#He’s only duelled once

[pbear]

I enjoy seeing Kawai Tell but man literally shows up to infodump and then disappears to become irrelevant again

[megwritesriddles]

Tied to You ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Young! Severus Snape x Fem! Reader / You

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 14 - Praise & Bondage. Severus has a girlfriend and he's about as shocked as anyone about it. She brings something out in him, something loving, something experimental, but also something slightly more sinister.

Tags: Praise kink, Light bondage, Fingering, Dom!Severus, Lots of praise, Good girl, Reader is referred to as a girl a LOT, Established relationship (kinda?), Getting together, Fluff, Red flags, Possessive behaviour, Unhealthy/Toxic relationship dynamic forming, Ambiguous ending (kinda).

Word count: 3.6k

Read it on ao3! | Masterlist

Authors note: I can't write Severus as anything other than at least a bit of a creepy little freak, even though this is mostly normal and fluffy!! Again this includes a lot of unnecessary backstory to set the scene!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

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Being in a relationship was a very novel concept to Severus. It wasn’t something he’d ever really thought would happen to him until recently. Sure, he’d daydreamed about it throughout his life to various degrees, but he’d always resigned himself to the fact that daydreams would be the closest he would get. However, you were very real. He’d known of you since the first year, being in his same year group he was bound to have heard your name a few times, whether on registers or from overheard gossip at the Slytherin table. 

He’d never thought of you very much at all until the sixth year when you were in the same advanced potions class as him. The class was much smaller than in previous years, full of only the highest achievers in the subject in the O.W.L.s and this is where he noticed you. You were on the quieter side in class, but whenever you were called on, you gave the correct answers. You were obviously intelligent, especially at this subject, which intrigued him as a bit of a ‘swot’ as his few friends called him. He liked that you cared about studying, much more than most of your peers seemed to. It was also quite obvious even by a glance that you were a pretty girl. Once he’d started paying a little more attention to you, he’d overheard many unsavoury comments about you by his peers, about what they might like to do to you. But, you kept yourself to yourself, frequently kindly (but firmly) turning down boys who tried to flirt with you. He admired that you weren’t above a little threat against the boys who couldn’t hear the word ‘no’. Despite your withdrawn nature, you were well known as a member of the duelling club, a high achieving one at that, and so often were able to threaten the boys into backing off.

All sixth year he’d silently admired you. When the seventh year began, he told himself he’d let go of it and focus solely on his studies, but he’d never been less focused in his life. All the feelings he’d harboured for Lily for so long latched themselves onto you, becoming much larger and more consuming. They felt like a frightening entity on their own, following him around everywhere he went, trying to pounce on you whenever you’d make small talk with him before class in the corridor, or seek him out for advice on your potions homework, even though you always seemed to actually know what you were talking about. He should have realised something was odd about this, but he was too blinded by self-hatred to see the woods from the trees. So when you confessed to having feelings for him, he’d initially just sat and stared silently at you.

You’d caught him in the library, as you had taken to doing often lately and asked to sit. He’d agreed, expecting another odd question about the homework but instead, you’d sat there chewing your lip. His eyes had strayed down to the sight a few too many times, no matter how he tried to control himself. He watched as the corners of your lips tugged up a little. 

“I have a crush on you, Severus,” you’d admitted with a shaky breath. He’d just blinked at you. “Well… crush sounds so juvenile… I fancy you? I have… feelings for you?” you continued on. “I just figured I ought to say something before it’s too late, you know?”

And that’s how he’d ended up in a relationship with you. He was so shocked at the time that he can't even remember what he’d said to you in response, and it was too late to ask. Whatever it was, it had clearly worked, as you had pulled him into a hug and kissed his cheek and the next weekend, he was waiting for you at the Three Broomsticks. By the end of that evening, you’d been sitting in his lap and kissing him with a passion he had never even seen, let alone felt for himself, his arms around your waist, touching you gingerly. 

The entire school was baffled by your relationship. His friends and even several strangers asked him how the hell he had managed to ensnare you and he had no answer for any of them even if he wanted to, he couldn’t understand it either. One day he believes he will never be in a relationship in his life, and the next, the most beautiful girl in all of Hogwarts is hanging off of his arm for all to see. He’s surprised how unashamed you are, not only to be dating him but with public displays of affection. You always hook your arm around his as you walk, kiss his cheek as a goodbye, sit in his lap in the library and sneak his hand up your thigh. Sex. That’s the part of all this that seems the craziest to him because all of a sudden he has an active sex life. You’re all over him, and as much as it makes his head spin, he’s always willing to indulge you. 

The first time you’d brought him into your dorm, he hadn’t known what was going on until you were stripping him down. Of course, you’d asked him several times if you could proceed, but he had just blindly agreed because he would let you do anything. He hadn’t told you he was a virgin until after you were done, even though he knew you knew, if from nothing else, from his very speedy performance. You’d been very sweet about it, as you were about everything, and snuggled up to him, falling asleep in his arms. No one had ever felt so safe around him before. He wanted desperately to keep you in his arms forever, and when you got up in the morning, he almost held you hostage but ended up playing it off as a joke. You’d just giggled at him and told him he’d be the cutest captor in the world, which he laughed off, but the thought crossed his mind.

He was having the most sex out of everyone in his dorm, which would have been completely unfathomable only a few months ago. It surprised him how voracious you were, you’d always seemed rather meek, yet you were dragging him away at least once a day if not more. It was a surprise that he loved. You’d created a monster, a monster that constantly loomed over his time with you. He wasn’t sure how he would ever cope if this relationship ended, not only emotionally, but also having gotten used to such frequent sexual activity. There was hardly anyone else who would ever be willing to indulge him, and you loved to, which made it a thousand times better. He felt desirable to you, a feeling he’d been inadvertently chasing his entire life. He was never going to let you go. Ever. 

You didn’t seem to realise how serious he was when he told you as such. You’d giggle and peck his cheeks and tell him in a sweet little voice that you’d never let him go either, but he knew you didn’t mean it quite like he did. You enjoyed his possessive streak, loving the way his arm would slip around you when a boy would stare, marking you all over as his. As baffling as it was to everyone, there was no confusion about the fact you were taken, constantly covered in little lovebites, his hands on you whenever they could be. He’d adjust your skirts and button up your tops, softly whispering how this skin was for his eyes only now. As he gained more confidence in public displays of affection with you, he’d grip your thigh in a possessive gesture under the table, and kiss at your neck in front of others, a reminder of who left those marks there. 

Severus was always up for anything that you recommended in the bedroom, surprisingly experimental despite his rigid routines during the day. You played around often, trying new things, different dynamics, different positions, and introducing various aids. As time went on, you could tell he was coming into himself as a more dominant presence, his initial nerves and shyness wearing off as he got used to you and the idea that you truly did like him and desired him. You were happy to submit to him and let yourself go with whatever he wanted from you. Every part of him was long and lithe and elegant, exploring parts of you that had never been touched before, deep within you. He loved to watch you come undone, taking immense satisfaction in the knowledge of his effects on you, effects he thought he’d never have on anyone. He worships you in the most sinful ways, and you worship him in return. Your roommates all hate the both of you, no matter how many silencing charms you cast. 

You’re a little anxious when Severus heads to Hogsmeade alone one weekend, no matter how much he insists he’s only buying you a present. You’ve barely been apart for more than classes since your relationship began, and while you doubt he’s off cheating on you, the distance still makes you unreasonably anxious. You pounce on him when he returns, telling him how much you missed him, not spotting his smug smile against your shoulder. He rubs your back and assures you he felt similarly while he was away, which he did, he’d been desperate to get back to you, for many reasons. He gives you a little box, housing a little silver necklace that he’d gone to fetch from Hogsmeade for you. It has a little ‘S’ as the pendant, his initial, another means with which to stake claim over you. He clasps it behind your neck and you’re all smiles as you declare how much you love it. Then you notice another little bag.

“Is that for your other girlfriend?” you joke, pouting a little. He laughs, kissing your cheek. 

“No, it’s for you my love, but we have to be alone for me to show you,” he guides you up to his dorm which is currently empty, most of his dormmates now avoid the space whenever they can because of the two of you. He brings you to his bed to sit in his lap and closes the curtains around you. You giggle, fascinated to see what he’s got, already making a few mental guesses. 

