opposite to Diana.

He hadn’t seen her face before, for whatever reason she had kept it off the page, Mulder hadn’t been expecting much in terms of looks because of it yet he can’t keep his eyes off her.

He realises she’s said his name and almost comically stumbles his way to standing up, bashing a leg against the table making the cutlery jump and a brief amount of pain to ripple length ways across his right tigh.

“Danielle,” he says wincing through the pain. Her professional name knowing full well it wasn’t her real name. He might be new to this escort world but 1-800 numbers and taught him enough about fake names, maybe he should have considered using one.

She looks to be smiling at his clumsiness, fighting it back, trying to hide it.

A shaky start Mulder thinks, as he pulls out her chair yet she’s sitting down before he gets a chance to show how much of a gentleman he is.

He’s looking through the drinks menu when he realises she’s staring at him, drinking him in. It makes him feel self-conscious.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Danielle seems to have realised what she was doing, she quickly looks away from him.

“You’re just…different to who I usually meet with,” she says.

Mulder smiles wryly and cocks his head.

“Is that good or bad?” he asks unsure himself.

“That’s good,” she tells him. “Usually I get the…older men and they definitely don’t go out of their way to buy me food.” She lifts her head up and smiles waiting for his reply.

He has none other than how strange he must seem to her right now, how sad. He also tries not to feel jealous at the thought of her with other men. It’s a thought that comes out of nowhere, a thought he has no right in occupying.

“So do you come here often?” she’s asking.

The answer to was that no. It was a drive away from his apartment, away from any potential sightings of colleagues or people he sees on a daily basis.

“Never,” he says realising this could be chaotic.

But she’s laughing and it’s one of the nicest sounds his eyes have ever heard.

“I hope you didn’t come here just to try and impress me.”

“Try?” he counters. “So I take it you’re not so easily impressed?”

She shrugs. “I’ve been told as much.”

Mulder leans in, surprised at how comfortable he feels around her, how at ease he is.

“Well tell me,” he says. “Are you impressed?”

She looks around the establishment, pretending to think.

“Hmm…I think you could have done better.”

“Okay,” Mulder says leaning back and giving the room a once around himself. He would say he’s done pretty well but she’s laughing again, giggling actually, and the restaurant doesn’t matter.

They order food, not that he’s particularly hungry anymore, but for some reason he doesn’t want this to end. Spending $300 a night to talk seems better than spending $300 on an apology.

“So,” Mulder begins. “What do you do aside from…this.”

He wonders about the answer he will receive. She’s lied about her name, will she lie about this or will to follow the truth as much as she can, altering things here and there. He wonders how much of her true name is in her fake name.

“Well…through the day I study mostly,” she says and this perks his interest.

“What do you study?”

“Uh…” He sees she’s searching for an answer and it breaks his heart to know that he isn’t getting the truth though he had expected her to be a bit more prepared for these questions.

“Chemistry,” she finally says. “I wanted to be a scientist.” She says it almost shyly, tucking her head in and refusing to look at him. He amends his previous thought, perhaps there is a truth after all.

“Wanted?” Mulder asks. “Is that still not possible?”

“Well…I guess so. I’m just worried about somebody hiding out about…this.” She purses her lips and shrugs.

Mulder wonder if he’ll get to ask why she does this but then wonders if that’ll be rude to ask anyway even if did get the chance.

“Well, let me pose you a question,” he says just as their food arrives. “Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?”

He watches as she processes his question, her eyebrows knitting together as she attempts to formulate an answer and Mulder is curious as to what that answer is.

“Logically, I would have to say no,” she says slowly. “Given the distances needed to travel from the far reaches of space, the energy requirements would exceed the spacecraft’s capabilities.”

Mulder finds himself impressed with her, the certainty in her answer, he wonders if he’s getting a glimpse of a real person beneath the professionalism, other character.

“Okay, conventional wisdom,” he says, he expected it. “But when convention and science fail us, should we not start looking to the fantastic as answers?”

He thinks he’s caught her, she takes a while to answer, thinking it over through mouthfuls of salads. Mulder is too preoccupied with her mind to worry about the food that goes cold beneath him.

She swallows her food, sitting back in her seat and Mulder waits for the mental foreplay.

“That’s only if convention and science actually fail us.”

He thinks he’s in love.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

There’s an easiness Dana feels around Mulder. He’s nothing like her previous clients who see nothing beyond her sexual capabilities. Mulder seems to be interested in her mind, in her and she worries she might have revealed too much of herself to him but it’s rare she finds somebody to match her intellect, her classmates can’t keep up with her, her professors shut her down in order to give other members of the class a chance. She feels intellectually frustrated at times.

“Why do you ask all this?” she inquires.

Mulder shrugs. “Oh, it’s just a hobby.”

“Talking about extraterrestrials is a hobby?”

He looks away and mumbles something she doesn’t quite catch.

“What was what?” she asks.

“I look for them.”

It’s endearing, how different he is from anyone else she’s ever met.

“Do you think you’ll ever find them?” It’s not to jest or to make fun of him.

“I’d like to,” Mulder says with an essence of hopefulness in his voice.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

He makes the decision that he won’t fuck her.

He’ll pay $300 as a fee to access her amazing mind if he must.

They go away from the talk of aliens, something for which Mulder was glad. He has his own secrets locked away and if they continued on the subject anymore, he was worried they would tumble out of his mouth and he’d reveal how spooky he really was. They talk of other stuff, he throws conspiracy theories at her that he barely believes in himself just to hear her debunk them with finesse. She was the one who was right and he was wrong and Mulder is completely okay with that.

He stops when he reaches her hotel, this is the end of one of the best nights of his life. He’ll go home, think of her, perhaps rub one off to the thought of her, and that will be that. He’ll bin that leaflet and they’ll never talk again.

But she’s stopping when she realises he isn’t beside her anymore and turns with a puzzled look on her face.

“Tonight was great, Danielle,” he tells her. “I really enjoyed it.”

Her face almost seems to fall when she realises what he’s doing but she picks herself back up again, nodding.

“Well,” she says walking back towards him. “If we’re not doing that anymore at least let me give you this.”

Her lips touch his and fireworks go off behind him. Mulder feels as though he’s experiencing his first kiss all over again, new and exciting, and a fear that he’s doing something he’s not meant to do.

It doesn’t take long before he’s kissing her back, his tongue trying to gain access to her mouth and to her own tongue. She grants him permission, thank god, and he almost melts inside her mouth.

They fall against a wall, his head collides with the brick but he doesn’t care, there is nothing else on his mind other than the want to pick her up. He’s bent at an awkward angle because even in heels her forehead just about reaches his chin. He’s unsure what to do with his hands, on her hips, on her waist. She seems to become annoyed at his indecisiveness and takes his hands in her own, placing them against her ass all the while not breaking the kiss.

He grows impossibly hard as his senses go into overdrive. He wants her so bad when he said he wouldn’t.

“Danielle…” he moans coming up for air.

“Dana,” he hears her say and at first he’s confused wondering what she’s talking about. “Call me Dana.”

The penny drops. Her name!

“Dana.”

She’s back on him, kissing him harder this time and Mulder was kidding himself before; he’s going to make love to her.

[inr-lya]

Mermaid RP Request

This plot has been in my mind since- who knows when, lmao. Probs a few weeks ago, and since i’m having trouble finding rp partners on amino, I’ve decided to extend my search here to tumblr. 

As to not waste anyone's time, I'll say it beforehand that I'll be playing Muse B in a bxg or nbxg relationship in which I'm both the girl. I've played as the guy way too often; I miss my girl now. 🥺 and, this is a lit to adv-lit rp, maybe even novella if i’m really into it, and my responses are usually around 400+ to almost a 1000 words. Highest is just a little over 2000, but again, only if I’m really into it, lmao. Feel free to ask for my writing examples.

Before I get to the plot of the rp, let me list some information/rules of mine for compability’s sake.

General; 

♡ I'm over 18, so no minors, please!

♡ I use drawn and realistic FCs if you need pics of the oc, though I don't mind what type you use. Speaking of which, I’m from amino, so I have a wiki on my girl, and if you have amino too, feel free to ask for the link! If you don’t, feel free to ask me to copy paste the info to google docs or just ask whatever you feel you need for the rp :]

  ♡ I can play more than one character, maybe 2-3 max? Depends on their roles in the RP ig.

♡ I have no triggers, but please list me yours so I can avoid them.

♡ I'm not the type to send a message if you were to suddenly disappear, but I'd do it after 2 weeks because I'm tired of my PMs getting clogged up with dead chats. If you're still interested but you need more time, just let me know. I promise I'll wait, my ass literally never reached the middle of any 1x1 rp.

♡ Ngl, I'm getting busy af these days with uni life and plans being made with friends and family. I'm not complaining. I love it, and all I'm saying is I might not be able to reply often. It depends on how invested I am and the difference of our time zones, (mine's GMT+8 btw) but I'll try to give at least a reply every few days or weekly if you're willing to be patient with me.

However, the shorter the literacy, the faster and more often I reply. If we're doing just 400+ to 600+ words, I can reply multiple times a day. Also, I prefer this level of literacy for now, but I can fluctuate to longer responses.

♡ fyi, I'm very open to rp in discord as we can create a server with different channels for ooc chat, rp, notes, etc. If you're up for it, lmk! uwu

. . .

Rules

♡ If you're considering pm-ing me, please skip the small talk like “hey, how are you?”, and just straight-up give me details that you’d like to discuss about the rp. It makes me uncomfortable, lmao.

♡ Have good grammar, punctuation and spelling. I can ignore small mistakes or typos but not constant errors. (I can overlook faulty grammar, however, if you have the creativity to make up for it)

♡ Use 3rd POV

♡ No railroading.

♡ For romance, don't make your character fall in love with mine at first sight or after a few nice gestures unless being naive is a part of their personality. I prefer slow burn. Crushes are fine but don't make your oc feel like my oc is their definite soulmate or something, lmao.

♡ Don't spam me unless I've been absent for a week. I may be busy or not in the mood to RP, but if I'm not interested in continuing, I will let you know.

♡ Any drama, romantic or carnal interactions stay within the RP, do NOT pursue anything with me besides friendship or mere acquaintances, I swear this happens way too often and it's getting stressful. Speaking of which, don't make the RP just about smut like c'mon.

. . .

Okay! Now I can finally jump into the plot! It’s pretty simple, and unfortunately, it isn't mine to claim. I wanted to rp this plot with someone, but they didn't reply to me, and I have no way of finding them again so- yeah, that's the disclaimer if you think I'm stealing your plot or something.

Muse A is a marine biologist who spends their time either studying, finding inspiration for their upcoming projects, or simply take a breather all at the beach. This is where they find peace, where all of their worries melt away and nothing else matters except the present.

Muse A's favourite leisure activity is free diving along the coral reef, underwater caves and tunnels, and pretty much any nook and cranny they can fit into. They're graduating from their specialist residency soon and is searching for ideas and incentives for their thesis along the bays and coves. To be honest, they were looking to mostly procrastinate due to the pressure of a competitive environment finally catching up to them, perhaps a burnout they were trying to get over.

Imagine how they would feel upon discovering Muse B, a creature that had been believed to be a myth, one with an upper-body resembling a human, though covered in brilliant scales and specialised fins adapted to exclusively marine life, and the lower half of a fish, stranded within the abyss of a cavity that would've been completely submerged if it weren't for the extremely low tide that had kept the curious entity from escaping.

Due to Muse A's compassionate nature, they aid Muse B to their freedom, but as soon as an opportunity was in sight, Muse B fled without another glance at their saviour, never to be seen again no matter how many times Muse A were to return to where they were last found.

A few months had passed, and Muse A had since lost hope in their search of Muse B as there was practically zero evidence nor leads to help them unless they were to look any further towards the conspiracy theorists and their claims. They are now focusing entirely on their original, more believable research, unfortunately, they had picked the wrong day to go diving.

The weather had been anything but kind, the skies had gone dark faster than anyone could've predicted, and before Muse A could process what was happening, they were caught in the middle of a raging storm, thrown left and right by the unforgiving waves of the ocean before it all went black. When the light of the sun entered their eyes once more, they found themselves within a secluded area of the island, damp, wet sand beneath them and an image of a woman above, with shining doe eyes and...what is that? Seaweed on her head?

"Hey," she gasped, relieved. The corners of her mouth curled into a smile, her lips still trembling from the thought that she was too late.

"I still haven't thanked you for the last time we met."

An unlikely, most bizarre connection formed between them since, but eventually, the reality of the situation presented itself. Will Muse A tell the world to further the scientific discovery and their career or keep it a secret to preserve Muse B's species' safety?

Alright, and that's the end of the summary! Please read them thoroughly and contact me either through PM or comments. I do not respond to likes.