Although it hadn’t popped into your head as a guess, the small spool of rope makes sense as he pulls it from the bag. He explains that it’s a soft cotton material that is both sturdy and comfortable. He doesn’t have to tell you what it’s for, you already know, and you’re willing to give it a go, the idea already exciting you a little. He can tell from the way you begin to rub your thighs together slightly. He’s become fluent in your body language over the course of your relationship, by now he’s sure he could write the dictionary. He grins at you.

“So sweet already getting all excited,” he whispers, his voice deep and silky. You love the authoritative tone he uses to speak to you when he wants to be in charge like this, it makes your thighs clench even more. “Now come on, my love, how would you like your hands tied?” he enquires softly, rubbing a hand over your thigh. After a short period of deliberation between the two of you, he lies you down against the bed and starts slowly popping open the buttons of your shirt one by one, making his way down to untuck it from your skirt. He pushes the shirt open and down, palms smoothing over your bare shoulders. You sit up for a moment to let the shirt fall away completely and so that he can reach around you to unhook your bra more easily. Once he’s pulled the bra away from you, you lie back down. “Good girl, my beautiful girl,” he praises, gently folding your shirt up and placing it onto the ground, then setting your bra on top of it. He taps your hips, urging you to lift them, gently sliding down your skirt, followed by your underwear. His need for you is mounting, folding these items a little more haphazardly before he places them on the ground by the others. He gently holds your legs apart, rubbing a hand up and down your thighs. “You like the idea of being tied up for me?” he chuckles, seeing you already glistening with want. You nod and he hums. “Aren’t you just perfect? My perfect girl,” he coos, leaning down to pepper kisses on your stomach for a moment before sitting back up. You watch him eagerly, yearning for him to give you what you want. He takes a gentle hold of your wrists and lifts them over your head, reaching for the length of rope. “Is this alright? Your arms aren’t stretching too much?”

“No, it’s fine,” you assure, watching as he starts carefully threading the rope around your wrists in figure-eights. 

“I read up on how to do this, let’s hope I get it on the first try,” he smiles down at you. You giggle in return. He fusses for a little while, adjusting and readjusting so it’s not too tight, but that you can’t slip out of the restraints either. You’re sure he’s being a perfectionist about it like he is about most things, so you wait patiently. Once he’s happy, he sits back and looks at you, in all your naked glory, lying there tied up and waiting for him. He shivers and groans. “Merlin… You look like an angel, my beautiful perfect girl,” he leans down and leaves open-mouthed kisses along your neck, reinforcing several fading hickies he’s left on you before. You moan softly and squirm beneath him, pulling at your restraints without meaning to, feeling the need to touch him. You’re surprised how quickly you feel the need to use your hands and he just smirks at you. “Be good for me and don’t fight your restraints, won’t you?” he murmurs. You nod weakly, ceasing your movements and taking a deep breath, forcing yourself to relax as his lips and hands explore your body at a torturous pace. His lips kiss patterns around and between your breasts slowly, leaving a litany of little marks behind to mark his territory, his hands slowly sliding up and down your hips and waist. “Your body is absolutely exquisite, I don’t tell you that enough, my love, sculpted by the gods, all for me,” he mutters against your skin, sucking another lovebite into the side of your breast. The praise flusters you, part of you wants to argue, but you adore the idea of him truly seeing you that way, and you believe he does. He continues to press deliberate kisses across your chest, his eyes shut in prayer. His hands brush your stomach, teasing you by skimming low and withdrawing. You sigh needily and feel him nip your skin in response. “Tell me what you want,” he orders softly.

“I want your fingers inside me,” you answer breathily, writhing a little but making sure to keep your hands still. You feel him smile and nip the skin of your sternum, by your fluttering heart. 

“That’s my girl, always so direct,” he chuckles, sitting up and spreading your legs once more. He gasps softly. “Oh… you must really be liking being at my mercy, hm? Dripping wet for me,” he smiles, rubbing the soft skin of your inner thigh. His genuine smile is a rarity, he’s usually so stoic and serious, that the sight of it makes you whimper for him. Oh, how crazy he drives you. “Shhh, wait like a good girl, I know you can wait, you’re more than capable,” you pout up at him and he smiles again.“Those perfect pouty lips,” he leans down and gives you a soft sensual kiss, his fingertips tracing patterns up your thigh as he kisses you. You want to wrap your arms around him, to slide your hand in his trousers, but instead, you pull pathetically at your ropes for a moment before giving up and focusing on kissing him. His fingers nudge gently at your folds, making you spread your legs further eagerly. The tip of his index finger slides up and down between your folds, gathering wetness and using it to help circle your sensitive nub. You whine softly against his lips. “Good girl, you sound so beautiful when I make you feel good,” he praises. He leisurely slides a finger into you, which you accommodate easily due to your high state of arousal. His lithe fingers reach places you’d never even realised you’d had before your relationship with him, gently stimulating the tender spongy spot within you that makes your hips buck. He adds another finger, making you gasp and moan softly. He strokes your walls for a moment, letting you adjust to the stretch, which doesn’t take too long in the state you’re in. You stare up into his eyes, silently begging him to move his fingers, he grins back at you, his nose bumping yours affectionately. “What is it, my love?” you whine at his playful innocence, he gets like this sometimes, all smug and teasing, a monster that you had created.

“M-move them, please,” you pant, tugging uselessly at your restraints. He gives you a pointed look and you stop. 

“Okay, but you have to keep being good for me, I know you can,” he kisses the corner of your mouth, slowly withdrawing his fingers and pressing them back in. You mewl softly, digging your heels into the plush mattress. His fingers move slowly and expertly from months of memorising your body, pushing up against that tender spot with each thrust. The room fills with vulgar wet sounds and Severus finally thinks to cast a silencing spell with his free hand. You blush, both at the realisation you hadn’t been silenced, but also at the nonchalant way he does magic while moving his fingers inside you. It’s oddly hot and he feels you fluttering around his fingers. “What is it, sweet girl? What made you throb?” he enquires, kissing your jaw. You giggle breathlessly, his fingers still working you.

“Just you,”

“I’m flattered, my love,” he purrs. “You’re so perfect for me, aren’t you? My dream girl, my perfect girl,” he mumbles between kisses against your skin, his fingers speeding up, making you whimper and squirm. He sits up, his movements never ceasing, to look over you. Your hands tied sends a possessive thrill through him, the more innocent thought that you trust him like this, and the more dangerous idea to keep you like this. “Look at you,” he hums. “You look divine, all flushed and needy for me,” he punctuates his sentence by beginning to circle his thumb over your sensitive bundle of nerves. You choke out a moan, your eyes closing for a moment. “You’re doing so well, my love, good girl, you must be getting close,”

“Y-yeah,” you moan, your back arching slightly.

“You always look so beautiful when you come,” he muses, intensifying his movements. Your moans pick up, louder and more frequent, your hands tensing and untensing in the restraints, wishing to grab onto something but unable to do anything but dig your nails into your palms. “That’s it, let yourself go, be a good girl for me like I know you are,” he coaxes. “Let me feel you come on my fingers, let me feel your pussy clench,” you gasp at his lewd words, your head growing fuzzier. It only takes a few more moments and you fall apart, your whole body shivering and going warm. You cry out his name in desperation, nails digging into your palms, back arching up off of the bed. He keeps going relentlessly, feeling you clenching around his fingers, driving you to the point of near insanity, wailing in pleasure before he finally slows down his ministrations. “You were so good, my love, so beautiful, I’m so proud of you,” he leans down, kissing across your chest once more, slowly withdrawing his fingers. You whine softly, your chest heaving under his lips as you struggle to regain your breath, your heart pounding under your skin. “That’s it, calm down for me,” he soothes, kissing up to your mouth and pressing a lingering kiss to your parted lips. “How was that?”

“Yeah, good, very good,” you laugh breathlessly. He caresses your cheek, nuzzling your nose with his own.

“Did being tied up make it better?”

“In some ways, it felt more intense, more submissive than I usually am, but I did miss touching you,” you explain quietly. He nods along in understanding. “But I’ll happily do it again, I just need some recovery time,” you smile sheepishly, and he kisses your cheek. 