I look forward to hearing from you! 💜

[kilesplaysthings]

Hondje’s Secret

Happy October! While brainstorming a fic for spiratualist-nerd!Arthur, I was browsing the ikevam tag and saw lots of love for Theo since his route is coming out. I then had the funniest idea for a fic with him which is in the halloween spirit! combine that with a film I watched today and here we are. so this is all y’all’s fault lol ;) I hope he’s not too ooc since I don’t know his character too well :D

There was something wrong with Hondje. Theo could sense it the moment Sebastian came in with the breakfast tray instead of Ana. She had been living with the horde of vampires for a good month now and they had all gotten used to seeing her every morning pushing the breakfast cart into the dining room, wearing that ridiculous smile that should have been illegal first thing in the morning.

It seems he wasn’t the only one to notice something amiss, as he heard his beloved brother Vincent worriedly ask after her, “Is Ana all right?”

Sebastian hesitated in pouring the coffee and glanced towards Comte St. Germain, who lowered his newspaper at the question. It was almost, Theo noticed, as if Sebastian was seeking the answer from the head of the mansion instead of answering himself. Most suspicious…

“She told us she was unwell, so we thought it necessary to excuse her this morning. She did say, however, that she will be better by this afternoon so there’s no need for alarm,” he answered.

Vincent looked relieved as did many of the others seated at the table.

“I wonder if it’s ‘that time of the month’ for her?” Arthur guessed. He had that annoying self-satisfied smirk on his face he usually had when he knew – or thought he knew – he had guessed something about a woman correctly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that was it, the poor little bird.”

“’That time of the month’?” Isaac queried, brow furrowed in confusion. “Does something happen to Ana every month?”

“Oh yes. It’s something most every lady goes through, and it can be quite irritating for them, to say the least. Why, as I recall, one time—”

“Oh do shut up,” Mozart muttered, buttering his toast rather loudly. “We don’t need that kind of conversation at breakfast.”

“Mozart is right,” the Comte spoke up. “I wouldn’t want to pry in Ana’s affairs, whatever they may be, Arthur.” He gave the writer a pointed stare. It made Theo smirk.

Arthur Conan Doyle merely chuckled and raised in hands up in surrender. “All right, all right. I’ll stop there. In all seriousness, though, I do hope she isn’t very ill. Perhaps I should go cheer her up later?” He beamed a rather toothy grin.

“No need. I’ve made sure Ana is comfortable,” Sebastian said quickly. He continued to pour out coffee.

“I’m glad. It would be sad not seeing her at breakfast anymore,” Vincent spoke up sadly, moving every heart that was in the room.

Theo patted his shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll be all right, Broer,” he said soothingly. Of course, they were all worried, even those like Mozart and Isaac – while not voicing their concerns – let it show on their faces.

Let it not be said that Theo wasn’t worried as well, but he figured if Sebastian and the Comte were looking after her, she was in good hands. There wasn’t much else for him to do besides hope she would feel better and continue his day as planned.

After breakfast, once he had his things ready and another painting by his brother packed for travel, he prepared to set out to the city for another art dealership. Vincent was a genius as usual, and he had no doubt that this new piece would sell quickly. He smiled down at King, his retriever who liked to follow him where ever he went. It was nice having a cute companion traveling with him into the city and he knew the dog enjoyed the long walks and treats that would be sure to follow once the painting was sold.

As the two of them approached the foyer of the mansion, King suddenly let out an excited yip and bounded for the front parlor.

“King! You foolish mutt!” He muttered irritably. He set his things down before going to retrieve his dog. Opening the door, he found the dog happily nuzzling none other than Ana, who was petting him amidst her daily routine of dusting.

“Oi! Hondje!” He called out, trying to ignore the relief that he felt at seeing her up and about.

She glanced up at him and offered a somewhat wan smile.

“Hey there, Theo.”

He frowned a little as he walked up to her. Something seemed… off.

“Heard you were under the weather this morning. You feeling any better?”

“Oh. I’m fine,” she answered quietly. Her hands massaged the dog’s floppy ears. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

He narrowed his eyes and studied her for a moment. For someone who said they were fine, she didn’t look it. Her skin was pale and clammy. Her hair was a bit disheveled and she looked tired.

“Well, don’t push yourself too much,” he finally said. “No one would want you collapsing or anything.”

Her smile was now more like how she usually smiled at him. She nodded. “I won’t. Thank you for your concern,” she said warmly.

“Concern.” He scoffed. “You really are a naïve pup, aren’t you?”

Now she was frowning. “I wish you would stop calling me that. Do you know how obnoxious it is?” She muttered angrily, quickly standing up and walking back towards the fireplace, away from him.

“I need to get back to cleaning. Good luck with work today,” she continued shortly, implying that her talk with him was over.

That time of the month. Weren’t a lot of women irritable during that time? Theo wondered. He shook his head, trying not to let Arthur’s suppositions influence him.

“Well, if you’re able to bark at me like that, it seems you’re feeling better. That’s good.” He called for King to follow him and turned to leave. “See you later, Hondje.”

He didn’t hear her very well, but he could faintly catch her soft reply of “See you later, Theo.”

He couldn’t help the small smile on his face as he left. Her behavior concerned him a little; she didn’t seem to be as well as she said she was, but he hoped it was just a one-time fluke. Hopefully they would all see her in the morning.

The next few days, however, were the same. Ana never appeared at breakfast and in the afternoon when she did show up, seemed listless and irritated. Arthur still maintained that it was due to “feminine issues,” and it was hard to argue against him. Who were they to say otherwise, after all? Not to mention, none of them felt brave enough to ask her face to face.

“She exhibits all the signs, and I’m sure she knows it. Tired, achy, moody, wanting to be alone. It’s best that we all just let her be. It’ll be over in a few days’ time,” Arthur would tell them.

They tried to remember that and treated her with the utmost kindness. Being a group of gentleman, vampires notwithstanding, they were always ready to help her if she needed it.

“Do you want to go lie down, Ana?” Napoleon asked one day as a few of them were gathered in the den. She had been delivering tea and had spilled it all over the table after trying to pour some with shaky hands.

“I’m fine,” she muttered as she mopped up the mess.

“I can clean it up so you can rest,” Napoleon urged. He offered to take the towel from her but she jerked it away.

“No, it’s all right,” she quickly argued.

“If you’re tired, you’re tired,” Theo remarked as he moved a chess piece. He and Arthur had once again challenged each other to another game. “Rambunctious  pups shouldn’t deny being tired when they are.”

“I said I’m fine.” Was her harsh reply. Napoleon stared at her and Arthur stopped his move, piece mid-air right as he was about to put it on the board. His little spaniel Victoria raised his head and uttered a low growl.

“Let her be, you two,” Arthur finally said, breaking the tension that suddenly filled the room. His voice calmed down Vick as well and the dog laid his head back down on the sofa.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking sad. “I didn’t mean to lash out.”

“Don’t pay them any mind, Ana,” Arthur said soothingly. “But honestly, don’t feel like you have to push yourself especially while on your monthly.”

Theo rolled his eyes so hard, he could have sworn he saw the back of his head. Arthur may have been trying to appear understanding, but he just came off as patronizing. It was plain to see Ana didn’t appreciate his remark either. She shot him a look that demonstrated she was far from amused or appreciative.

“Wow thank you for that,” she muttered. She slapped the towel down on the table and headed for the door. “I’m leaving.”

“You’re such an idiot.” Theo stated once the door was closed.

“Oh she’s fine.” Arthur waved his words away. “It will take a lot more than mere sarcasm to ruffle my feathers.”

“Something seems wrong, though,” Napoleon said thoughtfully. “Ana’s different and I don’t think it’s due to a mere menstrual cycle.”

Napoleon may have been correct, Theo thought, when he found her curled up in a ball on the library sofa the next day. He had been looking for King and found that both he and Vick were there lying with her. It was almost like they could sense what was troubling her. Every time she quietly groaned in pain, they would emit a soft whine.

“Ana?” He called her by her actual name, which caused her to stare up at him with bleary eyes.

“Oh. Theo. It’s you.” Her hair fell down around her face in unkempt waves. “Sorry. I’m not myself today.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” He shooed the two dogs away and sat on the edge of the sofa. “Let’s get you back to your room. Can you walk?”

She slowly nodded. “Probably.”

He gently grasped her arm and helped her to sit up. Then, slipping his arm around her thin waist, he helped her stand. She flinched a little, but didn’t say anything to oppose him. Instead, she clutched the back of his vest with an iron grip. They made their way out of the library and down the hall towards her room. She tried not to stumble, but she was quite weak and he had to catch her a couple of times so she wouldn’t fall.

“Seriously, what is wrong with you?” He muttered as they neared her room.

“Excuse me?”  She gave him a look.

“You heard me. We all thought Arthur was right; that this was just what a human woman goes through every month. And don’t look at me like that, most of us have all been married before. We know what you go through. But that’s not it, is it? I would have smelled it otherwise. So what is it?”

He knew he was coming off as blunt, but he truly was concerned. Ana didn’t take it well, however.

“Whatever it is, it has nothing to with you!” She snapped. “I said I would be fine in a few days, and I meant it. So just leave me alone until then!”

She shrugged off his arm and staggered into her bedroom, shutting the door in his face.

Theo huffed. “We can’t help but worry about you when you act like that, you mongrel,” he muttered. He stalked down the hall to his room, jamming his hands into his pockets, now in a rather foul mood.

It only took one more day for Theo to have all his questions and concerns answered.

The moon was full and bright that night as both he and Arthur came home from a late night trip to the bar. Arthur was quite plastered at this point while Theo was as sober as could be. So, of course, it was up to him to get his reckless friend home. They staggered into the mansion, Arthur unabashedly singing a jaunty tune. It took all of Theo’s self-control not to just dump him on the mansion floor and leave him there for Sebastian to find him in the morning.

“I swear, you owe me big time,” he groused out as he deposited the drunk Scotsman on his bed.

“Yeah yeah. I’ll be sure to make it up to all three of you in the morning.” Arthur drawled out. A minute later, he was snoring away.

“Domkop,” he muttered. “I have no idea why I choose to be this guy’s friend.” Even so, he couldn’t help but smile. Why he was fond of this womanizing, arrogant writer, he’d never know. The fact that Arthur had quite the charisma and contagious charm to him may have been a part of it, but Theo refused to acknowledge that.

Now beginning to feel tired himself, he made his way to his room, looking forward to a good night’s rest.

That’s when he heard it: the sound of shattering glass followed by a banging on one of the nearby doors. There was then a cringe-worthy scraping sound of wood. It made a chill go down his spine. He walked slowly towards the sounds at first, but his pace quickened when he began to hear low groaning.

The source of the noises all came from one room. Ana’s room. Why was she awake? It was late: half past two. And he knew she was not a late night person. He placed his hand on the door and leaned close to listen. The groans grew louder and he thought he heard a low growl. Suddenly, there came the sound of fabric tearing and the groanings turned into cries. Not cries of pleasure. Cries of agony.

“Ana? Ana!” He rammed his hand on the door.

The cries continued, not heeding him.

“I’m coming in!” He announced.

“Don’t!” Came a tormented voice. It was a lower voice, but somehow, it was still hers. “Just go away!”

“Oh shut up! If you’re in trouble, you shouldn’t be alone!” He shouted. “I’m coming in!”

With his vampiric strength, he knocked in the door in record time. What he beheld inside left him shocked. The room was a mess. A shattered pitcher and basin lay all over the floor in pieces. The bed sheets were in tatters. Clothes were shredded. There were what he could only figure to be claw marks all over the furniture and walls. And there was blood. So much blood. The moonlight streaming in between the tattered curtains shone down on a figure writhing under a bedsheet. A long thick chain was tied to the bed post and seemed to be connected to that covered figure that was still groaning in pain.

After taking it all in, he slowly approached the sheet and carefully lifted it. His eyes widened in shock.

“Ana…” He breathed her name. “You’re…”

“I told you not to come in!” Her altered voice wailed, or more distinctly, howled.

What were unmistakably Ana’s green eyes stared up at him in horror, but her face. It was no longer the face of a human woman. The snout was too long. The ears pointed and on top of her head. And she was covered in a thick fur the same color as her hair. She was huddled up in a ball and her claws clutched at the rug below her. A bushy tail curled around her body defensively.

“Wolf.. werewolf…” He muttered, aghast. “They’re real…”

“Oh shut up!” She cried, exposing an impressive set of canines. “Vampires are real, so why not werewolves, huh?”

He blinked. “Yeah, good point.”

“I told you not to come in here! Why couldn’t you have just listened?”

“What was I supposed to do?” He argued back. “You sounded like you were in immense pain! And it looks like you were, at that!”

Her ears flattened and she lay her head down on the sheet, looking like a kicked dog.

“You could have just kept walking. This isn’t something to be worried about. This only happens every--”

“Every full moon, right? I’ve heard the legend.” He walked over and took a seat on the rug beside her.

“I take it the Comte and Sebastian know?”

“Yes. I had to tell them if I was to leave here peacefully. They took it rather well, for vampires.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, frowning.

She scoffed. “Vampires always look down on werewolves. They see us as lower creatures that can’t ever control their urges.”

“Well you don’t really help your case by having that attached to you.” He nodded at the chain tied to the bedpost.

“It’s for precaution!” She retorted. “I can usually handle myself quite well! I’m still young, so sometimes I do have trouble keeping control. But I’m still training myself.”

She stood up on all fours and approached him, the chain jangling behind her.

“For instance, a lesser werebeast would want to tear all of you apart just by looking at you, but I don’t. I’d rather not eat vampire, if I can help it.” She sat down on her haunches and stared at him reproachfully.

He rolled his eyes at her. “Well I’m glad I’m not edible, I guess. It’s good to know you’re so well-trained.”

She snarled at him. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“I think so, yes.” He then smirked. “So, you won’t attack even if I do this?”

He put his hand on her head between her ears and ruffled her fur. It was surprisingly just as soft as her normal hair.

“Want me to bite that hand off?” She growled.

“I’d like to see you try! Looks like my “pet” names for you were quite accurate, huh? No wonder they annoyed you!” He began to laugh.

“If you’re going to just mock me then leave before I tear out your throat!”

“Now, now, that’s my job.” His voice lowered and he grinned at her. “You know, you’re rather cute, for a werewolf.”

He could see her hackles rising. “I mean it, Theo! I don’t need any teasing from you!”

“Oh, but I’m not teasing. I’m in complete earnest. Now, let’s do something about this mess you’ve made.” He got up and headed to the door.

Ana growled a little. He was acting so smug, it was annoying.

“Are you going to tell the others?” She demanded to know.

He paused, his hand on the doorknob, and turned to smile at her.

“Now why would I do that? I rather like having this secret with you. Granted, the Comte and Sebastian know as well, but they probably haven’t seen you like this, have they?”

Ana’s silence was the confirmation he needed. He grinned more.

“I’ll make sure to take care of you every full moon, Hondje. It will be like you’re my very own pet.”

She bared her teeth at him angrily. “Don’t do me any favors!”

“It’s no trouble, really.” He continued to beam a great smile at her. It made her fur stand on end.

“Now, be a good girl and stay put. I’ll be right back with a broom to clean up this glass, all right?”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Ana to bemoan her fate even further. Theo, on the other hand, was strangely satisfied with this new revelation. He was quite gleeful, actually.

A werewolf. How extraordinary! Of course the others would be shocked to see her like that, but I rather like her like this too. Heh. I have always been fond of any kind of canine. How different is a werewolf?

As he went his merry way, Ana buried her furry head under the sheets again. Why? Of all people to see her like this, why did it have to be Theodorus Van Gogh?! She let out a low whine, knowing that from here on out, he would make things – quite interesting for her to say the least. Or perhaps, nightmarish was the better adjective, she decided.

[winryofresembool]

Things We Lost in the Fire, ch 17

aka Caleo uni au

Fic summary: Calypso starts studying at a new university, but to her annoyance her new flatmate is a loud mouthed mechanic who also likes to sneak his dog in whenever. But as she learns to know him better, she realizes they might have more in common than what she first thought. Eventually, even the darkest secrets come out…

Chapter summary: Some truths come out... and some don't.

A/N:  Did you really think I'd leave you hanging for too long? Now it's finally time to find out what happens when Calypso and Percy meet. I'm a bit worried some characters may sound a bit OOC here but writing conflict has never been my piece of cake so I was a bit out of my comfort zone here. But I tried! Without a further ado, I hope you guys enjoy! And let me know what you think!

Characters in this ch: Calypso, Leo, Piper, Jason, Annabeth, Percy

Words: 1899

Genre: romance & hurt/comfort

Warnings: none

previous chapter / next chapter / AO3

…

“Hold on, what’s going on here?” Leo asked, finally letting go of Calypso and throwing the last piece of the cupcake in his mouth. “You two know each other?”

“Well…” Calypso started but couldn’t find the right words to explain the situation.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Percy admitted when it became obvious that she wouldn’t be able to answer. “We used to chat online.”

Leo’s eyebrows shot up. “Chat… online? As in…?” 

“On Tinder, yeah. But that was a long time ago.” Percy glanced at his girlfriend varily. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

Calypso wasn’t happy about Percy’s choice of words. To her, it had been a rather big deal, because the internet had been the only way she had been able to stay in contact with the outside world and she did care about the bonds she formed there. And Percy had seemed different from most of the people she had met online. Had. Until she had discovered she was wrong, after all.

“If it wasn’t a big deal,” Annabeth frowned. “Then why do you look so nervous and why did Calypso just go bright red? I may not be quite as good at reading people as Piper is but usually that isn’t a good sign.”

“Annabeth…” Calypso answered instead of Percy. “You are my friend and I’m not going to lie to you. I did have a crush on him, but that was two years ago and we cut things off entirely when Percy told me he wanted to start dating someone else.”

“Wait… you were the girl he was seeing before me? I… how…?” Annabeth asked, her eyes wide as owl’s.

“You were still seeing Luke,” Percy said carefully. “I liked you, Annabeth, but in all honesty, I didn’t think you’d break up with him. So, I met Calypso online and she seemed nice, but…”

“But I was always just a second choice to you,” Calypso said a bit bitterly.

“Hey, I never meant any of it to happen! I didn’t want to hurt you,” Percy tried to defend himself.

“...But it just happened,” Calypso finished for him, her voice poisonous.

Annabeth ignored their arguing.

“I remember…” she addressed Percy, “before I told you about Luke and my break up, you ranted about this girl who was so pretty and sweet and lonely and you hoped to meet her because she was living in the same city. You never told me her name, though, or what happened to her. Eventually, I just kind of… forgot. And now I find out that girl is my friend. This is just so weird…”

“A small world, huh?” Percy tried to lighten the mood, failing at it.

“It’s not funny, Jackson.” Annabeth scowled at him. “So… did you guys ever meet face to face?”

“Just once,” Calypso hurried to answer. “And at the end of it? Percy told me that he only liked me as a friend.” Two years worth of in kept emotions decided to pop on the surface in that moment, and Calypso directed the frustration at Percy. “By the way, Percy, I appreciate your honesty but you really could have told me that before I arranged the whole thing. You knew the circumstances.”

Leo had listened to the whole conversation with his mouth open, his head going back and forth between the arguers, but now he felt he had completely fallen out of it, so he asked: “Woah, you guys! Calm down a bit! What circumstances?”

“It’s nothing,” Calypso said quickly.

“It’s not nothing!” Percy exclaimed but seeing Calypso’s warning glare, he quickly shut up.

Annabeth casted Percy a disbelieving look. “Wait, she talked about whatever was going on with her to you? We’ve been friends for several months now and she still hasn’t told me what happened at the mall that one time…”

“Annabeth, I couldn’t…” Calypso wanted to explain but she knew that whatever she’d say probably wouldn’t help the situation. 

“Calypso, friends don’t have secrets. I’ve been trying to be patient, but I’m getting tired of this. Just tell me one thing. Based on what you just told me, you would have been ready for a relationship with Percy. Do you still like him?”

Calypso wanted to say a very unhesitant no, that that raft had sailed away a long time ago, and she might be seeing a new one on the horizon... But she realized she couldn’t say that in front of Leo because she hadn’t fully admitted that to herself yet, much less to anyone else. Besides that, she was also feeling rather intimidated by the situation, so the words escaped her. “I… uh… no.”

“That sounded pretty hesitant,” Annabeth pointed out. She looked like she wanted to say more, but thankfully, Piper decided to intervene in that moment.

“Alright, guys. To me it sounds like some of you are overreacting. So, Cal and Percy used to chat online before Percy and Annabeth started dating. To which they had every right. Calypso had a crush on Percy, which I suppose isn’t that weird even though I myself am not seeing the charm.” She gave her own boyfriend a quick smile. “They met once face to face and on that date Percy told Calypso he liked someone else instead. Doesn’t sound like the smartest idea but I guess Percy preferred telling that way instead of over a message. Right, Percy?”

“R-right,” he stammered, probably worried about how the girls would react.

“Then Calypso mentioned something about ‘circumstances’ but sounds like it’s something very personal so it’s up to her if she wants to tell us more about that. For now I’d suggest that we’d leave that topic alone.”

“Thanks, Piper,” Calypso said gratefully. “This is probably not the best moment to talk about it.”

“Fair enough,” Piper said, looking at the others challengingly, then at her watch. “Maybe it’s time for us all to go home. It’s getting kind of late.”

Agreeing mumbling could be heard from the room. When Piper put her leader mode on, no one really dared to resist her. Calypso thought briefly that she’d be an excellent boss for some company one day.

Percy and Annabeth didn’t say much when they left, perhaps their silence speaking more volumes than words could have. As the door closed, Piper sighed.

“I’m sorry this went this way. I promise I had a good time…”

“Until I messed everything up.” Calypso said quietly.

“What?” Piper asked. “I wasn’t gonna say that!”

“Yes but it’s the truth. I complicate everything. I can’t believe the first person I made friends with here… was, um, somehow connected to my past.”

“She must feel just as weird as you do,” Piper reminded. “I think it might be good for you to take a time off and ask yourself if you should let something that happened several years ago affect your friendship. You didn’t do anything wrong; Annabeth just needs to cool down a bit to be able to accept that. And when she’s ready, explain to her what really happened.”

“My girlfriend, the boss lady,” Jason, who had followed the situation quietly, said acceptingly. “You handled this situation awesomely.”

“Pfft, Grace, you just say that because I sleep with you.” Piper chuckled.

“He is not wrong, though,” Calypso was quick to add. “I think you did exactly what needed to be done. And just gave me some good advice. So thank you, again.”

“No problem. And hey, if anything comes up… you can definitely contact me. Annabeth may have been my friend longer, but you’re my friend too.”

“Yeah, thanks, I will,” Calypso said, managing a small smile.

After that Jason and Piper said their goodbyes and left Leo and Calypso alone in their flat.

“That was… pretty intense,” Leo finally broke the silence when it was about to get awkward. For some reason, he seemed disappointed about something even though Calypso couldn’t decide what. That she had ruined the evening? Or could it be… that he was upset to find out that she used to have a crush on his friend? No, that couldn’t have been it, Calypso thought, because what reason had she ever given Leo to like her? When she thought about it, she had mainly been sarcastic and kind of cold in his company, probably not something most people cared about.

“Yeah…” Calypso didn’t know what else to say. She wanted to explain, to say that she really didn’t feel much of anything towards Percy anymore, but what would that help? She’d probably only make things even more awkward than they already were. Especially if she was wrong and Leo was disappointed for example because she might have caused friction between his friends. “Listen, I didn’t mean to…”

“Whatever,” Leo stopped her, sounding a bit sharper than what Calypso was used to hearing. “I guess it’s none of my business anyway.”

Calypso understood the implications in Leo’s comment. One of the reasons why he was mad was because she wasn’t telling him the whole truth. But she could not get him mixed in the life she was trying to escape from…

The whole situation made Calypso frustrated and she took it out in a way she later regretted: “Why are you acting like that? What happened with Percy has nothing to do with you!”

“Well, it becomes my issue too if it affects my friends! Besides, I… I care about you… because you’re my flatmate, of course! And if my friend hurt you…”

Calypso was totally taken aback by Leo’s answer. She hadn’t even considered that he might actually be worried about her. Her face softened as she replied: “What happened back then… it doesn’t matter anymore. He and I were never exclusive. So really, it was my fault in the first place thinking that we could have a future. Not with… everything happening anyway.”

“There, that’s the other problem,” Leo said in a low voice. “You never tell me… Calypso, even though I may seem like it sometimes, I’m not stupid. You’re not telling us something that’s obviously very important to you. And hearing that Percy knows… well, it does feel weird.”

“Leo, think about your worst memory,” Calypso said, her eyes looking even darker than usual. “And tell me if you’d be willing to tell it to me, right here, right now. If the answer is no… well, then you might understand what I feel.”

“I…” Leo started, but then hesitated, his expression turning dark. “Yeah, you’re right. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to think about it. I just want to…”

“Forget.” Calypso finished for him. “Guess you might understand, after all.”

“Yeah, maybe… I hope that we can be honest with each other, one day, though.”

“I hope so, too,” Calypso agreed.

“Listen, I’m gonna call it a night,” Leo finally broke the silence that had fallen into the room, combing his hair with his fingers. “Got lots to do tomorrow. So, see ya.”

“Night,” Calypso said after him. She was sad that the affection that had been there the other night as they had said good night to each other seemed almost non-existent right now. Maybe the bubble around them had broken when they voiced their issues out loud. But Calypso wasn’t someone who gave up that easily. She wouldn’t let the ghosts of the past stop her from living her life anymore.