“I understand, my love, you’ve been a very good girl, no more tonight, my perfect girl must be tired,” he hums. He leans up and loosens your restraints, placing placating kisses on your wrists where the rope had been rubbing slightly, but he doesn’t entirely remove the rope, just gently massaging your wrists with his thumbs for a moment.

“Are you going to untie me?” you ask playfully. He pauses for a moment, thinking, before fiddling with the rope again. He secures your wrists to the headboard of his bed, making you furrow your brows in confusion. “You said no more tonight,”

“I know, my love, and I stick to it, but I think I’ll keep you here anyway,”

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xoxoxo

[acciofictionalmen]

fallout in the snowfall ❆ part 3

james potter x female!reader

summary: when james kisses you on an adrenaline high, your friendship is in shambles as the true meaning of "just friends" becomes irreparably warped. you both desperately try to restore the platonic bond that you once shared, but at what cost...

warnings: strong language, sexual references

word count: 3.1k

series masterlist

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

Excited chatter filled the room as people crowded around the centre, eager to hear their name called. You stood with your group of friends, chatting with Sirius and Remus whilst James talked to Lily. Mary was busy reassuring Peter, who looked disconcertingly pale.

Christmas break was quickly approaching and, much to the students’ chagrin, teachers began to set end-of-term tests. As it was your penultimate year at Hogwarts all tests were treated seriously. However, there was a different atmosphere surrounding the DADA test: a duel utilising the most advanced spells you’d been taught so far. It was assessed based on who disarmed their opponent first, the length of the duel and the range of spells used; everyone was anticipating it. Some were excited and had disarmed multiple first years that morning for practice, others (namely Peter), had vomited during breakfast.

You weren’t sure into which category you fell. Sure, you were confident in your knowledge, but duelling was different to scribbling information down on a piece of parchment: it was impulsive.

Not only that, your DADA teacher – Professor Halloway – had a reputation for being as harsh as she was skilled. Approaching her one hundredth birthday, she was wise, experienced and beautiful in a sharp manner, with thick black hair she kept stuffed beneath a black, pointed hat. Her face was drawn, tight, her brown eyes always critical. It wasn’t easy to score high grades in Halloway’s classes.

“You’ll do fine.” Remus smiled by your side, noticing your growing discomfort, “I’ve seen you practice. You’ve got this.”

“Yeah (Y/n),” Sirius squeezed your arm, “Just pretend they’re Snape.” Sirius’ eyes darkened as he spied the Slytherin on the opposite end of the room, speaking with the Professor, “I know I will be.”

“Thanks guys.” Your head tilted teasingly, “Try not to accidentally murder Snape then.”

Sirius gave you a concerningly non-committal look.

Whilst waiting, you noticed Remus clenching his fists- anxious to do well. An idea sprang to your mind.

“Wanna be my duelling partner?” You abruptly asked Remus, “Sirius will be desperate to duel Snape, unless James beats him to it.”

Remus gave you a thankful smile, “Yeah, thanks (Y/n). We’ll do that.”

“Of cour-“

“Potter. James Potter.”

The room went silent as all eyes flew to James.

In a manner that oozed confidence, he rolled his shoulders back and stepped into the centre of the room.

Professor Halloway looked disinterested, “Partner?”

On instinct, you turned to Snape. His sneer was more pronounced than usual, and you knew he was also waiting for his name to be called.

“Prewett.”

Your heart dropped. The impact of his name seemed to surge through the room as people turned around in surprise. In a few seconds, Gideon had pushed through the crowd until he stood directly in front of James. Both boys silently assessed each other, both the picture of self-assurance. There was one stark difference between them- James appeared unbothered, his posture relaxed. Gideon, on the other hand, was visibly tense; lacked the ease that had always come naturally to James.

Your heartbeat sped up as you held your breath, trying to ignore the pounding in your chest as the tension in the room mounted.

“Take your positions.” Professor Halloway dictated. The class fell silent once more to witness the interaction. Even Snape was unable to hide the shock from his face.

James stood on the left, closest to you, whilst Gideon stood opposite on the right.

Professor Halloway spoke cautiously, “Remember- this is solely to disarm. No other spells are to be used.” Both boys nodded. “Now, draw your wands and bow… Bow, Potter…”

The irritation on James’ face was almost comical as he sunk into a deeper bow, but you couldn’t laugh. You held your breath as both boys stepped away from each other.

“One… Two…”

You stared, unable to look away.

“Three.”

Lights flashed across the room as both cast spells at an alarmingly fast rate.

It quickly became clear who was faster.

Gideon’s casting visibly began to slow as his spells started to miss their target, his wand movements becoming sloppier against the onslaught of James’.

It wasn’t long before Gideon was on the floor, panting for air. But James wasn’t finished.

“FLIPENDO.” The word rung throughout the room and Gideon was flung backwards. He slammed into the wall with a sickening thud, dropping to the floor.

A hand flew to your mouth. The room erupted into shouts.

People were running over to Gideon, checking he was okay and attempting to lift him off the ground. Professor Halloway was viciously scolding James, his loyal best friends immediately supporting him and by his side. You stood there in the centre of it all, horrified, as people bustled around.

You couldn’t process what had just happened as you watched a Hufflepuff girl shaking Gideon frantically. There were too many people surrounding him to see if he had opened his eyes.

Your shock and confusion at James for taking it too far was quickly replaced by anger. He had recently seemed a little hostile towards Gideon, but you chalked it down to James’ anxiety for the Gryffindor team to do well. This- this was something else.

“He’s okay!” Someone declared. Gideon had stood up, somewhat off-balance, but seemed to be fine. You exhaled in relief, mentally noting to check on him later.

After giving Gideon a quick once-over and deeming him fit to stay in class, Professor Halloway continued her berating. “You got lucky, Potter. If this happens again you will not be welcome in this class. From today, you have a fortnight of detention and will automatically fail this test.”

There were some shouts of indignation from Sirius and some opposing yells that James’ punishment wasn’t enough, but Professor Halloway silenced them with a lethal look as she turned to face the rest of the class.

“Any more of this behaviour in my lessons, and you’ll find that you have no free time for a month.”

That shut everyone up.

She picked up her list and proceeded to call people up. Snape, much to James and Sirius’ horror, called Remus up. But they needn’t have feared: Remus won a decisive victory with a spurt of well-rehearsed spell combinations. You were slightly disappointed Remus wouldn’t be able to duel again now, but you knew Mary would be more than happy to partner up.

Following James’ scolding no more dangerous incidents occurred, and the duels blended seamlessly together. Before you knew it, Professor Halloway had called your name and you were stood by her side.

“Partner?” She asked curtly.

“Mary.” You said, grinning as your best friend made eye contact with you, already making her way up to the front.

“You must think me blind, Miss (L/n), if you think I haven’t noticed how close the two of you are. Duelling is about spontaneity, and I have no doubt you’ve practiced with Miss MacDonald many times.”

Mary froze, and you knew your face mirrored the disappointment on her own.

Professor Halloway continued, “Mulciber, please come up.”

Sirius swore loudly as you froze, feet glued to the floor. Your eyes went to your friends, who all looked worried. But it was James who made his indignation known.

“You can’t have him duel-”

“Silence!” Professor Halloway hissed, “Another disruption from you, Potter, and I’ll see your expulsion through personally.”

You shook your head at James as he fell silent, a frown etched into his face as he watched Mulciber approach you.

Your duelling partner took his place opposite, a sickening grin on his face as his lips curled wickedly.

Mulciber was a Slytherin notorious for his cruel, unforgiving nature, and a friend of Snape’s. He’d once had a brawl in the courtyard with Sirius, and both had left with considerable injuries that even Madam Pomfrey couldn’t heal overnight. He hated the Marauders, and their friends.

All eyes were on you as you bowed, your eyes narrowing at Mulciber as you assessed him. The look in his eyes was wild, one of unmistakeable hostility.

For a moment everyone seemed to hold their breath. You knew your duelling was strong enough to best Mulciber- you just had to stay collected.

“One.”

Your fingers tightened around your wand as you got into a duelling stance. Mulciber did the same.

“Two.”

Your arms went rigid to stop them shaking from the anticipation, the first spell already dancing on the tip of your tongue.

“Th-”

Mulciber blasted a spell your way.

People were already shouting, but you couldn’t listen.