[legobiwan]

I’m freaking out because i just...i’m SO psyched for the Kenobi series but i’m so afraid that they’re gonna give him a romance. I hate it because i...i just, and you’ve talked about this before, he’s he perfect Jedi. To Obi-wan, being a good person IS following the code, even after the order is gone. He wouldn’t have realistically ever left the order for kryze (even tho i don’t consider that canon that always felt ooc to me) or the others bc he’s completely devoted to the code above all else 1/2

Especially after what he saw happen to anakin and padme because of that attachment. I highly doubt he would, 8 years later, be willing to even have temptation of a romantic partner. And god forbid we hear more Rey Kenobi theories. I’m just worried Disney is going to do a disservice to his character bc hollywood HAS to have a romance plot in everything. Do you think they’ll go down that route? 2/2

So we’re dealing with a few different issues here. Let’s break this down:

“The Perfect Jedi”

Obi-wan attempts to be the perfect Jedi. He tries, oh so hard, to keep himself at that exacting, impossible standard. Of course, no one is the perfect Jedi - not Obi-wan, not Yoda, not Mace Windu - and certainly not Qui-gon. (And yet there is something in there, the delicate balance of striving towards excellence as opposed to striving for perfection, and it is an important distinction, one that I don’t think the Jedi, as a whole, always got correct as a sense of extremism took root within certain sectors of the Order.) Now, the reason behind this predilection - well, we could point at a few factors. Obi-wan’s sense of impostor syndrome (not at all helped by one Qui-gon Jinn, who seemed to be constantly thinking Obi-wan was somehow behind on his development, as shown in Master and Apprentice.)

(There’s a whole other meta I’ve touched on regarding the whole inter-Lineage…I don’t want to use the word trauma, but let’s just say they all inherited their predecessors’ issues and manifested them very differently.)

But yes, from the get-go, it seems that Obi-wan needs to prove himself. To Qui-gon, as a Padawan. To Qui-gon’s memory, when he takes Anakin. To Anakin, to prove he could be the Master of the Chosen One. To the Council. Etc. It’s a lot of pressure on one person. And the thing is, Obi-wan cracks, more than once. His sardonic, biting sense of humor is indicative enough of his less-than-perfect adherence to the Code, not to mention all the rules he bends for Anakin, his devotion to Satine - which is an interesting case study. In the end, Obi-wan does not succumb to Maul’s taunts to go feral/Dark Side but Obi-wan’s actions on Mandalore, precipitated by his very un-Jedi actions regarding Satine, set off a cataclysm of far-reaching events. As does his refusal to kill Anakin on Mustafar, which could be construed as a wild infraction of the Jedi Code. I mean, had Obi-wan killed Anakin, made *sure* of it and not walked away, what would have happened?

And yet, he tries to do good. Even as he realizes his faults, his part in moulding galactic events. Obi-wan could have done more, could have done differently, and yet despite his awful circumstances, he never gives in to hate. He is flawed, imperfect, but still holds on to some core part of himself. And I think that core part is something…that’s not the Jedi Code. The Code, in the end, is meaningless after Mustafar. (And I really REALLY hope the series touches on this idea of loss of faith, because Obi-wan held on to the Code so tightly, as a way of justifying so many of his actions because what else did he have? And I love existential crises when they’re not my own. HA!) The Code may have been his way of telling himself he was doing good - was doing what Qui-gon wanted, what the Council wanted, what was best for Anakin…but I wonder when Obi-wan sat down and thought about what he wanted for himself? Without expectation, without other people’s narratives. (Okay, so I may be projecting a bit here.) 

I’m getting off-topic here. Would Obi-wan have left the Order for Satine? No. He would have thought about it, fantasized about it. But at that point, he would have been too wrapped up in expectations to actually do anything about it. And by the time the Clone Wars came around? He was too responsible, too enmeshed. And…you know, I get it. I’m around Obi-wan’s age in TCW/RotS. There’s so much narrative to unpack in your life, so much expectation that you can internalize or throw away and whose story is it anyway? Those around you? Your own? Some odd mixture therein? But Obi-wan wasn’t ready to let go of that narrative, of those expectations, of the ghost of Qui-gon and so, no, he wouldn’t have left the Order. But there would be nights, those nights. When the lights have dimmed in the quarters on board the Star Destroyer, when the company you keep is an empty durasteel table, half a bottle of Corellian whiskey, and twenty years of what if…

But you were asking about romance, about attachment. (So often conflated, although never one and the same. Or perhaps they are different terms for the same idea, not love in the carnal sense but illogical devotion to someone or something. I always like the idea of there being many words, ideas for love, as the Greeks made popular in our culture. Love, or attachment to an idea or a thing can be just as wonderful, as intoxicating and dangerous as it can be with a person.) 

Realistically? An Obi-wan set adrift in Tatooine might get attached, despite everything. (The novel Kenobi does a fantastic job of illustrating this.) We yearn for connection, and someone who has all but cut themselves off from interaction with other beings…how long can you hold out? 

This isn’t to say I would support a full-fledged typical Hollywood romance in the series. Because honestly? Not the time or place. 

Now, if it is something where Obi-wan feels a connection with someone and then purposefully acts against it? I would be okay with this. As it would be in service to the idea that he is (tragically) cutting himself off, believing himself to taint others, to be less than. And given the trajectory of recent streaming, I’m more confident than I would have been a few years ago that a series can do without a “typical” romance. (Which…thank the gods for that development. I don’t mind natural romance (I’m looking at you, Good Omens), but the shoe-horned heteronormative plots I was forced to endure through the 80s, 90s and early 2000s were…tiring, to say the least.)

We’re in a new era now, with these streaming services, with the impact fandom has on media, with social mores changing for the better, in my opinion. (But seriously, it’s wild for an old fogey like me to watch unfold. A little weird, I’m not going to lie, but on the whole, a positive development.) I’m going to put my faith in a few things, including a) Ewan McGregor wouldn’t have signed on to this if it weren’t going to be something interesting and nuanced (and gods know he held out long enough, so I’m assuming the man has standards) and b) Disney wants our wallets and has a pretty good grasp of its demographics (probably a scarily accurate grasp, but that’s another story for another time), so I’m not too worried about a prototypical romance plot.

Now, as to Rey Kenobi theories, I have to admit, I enjoy them, only because I’ve been struggling for more Kenobi content recently. I doubt that’s the route they’ll go down, especially in light of all the rumours circulating about Episode 9. And so, in the end, what I hope (and believe) we’ll get is a very human story about a man who tried to live by a narrative and failed, and tried to reconstruct himself not totally escaping the chains of those events and people, but still trying to do good.

[alternislatronemhq]

Congrats, Karli, you have been accepted to AL for the role of Sirius Black (FC: Rob Raco). Wow, Karli, well done! As I was reading your app, I found myself totally taken in by your characterization of Sirius. You really understand him the way that I had envisioned him for this plot — the slightly immature, bitter, grudge holding mischief maker who has had to grow up and be a parent because of the loss of his brother and best friend. You really had a grasp of the plot and I found myself getting so excited to play Lily alongside you. Just, really great job, I’m so excited to have you here! Please send in your blog (no sideblogs for first characters, please) in the next 24 hours and be sure to take a look at our new player checklist.Welcome home, we’re so excited to have you join the family!

OOC

name — Karli age — 29 pronouns — she/her timezone — CST activity level — Probably an 7-8 right now. I’m off work for summer break with a few things to do here and there, but I’m typically on every day and doing replies every couple of days. It might lessen in the fall months but right now, I’m VERY free!

IC Overview

name — Sirius Orion Black age — 26 | 3 November 1959 gender — Cis-male sexuality — If asked, Sirius would say he doesn’t like labels. He’s fluid - people know that. He sleeps around with many genders, but doesn’t really make an announcement about it. He also doesn’t work for it. If someone wants to have sex with him, he’s likely pretty open to it. But he also isn’t going to put in much effort to make it happen. He’s not a relationship-type of bloke and, even though there are people out there who think they can “change him,” no one has been able to yet. In more modern terms, he’s likely pansexual, aromantic (on the spectrum of little romantic attraction over no romantic attraction). But he wouldn’t know that, nor does he really care to know it. Sex is sex. That’s all.

patronus — Sirius has always struggled with producing a corporeal patronus. Perhaps it was the necessity of focusing on one good thing that made the spell work - or maybe it’s just that Sirius isn’t as good with the abstract stuff as he likes to think. During the moments where it did work during the war, it was a large black dog, unsurprising to anyone who knew of his animagus form. He liked to smirk at James - or perhaps Remus or Peter, if they were around - whenever it popped from his wand. After the war, however, there wasn’t much use for the spell. The last time he performed it had been during his extracurricular project with Dumbledore… and he was surprised at what he saw. No longer the dog moving swiftly, brightly from his wand… but, instead, a brilliant form of a stag, large hooves and antlers that once matched James’ patronus. However, when the stag turned towards him, showing the familiar markings around its eyes, Sirius realized… it wasn’t just James’ old patronus, but rather Prongs himself. It had taken his breath away for a moment, causing a near-fatal distraction that needed Dumbledore’s help to escape.

boggart — Sirius’ boggart is a silver mask, but not for the reasons one might expect. He is less afraid of being a follower of Voldemort than he is about what that would mean about him. It would mean he conformed to what his family wanted - and conformity is Sirius’ biggest fear… or, at least, that’s what he’d tell someone. In reality, especially with another looming war, he is likely more afraid of Harry ending up like his father - or dead. But, in the moment, conformity would be Sirius’ biggest fear.

IC In Depth

personality traits —

[+] Loyal - There’s a reason Sirius’ animagus form is a dog - he is loyal to those he cares about. In the past, this was in relationship to the Marauders, particularly James more than anyone, but has changed as the years have gone by and things shifted. He is now mostly loyal to Harry - and, by extension, Lily. The problem with Sirius’ loyalty is that it can be very dark. Peter is out - and that’s forever. There is no coming back with Sirius once he views something as a betrayal and that includes someone he used to love.

[+] Intelligent - It’s not something easily identifiable by just looking at him, but Sirius is smart. In the books, he was one of the only people ever to escape Azkaban. In school, he hardly had to study and managed to keep up good grades and make his way through Hogwarts without trying. He’s careless in this intelligence sometimes, assuming he just knows without really thinking much about it. His “smarts” do well in both books and streets - he knows how to navigate life at the bar where he works and that different sort of nightlife. He’s a good dueller, able to use intuition to anticipate the moves of his opponent. The intelligence he does have helped to design the Marauders Map, become an animagus, and find and destroy the Horcruxes with Dumbledore.

[+] Open-Minded - Not the best word for this with Sirius, who can be incredibly stubborn and unwilling to change, but there is a reason he didn’t chuck out a werewolf as a friend, despite the teachings by his family. While Sirius himself is rather indifferent to these sorts of things, he does listen - and maybe, in part, this was due to James - and try to be better. Once, as a child, he thought muggleborns were scum… then he grew up, met more open-minded people, and followed their lead. He tries and that’s more than some others.

[+/-] Highly Emotional - Sirius is impulsive and uses emotions to make decisions before he thinks it through. This is what led him to trying to kill Peter the night James almost died - this is what leads him into at least half the arguments he has. He didn’t think through the “Prank” with Remus and Snape… just did it… because he thought it would be funny. That being said - this isn’t always a bad thing. He feels big and that means happiness, too. He can make Harry laugh more than anyone because he loves to joke around and play with him. He’s protective and those emotions come into play whenever someone is trying to mess with his family. It can just sometimes be hard for someone to truly know what they might be getting with him, as he can often flip from one emotion to the next rather quickly.

[-] Jealous/Distrustful - Sirius doesn’t accept change very easily when it comes to his outside world, particularly friendships. He wasn’t very keen on Lily in the beginning of her relationship with James because of his fear that she would “take his best friend away.” It made him mean - even aggressive - towards her, until James put a stop to it. When he finally realized that Lily could be in love with his best friend and he could still have his friendship, he cooled down and was more willing to bring her into his life. It wasn’t until the war that she truly became part of his family and that’s stuck with him since then, especially more so since James didn’t wake up. He’s now more likely to side-eye others she brings around, suspicious of them and their intentions, particularly if it is a man he’s worried about trying to hit on her. He doesn’t trust easily but, once a person has earned it, it’s much easier for him to open up.

[-] Resentful/Vindictive - Sirius Black knows how to hold a grudge. Once someone is dead to him, they are dead to him. He has made it a point that he will kill Peter Pettigrew one day and that has not gone away. Even though there’s part of him glad that he never got the chance five years ago (despite his best effort), he hasn’t given up hope. It’s not just good enough for Peter to die… he wants to be the one to do it. There’s also the grudge with Remus. While this one is to much a lesser extent, he’s angry that Remus hasn’t forgiven him, but has forgiven everyone else. He’s wary of Remus being around Harry because he thinks anyone around his godson should have to be okay with him. This is an argument that often peaks with him and Lily. He’s apologized to Remus - he hates himself for what happened to James - it’s about time Remus just got over it and realized that.

[-] Ruthless - Sirius is willing to do anything to get something done. If it had come to it during war, he wouldn’t have been above torture of a captured Death Eater and definitely killed without blinking an eye. His world is often very black and white - therefore, the good guys were good and the bad guys were bad. He’s willing to do what it takes to make sure he gets revenge for James. He’ll do anything to get the Horcruxes and take down Voldemort. He’ll do whatever he has to in order to protect Harry.

character biography —

Born to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, Sirius Black was the son his parents wanted - or so they originally thought. Cousins, Walburga and Orion married one another only to produce an heir. There was no love within their relationship, just duty - when the first son came, they were almost thrilled. But perhaps Sirius’ mother was just as suspicious as him because she forced her husband into bed again and again for a second child… just in case.