Though he’d taken you by surprise, your blocks were precise. Mulciber’s voice rose in anger, but his spells still were unable to scrape past your unyielding shield.

You smirked as he snarled, spells bouncing off your shield and rebounding across the room as people ducked to avoid his wrath. He neared you, his movements vaguely reminding you of a lion stalking its prey. Your determination intensified; between the two of you there was only one Gryffindor.

But the impact of his spells slamming relentlessly into your shield was beginning to drain your energy, and you knew that in order to win you had to go onto the offensive.

Within a second you dropped your shield and flung a spell at your opponent. He staggered back, surprised, his look of shock morphing into anger. You readied your wand but he was already hurling spells your way. You deflected them too late, stumbling slightly as you struggled to regain your balance.

Panic began to overwhelm your thoughts as your wand slipped in your hand. Your palms were slick with sweat; every time you had an opening to fire a spell Mulciber would easily deflect it, then hurl ten back. You were struggling to find an opening and feeling wearier by the second.

Mulciber’s face was red as you dodged spell after spell, and you faintly registered the loud yells around you. Whatever was said had him gritting his teeth, when he suddenly slammed you with a spell so vicious that you almost fell backwards.

A spell as violent as that can’t have been for disarming. The shouting in the room got louder.

You heard Professor Halloway reprimanding Mulciber, but you barely processed it as he continued to attack you with an onslaught of magic. By now you were clenching your wand tightly, your hands shaking from the strain.

Within seconds his spells seemed to gain a new intensity. You had to cast one final spell and end this. There was a moment, a millisecond, where Mulciber was preparing to attack again, and you momentarily let down your shield to hit him with the disarming charm.

He beat you to it.

The spell slammed into your chest as you choked on air, the impact making your lungs constrict painfully. Before you could properly register it, you were flying backwards. A blinding pain shot up your arm as you slammed onto the ground, a strangled sound escaping your throat.

There were screams, people rushing around you as you sat up quickly, vision slightly hazy. Cradling your arm, the tears in your eyes were a mixture of pain and sheer embarrassment. You felt so humiliated, hating the attention as people repeatedly asked if you were okay. Suddenly Professor Halloway’s pointed face appeared into view as she hauled you up and towards the exit of the room.

Within an instant a familiar voice was speaking up, rough and panicked, “Professor, let me take her to Madam Pomfrey, please.”

You realised with a start that it was James as he shoved people aside to get to you, his eyes wild.

Anger flooded your senses and, combined with not only the pain in your wrist but the humiliation of your defeat, it became rage, “Not him.” You spat, “Anyone but him.” You turned to Professor Halloway, ignoring James as she stared at you thoughtfully.

“Lupin!” She called, and Remus was instantly by your side.

Before you knew it you’d left the classroom. The door slammed shut on James, and the chaos inside.

──── ୨୧ ────

After a gruelling day, lessons were finally over. Curled up by the fire, you basked in the warmth and soft crackles that filled the common room. It was late, so most people had vacated the space to get ready for bed.

You chose to stay behind, in deep thought as you moved your now fully healed wrist.

The quiet didn’t last long as the Fat Lady portrait abruptly swung open. In came James, accompanied by Remus. You screwed your eyes shut, in disbelief that this was happening now of all times.

James hesitated at the sight of you, alone, and nodded to Remus, “I’ll be just a minute mate, go up without me.”

Remus lingered at the foot of the stairs, appearing uncertain, but headed up at the sound of the resolution in James’ voice. You didn’t speak, didn’t bother to face him as you continued to stare into the fire, orange floating in front of your eyes whenever you blinked.

James stood behind you.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, the words sliding out casually.

“Fine.�� You didn’t bother to look up at him; your cold tone making it clear that you wanted to be left alone.

James shook his head in frustration. Turning to the staircase, his hand settled on the railing as the first step creaked. But then he stepped back down, turning around suddenly, “What’s the problem? Between us?” His words had a confrontational edge, prompting you to turn and face him as your brows furrowed.

“What?”

James took a step towards you, that stubbornness burning in his eyes as he stared you down, “What’s wrong with you? Why have you been acting like this?”

You stood up, unable to bear the way he was talking down to you and how vulnerable it made you feel. “How I’ve been acting? Did you not almost kill Gideon Prewett earlier after slamming him into a wall for no reason?”

“He would’ve survived worse. He’s annoyingly persistent like that.” His eyes were dark.

“He didn’t deserve it.”

His irritated expression suggested otherwise. James clenched his jaw, crossing his arms. His biceps bulged, briefly pulling your eyes away from his face.

“You’re unreasonable.” You spat; tone accusatory as you moved towards him.

James scoffed, the fire reflecting in his glasses, “And you aren’t? Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or am I expected to grovel at your feet and beg for an answer?”

You rolled your eyes, refusing to take the bait. This had to stop. “Don’t turn this on me, James.” You shook your head, laughing in disbelief, “You don’t get to do that.”

James stared you down, unspeaking. You hated the way he just stood there. You needed a reaction from him, needed to know your words hurt him as much as he had you.

You didn’t know when the conversation had turned away from Gideon, but it just did.

You maintained his gaze, refusing to look away. “Our friendship is ruined because you used me to satiate your- whatever- and then didn’t know what to do with me afterwards.” You swallowed harshly, stifling any emotion as you struggled to conceal how deeply affected you were by him.

His jaw clenched, “That’s what you think of me, is it?” His laugh was joyless as he took one final step, asserting himself over you. The height difference was pronounced as he looked down to speak, “You’re the one who made it awkward. You’re the one who made things different when they were just fine.”

“Maybe I didn’t want ‘just fine’.”

He hesitated.

“Merlin, James, do you ever think about what others want for a change?” You struck where you knew it would hurt.

James stopped you before you could get another hurtful word in. “Don’t act as though you didn’t pull away first, (Y/n). Don’t pretend this is all on me. It’s not my fault that my friendship wasn’t enough for you, that you weren’t satisfied. You don’t get to blame that on me.” His voice got louder as he rubbed his temples, “And what are you mad at me for, exactly? Kissing you?” He paused, waiting for you to respond. You didn’t. “Because if you didn’t like that, you’d be the first.” His voice was harsh, that familiar cockiness slipping out.

You froze, his words smacking you in the face.

Anger shone in the tears that pooled in your eyes. You shoved a hand against his chest, “Fuck you-”

James opened his mouth to speak. You didn’t let him. “-and your fucked up idea of friendship.”

You tried to turn away but his hand flew to your wrist, keeping your palm splayed against him.

You were close now, so close. The red glow of the flames danced on the rim of James’ glasses as you stood your ground, refusing to look away.

His eyes dropped to your lips, and your eyes begged to do the same. You couldn't do it. Wouldn't allow yourself to.

“Don’t you dare.” Your voice cracked, finally yielding under the tension. James’ eyes flicked up to yours again, his breathing heavy. The look he gave you was one of hurt and anger, and something else. “Don’t you dare look at me like that.”

Your words came out harsher than intended and James instantly dropped your wrist, stepping away. Your hand dropped to your side, fingers tingling.

The gap between you seemed to roar with everything unspoken.

“We’ve ruined this.”

James’ response was low, spiteful. “Then stop chasing it.”

“Stop, both of you!” A voice sliced through the tension, causing you to whip around. Mary stood at the foot of the stairs in pink pyjamas, arms crossed as she glared at James.

“We’re going to bed.” She went up to you and took your arm, dragging you away.

“You’ve got a date tomorrow (Y/n), focus on that.” Mary soothed as you disappeared up the stairs, her words intentionally loud so that James would hear.

Mary was James’ friend, sure- and maybe what she’d said was petty, but she could live with that. In Mary’s eyes you came first, and James had hurt you. Badly. He deserved to know that he was no longer a priority in your life.

James stood there; hands clenching and unclenching as his anger began to ebb away. Eventually, the lack of your presence caused the buzzing in his mind to settle.

He cursed, sinking into the armchair closest to the fire. So close, that he had to move his legs away from the flames- the heat bordering on painful. His head fell back, cushioned by the plush material. He hadn’t known why he’d done it, had lost control with his classmate. His teammate. Why he had seen him as a threat.

James watched the logs burn, until they were swallowed by the flames and the fire died out. He sat there, contemplating in the darkness, until the cinders were cool to the touch.