As if turned out, they would need it. Regulus was a docile baby, while Sirius had been finicky. They played well together as they aged and, despite being one another’s deepest confidants, there was clear favoritism from his parents to the younger son. This was rarely violent, but Walburga, particularly, made it clear that she preferred the way Sirius’ brother learned the proper pureblood ways so much more quickly than he did. Orion was rather indifferent to his family in general, preferring the young girls at the underground clubs - sometimes a bit too young for society’s tastes.

Despite many not realizing this, Sirius did try to be the son his parents wanted… at first. He believed what they believed - he did what he was told. But he screwed up often. Questioned things without thinking them through - talked out of turn. Whenever Regulus messed something up, Sirius would try his best to take the fall, ensuring any wrath of his mother stayed on him over his younger brother. As he grew, he began to see more of the world. But it wasn’t until he met James Potter on the train to Hogwarts that he began to change his beliefs. When he talked about the dangers of mudbloods, James set him straight - made sure to keep that word out of Sirius’ mouth. When he questioned the sanity of Muggles, James shrugged and said he thought they weren’t all that bad. It opened his eyes to something new. They were joined by Remus and Peter that year - and, while Sirius loved them, too, he truthfully could care less about expanding the group in the beginning.

The closer he got to his new friends, the farther away he got from the Black family name. He stopped writing home - stopped paying much attention to Regulus. In his young mind, he didn’t realize how detrimental this might be to his brother, but he was wrapped up in this new life. Gryffindor - change - rebellion. It was intoxicating. James became the most important person in Sirius’ life and he clung to his friend with all he had. They pulled pranks as a group, learned about Remus, found a way to help him. The Marauders were born and a map was made and life was good. It didn’t matter that the shadow of his brother donned in Slytherin robes hung over Hogwarts sometimes because Sirius ruled the school. Grimmauld was Regulus’ - Hogwarts was his.

When he decided to tell Severus Snape about the Willow, he hadn’t been thinking. But, really, nothing happened! Remus was being rather dramatic, in Sirius’ opinion! It was just a prank! Why couldn’t anyone else see that? They were mad at him for a while - probably some of the darkest times in Sirius’ life at school, the inability to be with friends - but they came around and it was restored. Things were good - things were right.

Then the war came and it was like the Marauders were thrust into adulthood with Sirius clinging to the life they had. The Order made sense for all of them - they were built for a revolution. But it wasn’t as much of an adventure as they assumed it would be. People died every day - battles were brutal. But Sirius still took it less seriously than he should’ve. He revelled in the fight, laughing alongside his best mate as they shot curses at those fucking cult-followers. He cracked jokes about Voldemort’s dick being so small he had to make an army to try and make up for it. He smiled with blood running down his face into his lips, tasting the iron. He was fearless - and reckless. War wasn’t a game, but Sirius treated it as one.

And it made some people angry. Perhaps that was why Remus suspected him for the spy - or maybe it was lingering distrust over the Willow. Sirius couldn’t help his old prejudices coming up as war grew into their veins, swimming through their blood. A werewolf. Remus had always been able to hold secrets… perhaps this was one of them.

When James was targeted - well, young Harry, but James - Sirius didn’t hesitate to name Remus the spy. James may not have been able to see it… but Peter, Sirius said. We’ll use Peter! No one will suspect! And perhaps that judgement was his worst mistake of all. For Peter was the spy. Peter would come to betray them. And when Voldemort died, there wasn’t much time for celebration because less than a week later, James was found on the ground of Godric’s Hollow, unable to wake up.

Sirius knew who was at fault -it was him! He did this! His own idea! - and that person would pay. It was so much easier to react with vengeance than feel his own guilt. So much easier to want to kill his old friend than cry over his own mistakes. James was as good as dead - and Peter would die, too. Sirius knew the officials would arrest him for the murder - that he would spend his life in Azkaban - but he didn’t care. He searched for Peter the night of James’ torture with the attempt to kill him. But Peter was a rat - and there were thousands of them in London. Whether Peter was using his animagus form or not, Sirius had been unable to track him down before getting apprehended by Aurors. He stayed two days in a holding cell, grieving the near-loss of his true brother - until Lily was able to prove that the secret keeper had never been Sirius, after all.

Since that day, he vowed to do what James would’ve wanted him to do - he looked after Harry and Lily. He became the godfather he was supposed to have been. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t stop thinking about the murder he tried committing that night. If Peter were to ever resurface, Sirius would be ready. It was a good thing that he had the locket - that he had Dumbledore and the Horcruxes. It was something to keep his mind occupied. If he couldn’t kill Peter, then he could at least work on killing Voldemort, who started this entire war in the first place.

Those months after James, he spent his days with Harry and Lily and his nights searching for the Horcruxes. He would wind up back at Lily’s place in the middle of the night and crash on her couch. Eventually, he officially moved in, getting a job at a pub located right between Diagon Alley and Knockturn - causing many different types to enter into the place. These days, he still splits his time - almost like he has two lives; one where he helps raise Harry, the other in an underground nightlife world of darker wix and Horcruxes. He hasn’t forgotten his friend - James is at the forefront of everything Sirius does - or his promise to avenge him. But stopping a potential war and making sure Harry has everything he needs is just as important. Sirius has grown more responsible in the past five years, but he still holds on to much of the person he once was. There’s a chance he’ll end up doing something reckless again - something he can’t take back.

plot ideas —

ONE. I think exploring the interpersonal relationships will be the most interesting thing in this rp. This isn’t a huge action rp (as of yet) and so the quieter moments within relationships is what I’m eager to do. What will it be like trying to co-parent with Lily, when Sirius isn’t even really the parent? I think they likely butt heads and argue from time to time, while also relying heavily on one another. It’s probably in the realm of unhealthy at times, given Sirius lives with them and has devoted his new life to them. Sirius is still very much about James. So, if Lily were to try and move on with someone new, this would be very likely to anger him, even though she deserves a life with love. Then there’s Remus to think about - Remus blames Sirius, but Sirius also blames himself. He just doesn’t think Remus should hold that grudge, while forgiving others in his life. They both thought one another was the spy, after all. I also think it’ll be fun to see how Sirius and Fabian play out together as friends, particularly since they both lost a brother. I’m also looking forward to exploring relationships not within the connections and learning about these characters within this world.

TWO. James wakes up. I see you included “James Potter” as a potential plot drop release – I’m assuming this might mean he wakes up. If that’s the case, I don’t think it’ll be as easy as it would seem for Sirius. He would be glad his friend is back, of course. But it’s also complicated. Harry is only six years old - and lived a whole life without his dad. James would be this “mystery guy he’s heard about” and likely not about to jump into his dad’s arms. I don’t think Sirius would make him, either, which might be frustrating for both Sirius and James. It would complicate their relationship a lot - Harry is his kid now, after all.

THREE. Horcruxes. I think it’ll be important to bring other characters into this, especially since it’s doubtful there will ever be a Dumbledore. I’d like Sirius to be given tasks to ask others for help - and do these missions without Dumbledore present. He’s had to learn more responsibility in the past 5 years, but Sirius was never the leader (that was James), so it would be interesting for him to have to take on a leadership role.

FOUR. Fuckbuddies! I’m not really here for shipping, especially with a character like Sirius, but I think he probably has a few people he’s slept with a couple times. I’m honestly up for anyone for this, but I don’t think just anyone could end up in a romantic relationship with him. First off, he’s aromatic and it’s really hard for him to have a romantic connection. It would take time and a lot of chemistry to ever break Sirius past just sex with someone. But give me fuckbuddies all the way.

FIVE. Sirius may be more responsible than 5 years ago, but that doesn’t mean everything about him has changed. While he’s a good parent to Harry and around very often - his schedule is extremely flexible - that doesn’t always mean he knows what he’s doing. He’s likely to give in rather quickly if Harry were whining and is easily frustrated. While he has good influences around like Molly or Lily, he doesn’t always listen to what they have to say (look at him in OOTP!) and just does what he wants. I’d like to explore how his more passive parenting style might affect Harry and the people around him.

[homenum-revelio-hq]

Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Jess!

You have been accepted for the role of ANDROMEDA TONKS with the faceclaim of Natalie Portman! We really enjoyed your focus on the ambiguity of Andromeda’s beliefs and choices; how choosing Ted doesn’t mean she stopped loving her family, how things aren’t perfect now any more than they were wholly miserable before. We look forward to seeing you dig-into her conflicted feelings and lingering prejudices. We are so excited to have you as part of this roleplay!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Jess

AGE: 20

TIMEZONE: EST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I’m a full time student, but I usually have time to spend an hour or so writing a day, and I’m always reachable by mobile!

ANYTHING ELSE: I have a lot of experience with Tumblr RPs, but I haven’t been part of anything for about a year! I’m really excited to re-enter the fandom with a new character.

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Andromeda Tonks

AGE: 29

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Cis-female, she/her, heterosexual

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Slytherin

ANY CHANGES: I’d like to use Natalie Portman as her FC- for me, Natalie always comes across so poised and graceful, which is a trait I really want my Andromeda to have.

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

All middle children act out, the Blacks used to say to themselves. Andie’s stubbornness and fire, her petulance and ferociousness were absolutely natural for anyone who grew up aside an elder sister as prominent as Bellatrix, and a younger sister as pristine as Narcissa. Regardless of the occasional dinner table outbursts and the Muggle books hidden under her bed, her fierce love for her sisters convinced Cygnus and Druella they had nothing to worry about. Nobody would have chosen her as the rebel of the family. Sometimes, Andromeda can’t even believe it herself.

While her parents urged her to spend her Hogwarts years searching for a suitable match, Andromeda was almost always found in the library. Slytherin cunning manifested in a thirst for knowledge, a trait that serves her well in the Department of Mysteries. A built-in lie detector and a keen eye for bullshit got her through teenage drama and now, get her through pre-teen squabbles with her daughter. As she grew, she learned when to share her opinion (almost never) and when to keep her mouth shut and listen (most of the time). She prefers to get a good read on people before sharing any of herself with them.

Like every Black, she has her own tempestuous streak. Andromeda can be impatient and particular, liking things done a certain way and at a certain time. A childhood in a controlling family has left her with a need to control her household the same way Druella ruled hers- of course, unlike her mother, Andromeda works full-time and lacks the small army of house elves. Her mother’s influence also left her with a too-sharp tone and a habit of bossing others around. Passion comes easy, but steady, everyday love is harder. Adulthood and responsibility hit her like a brick. She’s a little too measured for spontaneity these days, too concerned about the future to be present in the now. Andromeda is at her best when she’s having fun- but it seems those moments are too few and far between now. Maybe that’s just part of growing up.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

Cygnus and Druella never appeared to enjoy having children. To them, children weren’t something to be enjoyed. They were walking trophies, representations of the long and storied history of Black. Andromeda was hardly raised, more cultivated, like a rare orchid or crossbreed of roses. A Black is poised, she is lofty, she is obedient. A Black does not slide down staircases, or speak to the house elves, or make faces at her parents. In time, she became two women- stoic Andromeda, to her parents, and goofy Andie, to her sisters.

Who’s lucky enough to be born amongst their best friends? Andromeda never needed anybody but her sisters growing up- they were her anchors, her compass, her roots. Being a Black was important, as her parents beat into her, but being a sister to Bellatrix and Narcissa was her priority. As her built-in confidants, she confided in them about every impulse and doubt and fear. Until Ted Tonks.

Finally, something was just for her. She hadn’t anticipated how delicious it was to have a secret, how much of an adrenaline rush it was to sneak around. She felt seen for the first time, seen and loved and wanted, and by someone who was indisputably good and kind. Ted shone a light on the fear and confusion that had gradually begun to fill her heart, and in return Andromeda gave Ted her whimsy, her joy- all the parts that were disagreeable to her family. But she also hadn’t anticipated how difficult it would be to lie to her sisters. Or how difficult it would be to watch them walk away from her. The rejection of her parents hadn’t stung as much as she thought it might. Yes, there was shame, but perhaps more from an accidental pregnancy than from being disowned. The sting was from the upturn of Bella’s nose, the curl of Cissy’s lip. She would have died for them- and they wouldn’t even bend over for her. Becoming Ted’s Dromeda was easy. Shedding Cissy’s Andie was hard. She knows she made her choice, but some days it’s all she can do to keep the lump out of her throat when she looks at her life. It’s worth it, she knows that. She loves her husband and her daughter just as fiercely, if not more so, than she loved her sisters years ago, but that love for them still hasn’t faded. She’s grown to accept that it might never. But even a core as iron as Andromeda’s can fail sometimes, and she sometimes wishes she could have raised Nymphadora in the same palatial luxury she came from.