A/N

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[zriasstuff]

Final blow— Mattheo Riddle x reader

Oneshot including a classic wizarding duel and tension filled atmosphere <3 (SFW)

“For our next duel, I’m asking Mattheo Riddle and Miss Y/n to please step up onto the platform”

The words from professor Snape echoed through the duelling practice room, and as of right now everyone was staring at you two. It didn’t come as a shock to you when you were picked. Both of you were pretty much on the same level, with the exception of course that you had way less of an ego than Mattheo.

Defense against the dark arts was your favorite subject, especially when it came to doing hands on things. Duelling just happened to be one of your favorite things to practice. The tougher the opponent, the sweeter the victory, you believed. With Mattheo, you had to make sure that you would fight till the last moment, and to not go down without a proper fight.

“C’mon, go up!”, your friends encourage you, “You got this!”. They all believed in you, and told you that your chances were good, making you feel more secure in your skills. Through all the encouragement you got, you start moving towards where the showdown would take place.

As you go up, you look at Mattheo, who seemed confident to say the least. He knows he’s good and everyone else knows it too. Moreover, all the quidditch training certainly gave him a strong and muscular body to work with.

Before the duel begins, you scan the crowd one more time for looks and chants of support. “MAKE US RAVENCLAWS PROUD!”, you hear someone yelling amidst all the people. That you were extremely thankful for, since you could really use all the positive reassurance you could get. You quickly say thank you back to the crowd.

At the same time, the Slytherins must’ve seen this as another competition and started yelling all sorts of things in support of their representative too. Together, they sure looked like a mean bunch.

“YOU GOT THIS MATTHEO!”, his friend Blaise hollers loudly. Draco, right after, shouts out “YEAHH, DESTROY HER!”.

What a gentleman you mutter to yourself, and Mattheo must’ve heard it because you hear a slight chuckle escaping his mouth.

“Nervous”, he quietly asks you.

“Not at all”, you respond in the most self assured manner that you can muster.

He himself didn’t look nervous at all, but rather excited to have a “play partner”. Frankly you weren’t either, but you also knew that going up against him wouldn’t be easy.

Mattheo keeps looking you in the eye with a slight grin, so to match his energy, you hold eye contact with him too and make sure that your posture is straight. If you don’t look capable from the beginning, you are never going to make it to the end.

To commence this duel at last, Snape retells the rules of combat and announces that “only magical acts can be used as a form of offense or defense. You may disarm or harm your opponent, but must not seriously injure them.” Otherwise Madam Pomfrey would surely throw another fit at you “immature rascals”.

You were counting on disarming Mattheo to be your tactic. His fatal flaw was, noting from your past observations, being too aggressive, and not fully protecting himself. Besides that, he was flawless.

All eyes on you guys now, you start off by bowing to each other to pay your respects. “Good luck”, he whispers to you while you’re on eye level. “Same to you”, you reply, to make him know that you weren’t scared.

As Snape was counting down from three, you calmed yourself down once again, telling yourself that it would be fine. When Snape reaches the final number three, Mattheo immediately goes into the offense and casts several stunning spells, which you block with your shielding spell. You had practiced that one so often, that you could confidently utilize it at any given time. Mattheo keeps trying to push you back further. One after another, his attacking spells are blasted at you. And one after another you block them. It was a back and forth dance between you two, neither one of you budging yet.

He came alarmingly close though. One of his spells had caught your shoulder, sending an electrifying shock through your body. Another one had hit your torso straight like a bullet. That one had caused you the most pain. You grunted and held your hand over the wounded area, but it was still bearable. You just had to fight through the pain.

Both of you kept going, at this point recognizing that victory wouldn’t come easily to either one of you. Mattheo, looking forward to making things a little more playful, cheekily calls out “holding up pretty well for someone like you”. You knew he was trying to get you off of your game by sounding condescending. He was well aware of your capabilities. Therefore you clap back by saying “that shouldn’t come as a surprise, and you’re not as good as you think you are”.

Having said that, you hear a few murmurs amongst the students. Snape takes the time to remind you to keep the personal bashing to yourselfs until the duel is resolved. Mattheo seems to take it quite personally though, now casting out especially aggressive spells.

Even by then you are able to hold up, but there was still no opportunity to really harm him. The back and forth kept going to the point where neither of you saw an end to this.

After a while, having been so concentrated on defending yourself and managing your pain, you hadn’t even looked at Mattheo anymore to see how he was doing. You just saw his spells shooting at you. So, when you finally did look, you noticed that Mattheo was getting a little riled up himself and losing his edge. He always tries to keep his cool, to not show any signs of weakness. Yet, there you were, taking hit after hit, and not backing down. It made him frustrated to see his efforts not meeting his expectations.

After more exchanges of non sufficient spells, you are getting way too tired, and you decide it’s time to put this exhausting duel to an end. You just had to wait for the perfect moment.

In Mattheo’s mind, he was also just waiting for the perfect moment, hoping for you to retreat.

When you glance at the audience again for just a second, you see the gawking mouths of some of the Slytherins. Instantly, it boosts your confidence. If even they were stunned by you, then all was going right, and you knew you got this. If you could really defeat Mattheo, his ego was probably going to be bruised for a good several days at least.

Between further dodging spells, and shielding yourself, it was really difficult to find the perfect moment, though you had a feeling it would come soon enough. Mattheo was getting even more frustrated. His spells weren’t as accurate anymore. His arm was losing strength and going a little limp. And most important of all, his confidence became tainted.

While trying to catch his breath for a second, Mattheo simultaneously lowers his arm. During that one scarce moment, you decide to deliver the final blow.

“EXPELLIARMUS!”, you call out. Everyone’s eyes were wide open, seeing exactly as the spell hit Mattheo, causing his wand to fly across the platform, all the way into your hand. You catch it with precision, and watch his look of disbelief. You couldn’t even fully believe it yourself. He was done for.

“Wanna wave the white flag now?”, you cheekily ask him now, as he’s still trying to catch his breath. It was a little mean, but he could handle it.

Mattheo still can’t believe what just happened based on the look on his face. You see him scrunching his eyebrows, and mouth hanging wide open.

Although he knows he’s got nothing left, he still replies with “never”.

“As you wish”, you say with a wide grin, because in the next second, your final spell sent him flying across the room. Mattheo falls off of the duelling platform at the end, all the way onto the ground.

As his body hit the hard floor, all students from every house, except the Slytherins of course, started cheering for you. You felt as if you were on cloud nine hearing all their chants. Your heart was still beating rapidly, as if it was going to explode any second. A little part of you can’t believe that you just sent Mattheo flying across the platform, but the bigger part was gloating with pride.

You watch Mattheo prop himself up and walk back onto the platform to go up to you. He warmly, to your surprise, meets your gaze and brings out his hand to shake yours.

“Looks like you didn’t need luck after all”, he congratulates you. You’re taken aback for a second because this behavior of him wasn’t what you expected at all. He clearly notices and goes on to say “I rarely lose, but when I do I try not to be a sore loser”.

When he goes to his friends, he turns back and winks at you with a smirk plastered on his face. Winning was already quite the event, but Mattheo being a perfect gentleman weirdly made your insides churn.

…

You wait for everyone to leave the room after enough duelling was done for the morning. The reason was because you saw, from the corner of your eye, that Mattheo was also taking his time. You didn’t even know exactly why you were waiting for him.

Not that it was your planned intention, but you decide to go up to him and tell him that it was a great, although stressful, duel. Perhaps that would fuel some kind of conversation.

“No need to gloat”, he throws back at you. He didn’t sound all too happy, and maybe he did take the loss stronger than he showed at first. Your mind starts to spin and look for kind words. You definitely didn’t mean to insult him, so you quickly stutter out

“No- that’s not what I-”

Before you could finish that jumbled sentence though, he chuckles out loud, his eyes giving you a look of sympathy. His entire demeanor has changed now, the upset look from before just having been a facade.

“Chill, I was just kidding”, he cheerfully says. Seconds later he adds “You won fair and square, I’m actually really impressed with you”. It sounded like he meant it genuinely.

That compliment wasn’t something you expected. Relieved at his relaxed attitude, you choose to go along with his joking manner and respond with “I’m definitely going to hold that over your head forever”.

That earned you yet another precious chuckle from him. His laugh was truly contagious because shortly after you start laughing too. You had actually never expected that talking with Mattheo could feel so carefree and fun.

“Y’know I actually thought you were a lot more arrogant”, you honestly admitted to him during your talk. As far as the truth went, this was it. You could see that it had certainly been a little presumptuous of you to assume that about him.

“Well that’s because you don’t really know me and make pointless assumptions, but I don’t blame you”, he boldly calls you out on your prejudices too.

Perhaps he wasn’t as bad as you imagined, but definitely still cocky.

Suddenly he puts his hand on your shoulder, which makes you jerk back at first. The sudden contact just came as a surprise. He also takes notice, but when he sees that you don’t mind after the initial shock, he just kept it there. “So, wanna get out of here?”, he suggested. “We could talk and you could get to know me better”, Mattheo proposes, obviously referring to your previous statement.

“Well, how can I say no to that”, you comply while flashing him a gentle smile.

And with that, both of you leave the room, with Mattheo’s hand still wrapped around your shoulders.

[forestdeath1]

Canon Sirius through quotes

Part 2. Intelligence and recklessness. Sirius Black (and James Potter, with a bit of Remus and Peter too)

Or who is the smartest of the Marauders?

Sirius and James are described multiple times as exceptionally intelligent. They didn’t need help from Remus or Lily to pass their exams. James didn’t envy Sirius for being ahead academically, and Sirius didn’t ask Remus for help. They could handle everything on their own.

For example, McGonagall rarely gives praise without good reason. Here are her words about James (often unfairly depicted as less intelligent than Sirius or Remus) and Sirius:

‘Precisely,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘Black and Potter. Ringleaders of their little gang. Both very bright, of course – exceptionally bright, in fact – but I don’t think we’ve ever had such a pair of troublemakers –’

Being "exceptionally bright" is an extremely high praise for intellectual ability from McGonagall.

As for Peter, she speaks rather average of him:

‘Pettigrew... that fat little boy who was always tagging around after them at Hogwarts?’ said Madam Rosmerta. ‘Hero-worshipped Black and Potter,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘Never quite in their league, talent-wise. I was often rather sharp with him. You can imagine how I – how I regret that now...’ She sounded as though she had a sudden head cold.

Moreover, Peter "was always hopeless at duelling," according to McGonagall. This means that over 7 years, Peter failed to impress McGonagall with his academic achievements. As the head of his house, she was aware of all his grades. Perhaps he was just an average student, but then it's unclear why McGonagall was "often rather sharp with him." She doesn't seem like the type to be sharp over trivial matters.

Slughorn:

‘Well, anyway, he (Sirius) was a big pal of your father’s at school. The whole Black family had been in my house, but Sirius ended up in Gryffindor! Shame – he was a talented boy. I got his brother Regulus when he came along, but I’d have liked the set.’

While Lupin’s words might be biased, he often speaks quite judiciously about people around him, thus:

"Look, Harry, what you’ve got to understand is that your father and Sirius were the best in the school at whatever they did – everyone thought they were the height of cool – if they sometimes got a bit carried away –"

He confirms that Sirius and James were the best at everything in school. Meaning academically first of all, because school is primarily about studying.

"It took them the best part of three years to work out how to do it. Your father and Sirius here were the cleverest students in the school, and lucky they were, because the Animagus transformation can go horribly wrong – one reason the Ministry keeps a close watch on those attempting to do it."

And a bit more praise from Lupin towards Sirius and James' giftedness. They were both gifted – Sirius and James.

Even Dumbledore acknowledges:

‘Sirius told me all about how they became Animagi last night,’ said Dumbledore, smiling. ‘An extraordinary achievement – not least, keeping it quiet from me.’

So, not only did they become Animagi (Peter wasn’t much help, according to Lupin), created the Marauder's Map, which contained very unusual magic (they, of course, all created the Map together, but based on the description above, I can assume that the main magical component of the map was the responsibility of James and Sirius), excelled in their studies, created a magical FaceTime – an artefact for communication among themselves, they also managed to keep a lot from the school's headmaster and other teachers. Intelligence plus cunning.

Sirius and James' reaction to others' "stupidity":

‘How thick are you, Wormtail?’ said James impatiently. ‘You run round with a werewolf once a month –’ 

‘Keep your voice down,’ implored Lupin. 

‘Well, I thought that paper was a piece of cake,’ he heard Sirius say. ‘I’ll be surprised if I don’t get “Outstanding” on it at least.’ 

‘Me too,’ said James.

Here, I don’t want to dwell on their rudeness, but rather on the reaction itself. Often Lupin is seen studying more than anyone (I too like to see him buried in books), but perhaps Lupin simply needed to study more to pass his exams. He buried himself in textbooks not because he was the smartest, but because it was necessary for him. Remus is clearly not dumb; he became a professor at Hogwarts, he’s also described as intelligent in the canon, but things came much easier to James and Sirius, and they were well aware of how smart they were. Hence their reaction. When a teenager is confident in their superiority, and their intellect is often validated by external factors (grades, teachers' praise), such a reaction from James and Sirius, considering their personalities, is quite expected for their still maturing characters.

‘We’ve still got Transfiguration, if you’re bored you could test me. Here...’ and he (Lupin) held out his book.

But Sirius snorted. ‘I don’t need to look at that rubbish, I know it all.’

Sirius' reaction is unequivocal. He doesn’t need to read anything like Lupin, memorising paragraphs. To him, it’s all "rubbish" that he already knows. Sirius likely had a very good long-term memory.

Sirius' memory and attention to detail even after 12 years in Azkaban are also quite remarkable.

"Congratulations on getting past the Horntail, whoever put your name in that Goblet shouldn’t be feeling too happy right now! I was going to suggest a Conjunctivitis curse, as a dragon’s eyes are its weakest point –"

‘That’s what Krum did!’ Hermione whispered.

Clearly, during his 12 years in Azkaban, he didn’t need this knowledge. It’s unlikely he ever used this knowledge in practice. But he remembered it, ready to mention it right away, not having peeked in any books. Even Hermione didn’t know.

‘My God,’ said Lupin softly, staring from Scabbers to the picture in the paper and back again.

‘His front paw...’

‘What about it?’ said Ron defiantly.

‘He’s got a toe missing,’ said Black.

And this is about his attentiveness. To notice that a rat is missing a toe from a small photograph while sitting in Azkaban… I wouldn’t have noticed even without Azkaban.

As for adult Sirius, the fourth book shows many of Sirius' reasonable assumptions that eventually are confirmed. What people mistake for stupidity is his recklessness, as well as his willingness to die for those he loves, to protect them at any cost. His recklessness is usually related to this.

‘The Ministry’s forced through another decree, which means we’re not allowed to have Quidditch teams –��

‘Or secret Defence Against the Dark Arts groups?’ said Sirius. There was a short pause.

‘How did you know about that?’ Harry demanded.

‘You want to choose your meeting places more carefully,’ said Sirius, grinning even more broadly.

‘The Hog’s Head, I ask you.’

‘Well, it was better than the Three Broomsticks!’ said Hermione defensively. ‘That’s always packed with people –’

‘Which means you’d have been harder to overhear,’ said Sirius. ‘You’ve got a lot to learn, Hermione.’

Hermione is very smart, but Sirius immediately explains their tactical mistake. But it still sounds somewhat condescending.

‘But, Sirius, this is taking an awful risk –’ Hermione began.

‘You sound like Molly,’ said Sirius. ‘This was the only way I could come up with answering Harry’s letter without resorting to a code – and codes are breakable.’

It might seem reckless, but he's right, codes can be cracked. And he really wanted to reply to his godson – it's more about his inability to refuse the only living person he loves now and his desire to protect him.

Sirius repeatedly makes correct deductions in the fourth book, here are a couple of examples, but generally, the fourth book is full of rational remarks, assumptions, and overall, he's ready to provide Harry with information, especially in the fifth book, when Harry is having the toughest time and most people simply refuse to tell him anything.

‘Yeah, and Dumbledore said it happened whenever Voldemort was feeling a powerful emotion,’ said Harry, ignoring, as usual, Ron and Hermione’s winces. ‘So maybe he was just, I dunno, really angry or something the night I had that detention.’