OCCUPATION:

It’s almost ironic- the woman who’s name is verboten in certain social circles is an Unspeakable. Andromeda loves her work- for the first time in her life, she feels as though she’s contributing to something important, helping people without rocking the boat. The Department of Mysteries is her sanctuary. It feels like nothing from her past followed her here, no petty gossip or snide looks. She’s truly thrown herself into the werewolf project, fascinated by every difference between herself and the subjects that look just like her for all but a few nights a year. She began this study to find a cure for lycanthropy, to make werewolves like everybody else, but the project’s evolved over time to focus on the unique talents and gifts of the werewolf and how they can be exploited. Her whole life has emphasized homogeny, but it might be time for her to start seeing the power of divergence.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

She’s given up her last name, her family, her inheritance. She will not give up her daughter’s safety. It’s not that she doesn’t believe in the cause, because yes, of course she believes Muggleborns have a right to be in this society. She just doesn’t see why she should put her life at risk for it. Of course, the occasional slip of information from her department hardly counts, it’s not as if she’s on the front lines. It could never even be traced back to her. And if she doesn’t tell Ted about it, it’s only because it’s unimportant, not because she’s afraid. Andromeda Tonks would never confess to being afraid.

SURVIVAL:

She flies under the radar as much as possible. Sometimes that means signing her name as A. Tonks in fear of someone putting puzzle pieces together, sometimes that means waiting for the next elevator when the faces inside don’t look friendly, and sometimes it means spending Friday night til Monday morning locked up in their house, afraid of something she can’t put a name to. She’s fortunate enough that her parents are content to only act like she’s dead, but her eldest sister may change that any day. There’s still a part of her that cares for her sister, but if Bellatrix even glanced in the direction of her family, Andromeda would rip her apart in an instant.

RELATIONSHIPS:

The problem with leaving your world behind for a man is that, suddenly, that man becomes your world. High on hormones and righteous fury, Andromeda told Ted over and over he would be all she needed. But she can’t help feeling as though she gave too much and he gave too little. With every slip of the tongue, each not-progressive-enough viewpoint, she wonders if he’ll ever look at her without disappointment in his eyes. If she’ll ever feel worthy of his love. She tries to give hers freely in return, but showing appreciation is hard for her, and recently their relationship has felt more like business partners than man and wife.

She’d love to fill that void with some friends, but frankly, she was too busy following her older sister around like a lost puppy at Hogwarts to make that many. She recognizes surnames in her new social circle from the old- Selwyn, Macmillan, Yaxley- but she doesn’t miss the way these people look at her (she thinks it’s the pity that’s the worst, worse than the disgust or the amusement). And so many others hear the implicit Black when she introduces herself and flee. She never forgets that she still has some family, but Sirius still looks at her with distanced eyes. It doesn’t make sense to Dromeda- in her mind, the two black marks of the family tree should look out for each other, but then again, blood has always taken up a disproportionate amount of Andromeda’s thoughts.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: I think Andromeda really loves Ted, but there’s definitely a lot of room to explore in such a high-pressure relationship! She’s lost her family, given her all in raising a child, and is keeping a secret from her husband about helping the Order, all of which I think could be major stressors in their marriage. I’m really very flexible with ships, I just love to write through conflict like that!

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

Andromeda grew up in the lap of luxury, with any privilege imaginable. Having all those taken away from her in a heartbeat (the money, the family cache, the status, the family, oh Merlin, the money), left her with more frustration than compassion. These are things she silently feels entitled to, and wishes she could have given to her daughter! Basic responsibilities were foreign to her a decade ago, but she’s been made painfully aware of what her privilege enabled her to do, and what she no longer has access to. It’s made her colder and more serious, and if she was confronted with any of the privilege she still has (being a white, cisgender, straight pureblood), she’d be highly defensive. I’d really love to explore how this silent resentment is building up inside Andromeda- it’s her own choices that led her here, but self-reflection was never her strength, and it’s just easier to pin this loss on Ted, her family, really anyone but herself.

Andromeda was essentially raised in a fundamentalist cult, and she’s only just begun to really confront those implicit biases. While she can say all the right things when prompted- Ted, of course I don’t think Muggleborns are genetically inferior, would I have married you if I did?- she’s not interested in exploring any deeper. To Andromeda, being a pureblood still means something, she just can’t elaborate on what something is without revealing the blood superiority still in her heart. She works with werewolves, but she still sees them as beasts to be feared. She’d be embarrassed if her daughter was born a Squib, and she’d never let her marry a Muggle. In Andromeda’s world, these aren’t viewpoints, but indisputable truths, and she reacts to any attempts to change these truths with a laugh and a wave of an ivory hand. No point in being naive- this is just the way the world is.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? I LOVE exploring duality within characters, especially ones seen as “good” in canon. The focus on the gray in all the skeletons really drew me in, and I would really love to write the messier parts of Andromeda.

PLOT DROP IDEAS (OPTIONAL): It would be really exciting to get to write Andromeda when the threat of Death Eaters becomes more immediate, and she begins to recognize faces under the mask. Her love for her family is still very real, and I’d love to write out that internal conflict.

ANYTHING ELSE? Nothing!

[nmnostalgiadrabbles]

Parallels - KakaSaku

sort of? do with this what you will

maybe kakashi's a little ooc but? I struggled writing him this time I don't know :/

(post war but I still haven't actually finished naruto so don't expect canon continuity; this is a sasuke-free zone)

Sakura had been personally requested (and Tsunade had actually agreed) to stay with a newborn in the intensive care unit; she hadn’t given it another thought – of course she’d stay. She couldn’t have predicted that if she had instead gone with the second squad dispatched with Ino’s that she could have saved Ino’s life. Or at least she could have tried, and she wouldn’t have had to hear about it from Choji.

(Choji had never been the emotionally well-put together one – that was Shikamaru. But not this time. Only at the reminder that their sensei had asked him to help care for and protect his child did Shikamaru finally stop sleeping by her grave and eat something for the first time in three days.)

Sakura was another story.

(Sakura and Shikamaru weren’t particularly close – they’d never had a reason to be, really. But now, at the foot of her stone they held each other so there was no distance between them. Neither of them said it was because they were trying to feel what connected them – her – but they both knew it.)

After Shikamaru left, Naruto came to be with her. He probably would have stayed until they’d both starved, but after another two days, Kakashi came. He’d been a neglectful sensei too much of his career, and even though his students were all adults now, he was still needed, and so he came.

She wouldn’t say no to him when he asked her to please come with him; she didn’t want him to think she was being childish. But how could she think something like that – think only of herself at a time like this? She cursed herself for being more concerned with embarrassment than her best friend. Still, she took his hand after he offered it.

In the days, weeks, months that followed, she transitioned slowly from mostly hospital work to more and more field work – missions. It was then that he saw in her the same hurry to die that he’d once been in.

Once again, Naruto tried his best to be there for her, and he certainly was a positive influence, but Kakashi could see that she was still slipping.

She stopped cooking for herself and ate only instant ramen – like another of his students had when he was just a genin – when she did remember to eat. It was almost unreal to him, to watch her neglect herself like that. She’d never in all their years, even when Sasuke first left to find Orochimaru, forgotten basic self-care. She’d stopped blow-drying and styling her hair long ago, but this was on another level. He had to step in; it was his duty to step in; he wanted to step in.

He spoke with Tsunade and they agreed he’d replace one of the members of the team she’d be leaving with the following morning. That had been the easy part. The other involved Kakashi trying his hand at homemade protein balls.

To be fair, he explained their first night while making camp. I don’t normally cook this kind of thing.

“Really,” she continued the conversation. That was good. She hadn’t spoken more than a few words outside of mission specifics since they’d left just before dawn. But still, he could tell it was just small talk. She wasn’t invested (though, it wasn’t like it was the most invigorating topic in the world); did she know of his concerns? Was she trying to convince him she didn’t need them? Or was she so far retreated into herself that this was the most she could offer? Perhaps this was taking all the effort in the world.

In their time as one half of team seven, she’d never concealed her emotions in front of him; neither could remember how many times she’d cried in his presence. Despite that it broke a shinobi rule, she was comfortable and safe with him, both emotionally and physically; she never doubted that if Naruto or Sasuke couldn’t protect her, he would. He’d made that promise to them in the land of Waves so long ago.

What had Ino thought in the moments before her death? Did she think that someone was coming? Someone with unmatchable strength and legendary medical abilities and pink hair? God if she kept thinking like that Kakashi would never leave her alone. What were they talking about? Oh, she was chewing what rivaled her own as the most awful tasting protein ball in history.

“I may not be one to talk, but your powder ratio is off. That’s why they’re chalky.”

“That’s why,” he nodded, accepting, and threw another bundle of twigs on the campfire. They spoke quietly; their other teammate was sleeping on the other side of it.

The next morning they’d only just set out when they encountered the enemy. Since the war, and even before it to a degree, Sakura had always been smart when fighting. She didn’t waste energy on showy moves like Naruto or Sasuke (or himself), but now, she masked the brutality with efficiency. As a medic, she knew precisely where to strike for a single blow to be fatal, and she’d aim just there. Kakashi found that he – and the other member – were hardly needed, at least as far as manpower was concerned. That’s how it seemed at first.

As the hours and days went on, they crept farther and farther into enemy territory, and the number of opponents per person increased accordingly. Sakura did not slow down. Her attacks became less hyper-focused; they’d still kill the opponent, but it wouldn’t be immediate. It might take a few minutes, during which they could signal others or even execute a counter of sorts. Sakura had to know this, and she had to notice that her other two teammates were spending more and more of their time finishing the job. They were falling behind.

“Sakura!”

She looked back at him, and he almost wished she hadn’t. He swallowed and willed his body to move faster.

He caught up with her three miles down the forest path. His nose could tell that it was mostly the enemies’ blood, but the visual was still stocking. It smeared her skin pink and stained every bit of her uniform. He didn’t know exactly how many missions she’d been on since Ino’s death, but he wondered how many times they’d ended like this; how many times she’d felt the crippling, unrelenting loneliness.

“Kakashi,” she breathed, standing over the last opponent’s corpse. “Stop worrying about me. Can’t you see I’m perfectly capable of carrying out my missions?”

Kakashi gave their surroundings a final once over and then stepped into the small clearing where she stood. God, he’d thought the very same thing when Gai voiced his concerns for him back then.

“Sakura, it was never a question of that.”

She shook her head and went on, but still didn’t face him. “I’ve lost a little weight,”

A little? But he didn’t say that.

“You know I’ve studied the mind nearly as much as the body. It’s common when people grieve. Can’t I without everyone breathing down my neck?”

“I know you’re grieving, and you’re right, it is common –”

“Don’t patronize me,”

“But hurting yourself won’t bring her back.”

Sakura whipped around, angry hot tears brimming in her eyes. He should have known what to say to ease her pain but –

“Sakura.” By now, he had stepped closer and taken her by the shoulders. She looked up at him with gritted teeth. “I know – I know that you don’t want to hear it and I know that everything hurts. It still hurts for me, too.”

“If I – I had just been there instead of in that God-damned hospital – if I had just trained her better she could have healed herself –” She dropped to her knees and took fistfuls of dirt and squeezed.

“Nothing has changed! I’m still worthless when it matters most! What good is any of it if I still let this happen!”

It was tragic just how much she was mirroring his younger self. For the second time he wished he could shoulder this burden. He stooped to her eye level and held her face.

“Sakura,” Suddenly the mask covering his was constricting and ridiculous because it was interfering with their conversation, their connection – and he pulled it down without hesitation and continued, “You don’t have to internalize it all; you don’t have to face this alone. That isn’t strength. Letting people in – letting Naruto in,” and then, slightly softer, but not purposefully, “Letting me in – that takes strength.”

She broke his gaze. “I don’t care about that. I just want to be left alone.” She sounded so defeated. She must have felt even worse.

“I wanted that too, but, at the risk of embodying Gai, I can’t let you. For both our sakes I won’t.”

First and foremost he was saying it all for her own good, but secondly, and he acknowledged it was selfish, for himself, because he couldn’t lose another person he cared about.

“Kakashi, how did you do it?” Her cheeks were as tear-stained as he’d ever seen them.

It was so out of character for him – but so was talking this much about something emotion-related – but he kissed her forehead and said, “With time.”

  Back at the village, they wordlessly began living together. It had been several months since her death, but Sakura was still floundering. Kakashi didn’t expect anything else; he’d had years to deal with the loss of his friends and mentors, and she’d only had a few months. He would not rush her.

Instead, he cooked for her, and then eventually, she started coming in to give him tips and suggestions and then she was flipping the pancakes and dicing the tomatoes with him. One afternoon Naruto popped by and the three ate together, and Sakura felt alive for the first time in a long, long while. But by the end of the meal, she’d thought of Shikamaru and Choji.

The next day she – she went out to the fields past the training grounds where they’d learned to pick flowers that complimented each other before they were genin. The Yamanaka flower shop was open, but not for her, not yet. If ever. She gathered two bouquets’ worth.

She stopped by Shikamaru’s first, and found that Choji was with him. They were laying atop the roof staring at the clouds.

“Shikamaru, Choji,” she said quietly and sat with her legs hanging over the roof’s edge and the bouquets on either side.

“Is it okay for me to be here?” she asked. What she meant was do I bring the pain back? Or rather, do I worsen it?