‘Well, now he’s back it’s bound to hurt more often,’ said Sirius.

‘So you don’t think it had anything to do with Umbridge touching me when I was in detention with her?’ Harry asked.

‘I doubt it,’ said Sirius. ‘I know her by reputation and I’m sure she’s no Death Eater –’

‘Now, I’ve been keeping an eye on the Daily Prophet, Harry –’

‘You and the rest of the world,’ said Harry bitterly.

‘– and, reading between the lines of that Skeeter woman’s article last month, Moody was attacked the night before he started at Hogwarts. Yes, I know she says it was another false alarm,’ Sirius said hastily, seeing Harry about to speak, ‘but I don’t think so, somehow. I think someone tried to stop him getting to Hogwarts. I think someone knew their job would be a lot more difficult with him around. And no one’s going to look into it too closely, Mad-Eye’s heard intruders a bit too often. But that doesn’t mean he can’t still spot the real thing. Moody was the best Auror the Ministry ever had.’

And much more.

For Harry in the fourth and fifth books, Sirius became the one who supported him and provided information, and all his attempts to break through to Harry, risking being caught – this is an expression of love and desire to help his godson. It's precisely in such moments that his recklessness is revealed – when he wants to help.

Moreover Sirius often gives Harry good advice, there is just one example:

‘Don’t lose your temper,’ said Sirius abruptly. ‘Be polite and stick to the facts.’

‘Good luck,’ said Lupin.

‘I’m sure it will be fine.’ ‘And if it’s not,’ said Sirius grimly, ‘I’ll see to Amelia Bones for you...’

Here's the interweaving of Sirius' rationality and recklessness. He knows the right way. But he himself is ready to throw himself into the line of fire. He never gave Harry impulsive advice. But when it comes to himself or when someone needs protecting, Sirius has a different standard of normalcy.

In conclusion, throughout the series, Sirius makes a number of insightful remarks, and his intelligence and giftedness are exceptionally highly regarded by Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Lupin. I wouldn’t attribute his pathological desire to help those he loves to stupidity. Furthermore, adult Sirius shows recklessness mainly when it concerns his own safety and life — he doesn't cherish his own life if it means the well-being of someone he loves, thus he readily throws himself into danger.

Sirius was a brave, clever and energetic man, and such men are not usually content to sit at home in hiding while they believe others to be in danger. (Dumbledore)

[wuffgang-ameowdeus-moozart]

thinking about how adolin prefers duelling over real war. thinking about how renarin falters with his sword even if his epilepsy isn't in the way. thinking about how dalinar looks at his two sons and doesn't want them to know him as the blackthorn. crying about how adolin and renarin keep evi and her legacy alive just through their mere existence. throwing up about dalinar only heeding her words once he can't remember them.

[sissyisawitch]

Actions Speak Louder Than Words

Relationship: Ominis Gaunt x You

Summary: Even though the two of you are not on good terms after a certain event, you and Ominis decide to go and explore Salazar Slytherin's Scriptorium in order to help Sebastian. But you know what they say, danger helps to reconcile… but also to bring out the truth. Alternative : My take on the Scriptorium incident.

Word Count: ~5.5k

Author's Note: Hi! It's been a while... I haven't had much time for myself lately, so I've put writing aside. But summer's here, so I took the opportunity to finish this draft that I've had for far too long. And what better way to come back than with some Ominis fluff? Enjoy!🌞

Warnings: Major spoilers for the "In the Shadow of the Study" quest

“I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say ‘I love you.’”

You felt a wrench in your heart as you read those few words written by Shakespeare. It was astonishing how a few drops of ink on the page of a book, a simple garland of lines and curls drawn in different directions, could trigger disproportionate reactions. Did everyone else feel the same way, or was it just that you were too sensitive?

Or perhaps it was simply that these damn love stories reminded you that you had not had the right to your own, that the boy to whom you had offered your heart had given it back to you completely mutilated?

Another wrench in your heart.

‘It’s simple and concise for a declaration of love… but at least she had the right to one, and one that had the merit of being clear and direct to boot’, you could not help thinking as you reread your book.

Time had passed, but you still felt it all. The disappointment, the humiliation, the resentment that came with the sensation of having had your feelings played with, the hatred you felt towards yourself for having let yourself be fooled, not to mention the torrents of tears you had shed. But the most devastating feeling was undoubtedly the despair you felt when you remembered that you had absolutely ruined everything with one of the most important people in your life.

Ominis… Sweet, caring, beautiful Ominis… Your best and closest friend. And to think that three little words of love spoken a couple of weeks ago – the same ones you had just read – had been enough to destroy the strong bond between you two.

Once again, it was astonishing how a series of letters, a succession of various sounds, could trigger such a disproportionate reaction and write over months of shared moments of laughter, of little attentions to one another.

“So!”

You abruptly lifted your head from your book – which you were only skimming through – after Sebastian abruptly dropped down next to you on the sofa in the common room.

“Still moping around?”

“Nah, I’m in tip-top form, can’t you see?” You deadpanned, your voice brimming with irony.

“My, my. No need for the attitude.” Sebastian smirked at your feisty character.

Sebastian had got used pretty quickly to this new dynamic. He would have breakfast with you because you were both late risers. During the day, he would sit next to either you or Ominis depending on the class, making sure to maintain an equity. For example, he would sit with you in Defence Against the Dark Arts because he loved duelling you, and he would sit with Ominis in Potions so that he could help him. As for the evening, he would have dinner with Ominis, and then come back to see you once the blond had gone to bed.

In fact, without even exchanging a single word, you and Ominis had concocted a shared custody schedule of your best friend.

Sebastian continued, entirely oblivious to your reveries, “Anyway, I’ve got something to take your mind off things!”

You could not hold back the sigh that left your lips, “Another brilliant idea of yours, I presume?”

“And your presumptions couldn’t be more right.”

Sebastian proudly explained his latest discovery, that Salazar Slytherin had a secret Scriptorium here at Hogwarts. He was evidently determined to explore it, insisting that it might hold answers as to how to heal Anne.

So far, it seemed to be just another of Sebastian’s plans…

“…The only problem is that only a Gaunt knows where the entrance is… So we have to ask Ominis.”

You raised a dubious eyebrow at him, “This… is your brilliant idea to take my mind off things?”

“Oh, come on! It’s important to me! And if you don’t want to do it for me, then do it for Anne! You can tolerate his presence for a few minutes, can’t you?”

As you looked down and pinched the bridge of your nose, another sigh escaped you. It was becoming an unfortunate habit when you were around Sebastian.

You sighed once more, this time in capitulation, “Okay… I’m in.”

When a beaming smile started to tug at the corners of his lips, you immediately interrupted him with a menacing finger pointed at his chest.

“But! You do the talking. The less I talk to him, the better I feel.”

“Deal.” He replied with a mysterious glint in his gaze. “Come on, let’s get this over with. I’ll lead you to him.”

“What? Now?” You exclaimed with wide eyes. It had to be said that you had no desire to go, and that postponing the fateful moment until as late as possible sounded fabulous at the moment.

“Of course, now! Do you really want to do this in broad daylight and get busted by the teachers?”

“When you put it like that… Let’s go.” Without wasting another second, you got up from the sofa with a newfound determination that you had not suspected, but which Sebastian always knew how to awaken using the right words.

After climbing the spiral staircase leading out of the common room, Sebastian led you – if not dragged you – through various corridors of the castle which you were not used to venturing into, and which were very rarely frequented.

If you were reluctantly following, the boy accompanying you was as cheerful as could be. You could tell by the way he moved with haste, his steps almost bouncing. He looked like a young child who had just had one of his whims indulged (and, in a way, he had).

Sebastian suddenly stopped in his tracks and nodded his head towards Ominis who was standing on the other end of the corridor, “Go on, go convince him.”

You turned sharply towards him, giving him a disapproving look, “You said you’d do the talking!”

“Exactly, the talking, which I already did, and it didn’t work. So now, you go do the convincing.”

“Sneaky bastard.” You muttered under your breath, sending him one last murderous glare.

As you approached the mysterious blond, you could not help but analyse him from head to toe. His silky hair was as well-brushed as ever, giving him his typical elegance. He was leaning against a wall, the features of his face impassive, making you wonder what could be going on in that impenetrable, but undoubtedly fascinating, mind of his. Merlin, everything about him was so adorable…

Fuck. You could not go on thinking like that. You had to move on from him, even if it was going to take a colossal effort.