Choji answered. “Of course, Sakura, why wouldn’t it?”

She smiled, mostly for politeness’ sake.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around,”

Shikamaru lit a cigarette and stood to lean over the metal railing. “You’ve been on a lot of missions, lately. There’s no need to apologize.” The last line he said a bit differently, and she realized he wasn’t talking about her absence from the village or their presences.

“Thank you.”

[mr-legoman]

Live On

Fanfiction and Ao3

Summary: Hajime visits Hiyoko after the results of the second class trial. The two share a moment together.  

Spoiler for DR 2 Class Trial 2. Also, Characters may be a tad bit OOC.

Hajime knocked on the ultimate Traditional Dancer's door and got no response. He waited for a bit then he knocked again, this time a bit louder. Still no response. Hajime attempted to peak through the cabin's window, not to see anything inappropriate but to see if the cabin's occupant was even here. The light was on, but that was the only sign of life in the cabin. Hajime paused and put his ear to the door. Straining, he thought he heard the faint sound of crying.

Briefly, he considered turning around and waiting for tomorrow to deliver his gift. It was getting late, the monokuma announcement would sound in a few minutes and he was so tired already. He also didn't want to deal with Hiyoko either. He could still remember the insults and accusations during the class trial. If it weren't for Chiaki's insistence he probably wouldn't even be here with his gift.

At the thought of the gift, Hajime glanced at it, to make sure for the twelfth time that the photo was safe. It was, of course, but Hajime needed to be reassured every few minutes regardless. The photo was of Mahiru, the one she wanted him to take. That had been on the day he promised her they'd escape. Hajime stared into the photo memories and thoughts welling up inside him. The day he had taken the photo, then the day when Mahiru had given the photo back, for safe keeping she said. "Keep this safe for me alright," then with a quick peck on the cheek, she'd turned and left. That had been the last moment he had with her before she'd been murdered.

Why didn't I realize before it was too late? Hajime internally criticized himself. Why didn't I stop her? Why-

The door opening in front of him shocked him out of his thoughts and from Hiyoko's expression him being there shocked her as well. The two stared at one another in an awkward silence until Hajime recovered his voice. "Oh, Hiyoko, its good to see you," Hajime started. "I needed to talk to you about your project?" Hiyoko wiped her face with her sleeve and glared at Hajime, well attempted to glare at him. The expression had no real effort put into it Hajime noticed.

"Why didn't you knock?" Hiyoko asked voice sounding exhausted. "Like a normal person instead of standing like a creep." With an effort, Hajime chose to ignore the insult. "I was knocking on your door actually." He mimed knocking and forced a smile to his face. Hajime then noticed the girl's expression. Her eyes were red, and her face had none of her usual angry or mischievous expressions on it. Instead, Hiyoko looked extremely tired. Perhaps he should have waited for tomorrow. Hajime thought to himself. "Are you okay?" Hajime asked as he fully studied the girl. She gave Hajime a level look and studied him back, she also ignored his question entirely. "Why are you here?" She demanded. Hajime still kept the forced smile on his face and held out his photo. Hiyoko just looked at it then back at him.

"For the mural," Hajime explained. "I thought you might want some pictures to add to it." At that Hiyoko's expression softened and she examined the photo closer. She nodded at the photos and actually managed a shaky smile. "Thank you, Hajime," Hiyoko said voice soft. "This means a lot to me." Hajime simply nodded. Now came the hardest part, Hajime thought as with shaky hands he handed the photo over to Hiyoko who took it with surprising delicacy.

When the photo was in her hand Hiyoko stared at it then clutched it to her as if giving the photo a hug. Seeing that actually did put a small but genuine smile on Hajime's face. While she was distracted with the photos Hajime turned to leave but only managed to turn around and step away when he felt Hiyoko grab him.

"Hajime," Hiyoko began. "Are… are you sure? This photo seems important to you." Hajime turned then looked from Hiyoko to the photo and again memory swirled. "Keep this safe for me alright" A kiss on the cheek and Mahiru gone forever. Hajime could feel it coming, tears and regret and an overwhelming sadness but he forced it down. "Keep them," Hajime's voice was shaky and weak even to him. "It's what she would have wanted." Which was untrue, Hajime didn't know what she would have wanted. He had only known her for a few weeks. He didn't even know what he felt towards her. Did he really love her? Was it just guilt? Hajime with a great deal of effort shoved his emotions and thoughts aside.

"Keep them," he said again voice sounding hollow. He turned and left then almost at a run, toward his cabin. He was nearly there when again, Hiyoko's voice stopped him. "Hajime! Wait Hajime!" Hajime only half turned this time, while Hiyoko ran up to him. "Hajime," she paused looking in every direction but at him. "I may have said something to you that you didn't deserve. And I'm sorry." She was looking at her feet now and she had begun to mumble. "I… I just-" She paused searching for the right words, but none came. After a moment she let out a large sigh. "I'm just sorry okay."

Hajime stood there for a long moment not quite sure what to do. He knew what she was apologizing for. During the trial, she had blamed and accused him of Mahiru's death. A part of him wanted to reject that "Sorry" and say something biting back to make her hurt just as much if not more so than he did. Another part to him didn't, no couldn't accept that sorry. Still, a small part of him did want to accept that sorry. To forgive her and to try and move on. A mini-war was fought as Hajime struggled to reply. Hajime opened his mouth fully expecting to say something hurtful to her, but instead, Hajime found himself asking. "Do you need any help with your shrine project?" That had clearly not been the answer Hiyoko was expecting either.

She stared at him, then just gave a nod. "If you really want to help sla- Hajime. You can." Hajime turned and looked back at his cabin. So close, he could just run in and leave Hiyoko here. Why had he offered to help in the first place? Hajime looked at Hiyoko again and saw in her the same expression of empty tiredness that was probably on his own face. "I'll help," Hajime heard himself say. "What do I need to do?"

An hour, after the nightly announcement Hajime, slumped in a chair exhaustion creeping up on him. He was in the hotel's restaurant helping Hiyoko set up her memorial for Mahiru. Letting out a sizable yawn, he looked at his handiwork. The alter/shrine? Hajime didn't quite know what to call it. It was set up to the side of the room as to not take up too much space. It was made up of bone candles and skulls, most of which Hajime had to carry from the market down the street. With the skulls and bone candles everywhere, Hajime thought that he'd be more creeped out by the display, but he wasn't. Not completely anyway. Perhaps it was because he had helped work on it and he felt some pride coming from his work. Or Hajime guessed it had to do with the photos. In front of the skulls and candles, Hiyoko had set up a stand displaying the photos Mahiru had taken of events and of different people on the island. Hiyoko had not yet added his photo to the display which Hajime was thankful for. Seeing Mahiru's handiwork every day would be bad enough, that photos as well would tear him up inside.

Hajime stood up, in part to keep himself from falling asleep but also to keep his mind from straying. He checked the restaurant finally realizing that Hiyoko hadn't returned from her last trip to the store. He checked the 1st floor of the hotel and finding Hiyoko not there he went off to find her.

He first stopped by her cabin, seeing no lights on, he then headed for the store. The night air was cool as Hajime walked towards the Rocketpunch Market. He yawned and rubbed his eyes as he walked, his exhaustion slowly overcoming every part of him. Hajime managed to reach the Rocketpunch market without falling asleep and hurriedly ducked inside.

"Hiyoko," Hajime called as he walked in. "Are you in here." Silence greeted him and worry slowly crept in on him. He shook it off, no use getting jumpy yet. Hajime began to do a quick search of the small store and found Hiyoko with relative ease. She was sitting in the corner of the room and was clutching at something. "Hiyoko," Hajime called approaching cautiously.

She looked up at him in surprise but relaxed when she saw it was him. "Hajime, don't sneak up on me like that." Hajime shrugged and didn't point out that he didn't sneak up on her. "Let's go," he said covering his mouth from a yawn. "It's late." "But Mahiru's memorial," Hiyoko protested.

"I've been working on it," Hajime explained. "And we can finish tomorrow." Hiyoko was about to complain but a yawn cut her off. "You're right," she acknowledged. She stood up shakily then looked at the photo she was holding. The one he had given her Hajime realized.

"She truly was an amazing girl wasn't she," Hajime said after a moment of silence. Hiyoko gave a simple nod as she continued to stare at the photo. Then the tears slowly came. She attempted to hold them back, but it was a losing battle. Hiyoko grabbed at Hajime's shirt, her tears half-blinding her. She opened her mouth to speak but her words were cut off as another racking sob went through her. She buried her face in his shirt.

Hajime reacted slowly at first too stunned to even react. He never had to comfort someone like this. He had never felt these emotions before. Or at least he couldn't remember if he had or not, memory loss and all. She was still sobbing into his shirt he patted her on the shoulder and gave some words of encouragement. It didn't work and he knew it wouldn't have worked. It didn't help him, why would it work for her? Hajime questioned, but that was to avoid thinking about the real question. What was he supposed to do? What could he do? Hajime bent down and gave the girl an awkward hug.

"I'm sorry, " he whispered. Hiyoko cried harder. "I wish I could do something." "I...its not fair, " Hiyoko muttered through sobs. Hajime nodded. It truly wasn't. The killings, the class trials. None of this.

"I miss her," Hiyoko admitted. "I … miss." Hiyoko statement was cut off as another sob came out. Hajime nodded. "I do too," he admitted.

Then thoughts of Mahiru and memories of her came swirling up again along with tears. He tried to block them, to shove them away but they continued to come. Their brief time together, their first awkward date, and so much more. Hajime allowed himself to cry and for a moment to think of Mahiru.

Hajime felt Hiyoko wrap her own arms around him. It seemed it was her turn to comfort him. He hugged her back and cried a bit harder this time. They were like that for a long moment both holding each other and crying. Eventually, Hajime ran out of tears to shed and was reduced to a sniffle. It seemed Hiyoko had likewise stopped crying as she pulled away from him. Hajime blinked to clear his eyes then looked at Hiyoko who looked like Hajime felt. "We should really get to bed," Hajime noted. A yawn escaped from the Ultimate's mouth and she nodded sluggishly.

Rubbing her eyes, with one hand she grabbed one of Hajime's hands. Yawning himself, Hajime started to walk with his fellow islander toward the hotel site. The walk was uneventful, the two didn't talk with one another. They simply enjoyed the silence and each other's company. In hardly anytime at all, they reached the hotel site and Hiyoko let go of his hand. She did a quick survey to make sure no one was around then. "Thank you, " she said. Then she rushed toward her cabin and disappeared inside. Nodding to himself, He walked toward his own cabin. His thoughts were a jumble and he didn't have the energy to clear them. He made it to his cabin and once inside locked the door and made sure no one had entered. It was just like he left it. Everything in its proper place. He had barely taken a step before he heard a knock at the door. "Who is it?" he called. " A killer," Hiyoko's voice answered. "Now let me in." Hajime had a mini-debate with himself about opening the door, his conscience won, and he opened it. There stood Hiyoko looking dead tired, clutching her pillow. Although she attempted to glare at him Hajime noticed it was only half-hearted. "I'm sleeping here tonight." The girl explained although it sounded more like a question than a declaration. Hajime just nodded moving so she could enter. She did so and looked around the room. Hajime could tell there was an insult waiting but it never came. "I just need a place to stay for the night." She explained. "I just..." She trailed off and Hajime just nodded. "You can have-" Hajime stopped when he saw the girl climb into his bed. He sighed. "I'll take the couch." Hiyoko made herself comfortable on the bed and looked at Hajime. "Thanks," she blurted. Then softer. "Thank you, Hajime, for everything."

"Your welcome, just get some sleep." Hajime could feel his own tiredness creeping up on him, more like chasing him. He went to lie down on the couch but Hiyoko's words stopped him. "Hajime, could you be near me." Hajime looked at Hiyoko then at the bed. It might be enough room for the two of them. Hajime thought but do I really want to share a bed with her. Hajime was going to voice the objections but Hiyoko beat him to speaking. "Not with me you idiot pedo, " she snapped. Then she looked away. "Just near me." She whispered. Hajime sighed at least she seemed to be becoming her old self again which Hajime figured was good. Not saying anything to her insult, he simply pulled up a chair beside the bed. "Happy?" He asked tiredly. Hiyoko gave the briefest nod. "I think so," Hajime sat in the uncomfortable chair waiting for his guest to fall asleep. He watched her as she tossed and turned trying to fall asleep. He tried to calm her he placed his hand on hers. "It's okay, I'm here." She grabbed onto Hajime's arm like it was a life preserver, and relaxed a bit although not quite asleep yet. As time ticked on, neither of the two had fallen asleep. And the silence was starting to get heavy. "Did you love her?" Hiyoko asked randomly. Hajime started, not quite expecting that. He opened his mouth to answer but stopped himself. His own feelings were a jumble still, he knew he had felt something for her. Something deep. But the feeling was too foreign and lose to put into words. "I think I did, " Hajime replied tears slowly forming again. I... I" he trailed off. He let the silence return not finishing his own thoughts and Hiyoko didn't press the subject.

When Hajime figured Hiyoko had fallen asleep, he attempted to get up but was stopped by Hiyoko clutching at his arm tighter. "Don't go, " the young girl whispered. Hajime noticed a shudder go through the girl. "I won't" Hajime promised. She seemed to relax and a moment later she was asleep. Hajime once again thought about freeing his arm but decided against it. He tried and failed to relax in the uncomfortable chair. It was a struggle trying to find the right spot. The chair had likely been crafted as a torture device by Monokuma because it was the most uncomfortable thing Hajime had ever sat in. Eventually, as dawn slowly approached, Hajime's exhaustion won and despite how uncomfortable he was he fell into an oddly pleasant sleep.

A/N: I apologize if the characters seemed to OOC. Thank you for reading and have a great day.

[hollowedrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, CAISEY! — You’ve been accepted for the role of Amos Diggory. It’s no secret how much I love Amos. I adapted him from a version of him I wrote myself, and I’m so so excited to see someone take him on in a way that does his character such justice. Originally, I never saw him as a Slytherin, but you wrote him in such a way that it makes sense. He’s manipulative and deceptive, not in a malicious way, but for his own survival. I can’t wait to see how you have him interact with the other characters. 

Thank you so much for applying. Please create your account and send in the link, track the right tags, and follow everyone on the follow list. Welcome to Hollowed Souls!

ooc. 

Name: caisey

age: 27

preferred pronouns: she/her

timezone: est

activity: I’m between jobs rn so like, I have a lot of time while I search for a new job.

are you applying for more than one character?: I’m applying for my second character

how do you feel about your character dying?: “please let him die” “don’t kill my sweet Amos, he’s too good for this world” “but that’s why he has to die!” -the argument that’s been going on in my head. If Amos dies, I’ll love the angst; if he lives, I’ll love the angst.

anything else?: nothing else!

ic details.

full name: Amos Noor Kiran Diggory

Paper #1: Amos Kiran Patel. His birth name.

Amos is from the Hebrew amas, meaning load or burden. There is a Hebrew prophet of the name.

Kiran is from Kirana, his mother’s name. Kirana is a Sanskrit word meaning dust, thread, or sunbeam.

Later, he takes the name Noor, Arabic for light, though he picks it because it is like Nora--not the woman who birthed him, but the one who raised him. He is named for his mothers; their names live in his.

He adds Noor when he adds Diggory, and the day they sign the papers officially, Nora--Mum--hugs his head to her chest and cries.

date of birth: November 15, 1953. Because his eleventh birthday fell just after the deadline for first year students, he began Hogwarts a year older than most of his classmates.

former hogwarts house: Slytherin. 

Nora was taken aback when he wrote home about it, though she hid it well. She expected Ravenclaw, perhaps Hufflepuff--she, for what it was worth, had been a Ravenclaw in her day, and she had been reasonably confident Amos fit that mold as well. The Hat saw several things in Amos, however, that nobody else did: first, that he had arrived at Hogwarts without any preconceived notions of house meanings, and thus donning green meant nothing different to him than donning red or yellow or blue. Second, that Amos was a people-pleaser, one so desperate for approval that he was a master manipulator, able to convince nearly anyone that he was exactly what they approved of. Third, that Amos was insecure and his soul still malleable, and in any other house he would become something insufferable: he would absorb all the worst qualities of any group of children who didn’t accept him for something unconditional. For better or for worse, acceptance due to blood purity was only guaranteed in Slytherin, and for all the mystery of his background, the Diggory name was a soft assurance of his bloodline (paper #2: he is a halfblood. His mother recommends he keep that information to himself). Only in Slytherin would Amos be able to find friends regardless of how he acted, and thus only in Slytherin would he be able to explore an independent personality. Besides, the Hat mused silently to itself, the boy could do worse than to land in a house that frequently taught its members excellent leadership skills.

sexuality: bisexual/biromantic (graysexual)

gender/pronouns: cis male, he/him

face claim change: nope!

more. 

how do you interpret this character’s personality? how will you play them? include two weaknesses & two strengths. 

Positive: gentle, eager to please, open-minded

Negative: credulous, indecisive, manipulative

He wanted, so badly, to be loved and accepted. He was a child, little more than a toddler, when his entire life changed. After days of being trapped inside with the unmoving, slowly decomposing body of his father, he had enough trauma to last a while. He barely spoke his first two months in the orphanage. Yet young Amos still tried to please everyone, to anticipate their needs and understand what they wanted of him. He clung to hands, leaned on legs, sat in laps and clutched at his stuffed bunny, tried to say what they wanted him to say and do what they wanted him to do. They wanted him to recover from his trauma, so he did, or at least pretended to--they wanted him to be winsome and sweet, obedient, and so he was. By the time he reached Nora, Amos had perfected his innocent smile and followed every rule set for him, even the ones that didn’t make sense at the time. It gave him something to focus on in the floating, chaotic milieu of his life.

Eventually, he grew adept at it--learning what they wanted, convincing them he was that. He could read between the lines and interpret body language. Mold himself to fit the expectations, or mold the expectations to fit him. He helped his friends study for exams, sneak into the kitchens, successfully navigate crushes, playing any role they needed in their lives, until he knew them so well he could coast on the goodwill he’d built up. The persona he’d convinced them existed didn’t require much maintenance after it was established. He could be anything and everything, as long as it made people like him.

And it worked. People liked him, even the ones who hated Slytherins on principle. Even the ones who were raised by pureblood supremacists and were suspicious when he couldn’t confirm his blood status. But because they liked him, he liked them, and Amos was a trusting sort of fellow. He wouldn’t call himself gullible, but he often subscribed to the law of parsimony: the simplest answer is probably the right one, and he used it most frequently to avoid getting in a debate or argument. It was simpler to believe what his friends told him, vague explanations for their odd behavior and disappearances, hidden tattoos they all acquired around the same time, rather than question it and risk a fight--or, worse, uncomfortable realizations about the people he’d gotten himself mixed up with. The best way to be accepted, Amos has learned, is to make people think you’ll agree with anything they say. Do that long enough, and you actually start to agree with them.

He hasn’t outgrown that credulousness, though; his friends are just different now. All he has learned is suspicion and doubt. He used to believe that he could at least trust those he loved, his friends, his found family, but he’s coming to terms with the fact that he cannot--look at where trusting got him. Being played for a fool, constantly, by everyone around him. Could he have done something to stop it? Should he have done something? Would he have made a difference? Amos is paralyzed by this uncertainty, and he covers it up by raising his voice, echoing those around him who seem the most sure of themselves. He’s trying a new track: trying to force himself to believe in something as vociferously as he can act like he does. Maybe, if he forces it on himself, he will, eventually, believe it.

It’s all he has, really: words. He does his best at his job, but he doesn’t think of it as anything benefiting the Order much, besides just being in the Ministry. One could make an argument for his friendships with now-Death Eaters, but honestly Amos doesn’t keep in touch with them as much as he used to. He’s too soft for what this war is demanding of him, and he knows it but tries to ignore it. When Moody asked him what fighting experience he had, he choked on his incredulous laughter. Is this what they expect of me? he wondered. He doesn’t know how to be a fighter. Nora Diggory didn’t raise a warrior. She unlocked the secret passion within a broken boy, taught him to channel his energies into those soft beautiful broken things he could fix--plants and pets, animals, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures--she taught him to express himself through art and appreciate the curiosities in life. Amos is a gentle boy fighting an unwinnable war, parroting the words of others and covering up the desperation in his eyes while he speaks them.

how has the war affected this character, emotionally and otherwise? 

He’s ashamed to admit that he’s comfortable living in ignorance. The kind of person who’ll laugh awkwardly when his friends make jokes about Muggleborns, but never contradict them. Why rock the boat, Amos figured; even if he didn’t agree with everything they said, there was no point in arguing about it. He kept his head down, focused on his work, brushed off invitations to political rallies from all his friends, regardless of their ideological leanings. It was better, he decided, to not engage in those kinds of conversations. He was terrified of change--all he ever wanted was to fit in--so it was easier to turn a blind eye to the changes going on around him if it meant diminished conflict.

By the time he was ready to question it, most of his friends had picked a side, and those he hadn’t convinced of his neutrality believed he was siding with their opposition. The Death Eaters seemed to have forgotten to recruit him, and the Order had written him off as a pureblood supremacist lite for his inaction. Nobody answered his letters when he wrote for help. For clarification. For someone, please, to explain to him what was going on, whether this war was serious or not. Only Alice replied.

He joined because of the massacre. He’d been on the fence before that, torn between options, wondering if it was better to pack up and run while he was still alive. The massacre happened, and he realized: he had nowhere to run to. All his friends were already here, standing on one side of the war or another, but nevertheless here. His childhood friends were killing his current ones--he couldn’t pretend not to see it anymore. The questions were pressing in, the worry, wondering what darkness his old friends were mired in. Wondering why he trusted them. His mouth went dry when Alice showed him the list of confirmed Death Eaters: he’d played Gobstones with those boys. He knew those names. How, he wondered, had this happened to them?

He’s been doubting himself, doubting everything he knew, since the day he joined the Order. Feeling responsible for so much, not because he had been involved but because he hadn’t been. He’d ignored so much in favor of personal comfort, kept his slate clean, thought he was keeping his conscience clean at the same time. Well, it turns out when you pretend not to notice that your friends are all slipping into fanatical blood supremacy, your conscience bears the weight of all their crimes.

He’s a coward with a hero’s mouth. He joined the Order with the knowledge that they didn’t want who he was, quiet man of the bureaucracy, grasping his friendships as they slipped through his fingers. They wanted people with voices who carried, like Amelia Bones, people who faced death with strength and dignity, like James and Lily Potter. Fighters like Alastor Moody. Spies like Arabella Figg. Name after name, all better than him, all with more to give, more to believe in. All he has to offer is his role in the Ministry and his knowledge of the people who make up the Death Eaters now. Everything else is bluster.

where does this character currently stand? with those who wish to hide in godric’s hollow until the war ends, with those who wish to rebuild the order and continue fighting the war, or on neither side? Why?

So much of him wishes he could side with those who want to hide. That’s where his instincts lie, after all. Hiding and keeping his eyes down. Ignoring the war raging around him. Anything to make the discomfort go away, anything to dispel the wrenching in his chest, the guilt and suspicion that he could have done something if he’d acted earlier.

But he can’t be his old self here. As far as emotional trauma goes, his is mild compared to everyone else. His mother died peacefully of old age when the war was barely a glimmer, when the tattoos were still fresh on the arms of his old playmates. They attended her funeral, for Merlin’s sake. They along with the Order members when the phoenix was still a fledgling. Back when Amos still straddled the line, a foot on either side of the stream, when being divided just meant balancing the sensitivities of your friends, before murder became a viable option.

So he tries to be a better version of himself. For them--the Order. He argues with those who want to fight, because he honestly thinks that’s the right thing to do--even if he feels like it’s not. Inaction terrifies him, right now.

Amos kept his ties to pureblood society longer than anyone else who was once associated with them. Does he feel guilty for this? Has the Order treated him any differently because of it?

Oh, so guilty, so so guilty. Guilty that his fond childhood memories are all about men and women who helped kill the friends and family of the ones he loves now. Knowing for a fact that, if he had been allowed to accompany the Order for the Malfoy Manor raid, he would have broken down at the sight of all his old friends. They don’t trust him and he doesn’t blame them--he knows he wilfully ignored signs of horrible things. He doesn’t know if he could have done anything to stop them, not without getting killed himself, but he knows he saw it happening and did nothing to stop it. At least that’s how many in the Order see it. He tries to pretend that there’s no reasonable way he could have realized what was going on, but anyone with a brain can see that the clues were there. He suspects at least one person believes he’s a spy for the Order. They think he’s either incredibly stupid--stupid enough to be friends with Death Eaters and not sever that friendship when the horrors started hitting the news--or far too smart and hiding something from them. It’s made Amos nervous to be in Godric’s Hollow, even though he’s one of the ones allowed to come and go as needed.

He doesn’t trust the Order as much as he’d like to, and they don’t trust him, except for maybe Alice. He wants to prove himself and make up for all the bad things he ignored, but he’s not sure how to do it.

extras.

Pinterest: https://pin.it/r6eylc4pplnz6d

Playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLYJYtzrTjb2YkRmqG8BK7TxvC6_PFRn81

relationships.

Alice Longbottom: He’s been in love with her so long it’s ceased being something he feels consciously. Amos had never been the type to desire someone, his love always preferring to settle into something background, but he also has never loved anyone as long as he’s loved Alice. He was around sixteen when he realized what he was feeling, how the love for her had gradually crept up in her peripherals for years now. By then, it was too late: anyone could see that she and Frank were made for each other. So he settled into the background and his love for her became the white noise that enveloped his thoughts of her. Amos was comfortable with that: he could manage his own feelings. He loves her, and that means he’ll never do anything to hurt her.

Alastor Moody: The man terrifies him, but Amos wants to earn his respect more than pretty much anything right now. He wants Moody to believe in him, because that’ll go a long way in convincing the rest of the Order to believe in him, too.