But… that did not mean you had to stop watching him categorically. No, you could continue to observe banal things about him, like the way he suddenly took a deep breath before his shoulders relaxed, while you were only a few steps away from him.

Before you could announce your presence, Ominis called your name.

“U-Um yes, hi… How… How did you know it was me?” You stammered awkwardly, still mentally unprepared to start a conversation with Ominis.

“Your perfume. I’ve got used to it. I could recognise it in a million.” He declared easily, as if it were the most banal thing to say to someone you had recently rejected.

“Oh…”

Upon hearing your long and awkward silence, his serene and composed appearance was quickly overwritten with his own discomfort, “Listen, about last time… I wanted you to know that I sincerely apologise. I should not have avoided you for so long and–”

“Let’s not talk about this, alright?” You cut him short, physically pained just by the memory of your last conversation. “I just want to forget this ever happened… Besides, that’s not what I came to talk to you about.”

“I’m listening.”

It did not take long to convince him to reveal the location of Salazar Slytherin’s secret room, just a few minutes at the most. After all, you knew Ominis like the back of your hand, so it was child’s play to find the words he needed to hear.

But that didn’t mean you kept talking to him afterwards.

Once you entered the Scriptorium, you did not utter a single word. Your demeanour, which had been warm and understanding a few minutes earlier, was now nowhere to be seen. Seeing you acting so silent, cold and detached, Ominis must certainly have thought you were unrecognisable. If that was the case, he did not show it. On the contrary, he was always trying to get as close to you as possible, all the while scratching the back of his neck, or running a hand through his hair nervously, as if he wanted to start a conversation but did not dare. For some reason that eluded you, he also insisted that you stay behind him whenever you entered a new room.

The only thing you knew for sure was that he was desperate to reweave the invisible string between the two of you that had been the source of your formerly close friendship. But there was a problem… it was still too early and too painful for you to mend it on your end.

So you simply solved the various challenges you came across, and eventually silently handed the letters you found from Noctua to Ominis, so that he could read them for himself with his wand (admittedly, you wanted to avoid him, but you still had enough compassion left to give him what was left of his late aunt). Meanwhile, you let Sebastian do the talking to lighten the mood (he had kept his promise after all). Everything was going well so far.

That is… until you entered a new room, and the stone door slammed shut behind you three, producing a loud crash that bounced off the walls.

“Merlin!” You cried out in fear.

“Yeah, I think we’re locked in.” Sebastian agreed nonchalantly.

“No! Merlin!” You repeated in panic but, this time, pointing at something on the ground with a trembling finger.

Sebastian looked down, and quietly gasped before holding his breath. Never in a million years would you have imagined that you would stumble across bones, and therefore be confronted with the fact that someone had died right in this very spot.

It was only then that you realised that the three of you were potentially next in line, that there was a possibility you might never get out of this room. At this morbid realisation, you froze entirely. You were unable to move, to think, to speak. It was impossible for you to react. It was as if, in a panic, your body had already accepted its fate and was getting used to the fact that, soon, it would no longer respond to anything.

The silence in the room lasted a second too long, and Ominis too began to panic, “Well, what is it?”

“…A skeleton.” Sebastian said coldly, although the grimace on his face betrayed him and showed that he too was in turmoil. “And Noctua’s last journal entry. She mentions being trapped here – blocked by an Unforgivable Curse.”

Because of the shock, you had not even registered that you had the remains of Ominis’s aunt in front of you.

For fear that your words would be clumsy and worsen the despair Ominis must be feeling, you decided it was better to remain silent and act instead.

Slowly but surely, you approached him. While he had his back turned to you, you wrapped your arms around his slim figure and hugged him from behind. It was not a gesture you would normally have made towards Ominis after what had happened between you two. But in view of the gloomy circumstances in which you found yourselves, you had found the strength to put your resentment aside.

And it had to be said that, underneath your unaffected exterior, you still had a huge soft spot for this boy. Letting him go through this ordeal on his own would simply have broken your own heart, as well as his.

“Ominis…” His name rolled off your tongue by itself.

You felt him stiffen at your touch, and you took in a sharp breath. In your eyes, it was just another rejection. He obviously did not want you by his side, both literally and figuratively. So, in an attempt to protect your fragile little heart, which had mistakenly let its guard down, you decided to let Ominis go.

But he stopped you.

“No. Stay.” He said firmly, though his voice sounded obviously shaken.

He held you back against him by grabbing your hand. He squeezed it, then pressed it against his chest with his own, just above his heart. His heartbeat echoed in your palm. You could feel it speeding up, matching the rhythm of yours, as if they were connected.

In response, you surrendered to the embrace by resting your head between his shoulder blades. However, once again, your touch had the effect of a painful electric shock on him, and he abruptly pulled away from you. This was just another example of how exhausting Ominis could be. He had always acted like this with you: one moment he was giving you hope that he was returning your feelings, and the next he was pushing you away.

Ominis moved away from you to get closer to Sebastian, shouting in a distraught manner, “This – is where she died. This is where we’ll die. I shouldn’t have listened to either of you!”

“Ominis, I’m truly sorry about your aunt. But I know what to do. It’s going to be difficult.” Sebastian replied in a calm, composed voice that contrasted radically with that of his friend.

Sebastian subsequently proceeded to explain his plan, that the Cruciatus Curse – the incantation for which was written on the floor – was to be used to open the next room. Knowing that Ominis categorically refused to be associated with the Dark Arts, and that you were unwilling to learn any of the Unforgivable curses, Sebastian’s last remaining option was to cast Crucio on you.

Ominis stared at him, speechless and dumbfounded, as if he had just uttered the most grotesque of abominations, “Are you out of your mind? Do you even realise what you’re saying? You want to torture your friend? Our friend!”

Sebastian raised his voice to match Ominis’s, “And you, can you think for two seconds? It’s either I hurt her temporarily, or I let her die in that shithole! And us with her! There’s no need to think about it, it’s a no-brainer!”

“And I’m telling you it’s out of the question! I won’t let you hurt her!”

“So what, then? We wait for you to come up with some wonderful solution where no Unforgivable Curse is involved? You know very well there’s no such thing! It’s Salazar Slytherin we’re talking about, you should have expected it.”

Sebastian paused, making the atmosphere even heavier. His tone had subsided, but you knew all too well that it did not mean that his anger had subsided along with it. Quite the contrary.

“You know something? For a guy who likes to control everything to the point of dictating other people’s choices, I think you’re being awfully passive right now.”

Though unseeing, Ominis’s eyes glared at Sebastian, looking daggers at him, “What exactly are you insinuating?”

“That you’re a control freak who’s got no balls.”

“Boys, stop it.” You tried to calm things down as you heard their voices escalate and their words sharpen.

But Ominis ignored you blatantly, to the point where you wondered if he had even heard you, “Oh, really? Do you want me to tell you what I think of you?”

‘‘Just you try!”

“You’ve become a complete nutter ever since Anne has been–”

“ENOUGH!”

Your outburst seemed to be just what was needed to put an end to the two boys’ cockfight. They both turned brusquely towards you, their eyes wide open. It had to be said that seeing you angry was already a rare event, so to see you furious with them was even more staggering.

“Enough.” You repeated firmly, sweeping your eyes over the two boys to make sure you had fully regained control of the situation. “Sebastian, shut up. You’ve gone too far. And you, Ominis, I don’t need you making decisions for me. It’s not your job to defend me.”

You gave Ominis a black look. It was foolish because he could not see it, but something told you that, somehow, he could still feel it. Especially with the double entendre in your words, which implicitly referred to how Ominis had rejected you, as well as all the bitterness you retained from it. It was petty, but you could not help yourself.

You then turned to the other boy, looking determined, “Do it, Sebastian. I’m ready.”

The brown-haired boy nodded and positioned himself in front of you. He raised his wand in your direction and concentrated.

“Crucio!”

A bolt of red light came out from the tip of Sebastian’s wand, and hit you square in the chest, right in the heart.

“NO!” You heard Ominis’s voice protest.

Was it really Ominis though? Maybe you had just dreamt it. You could not be sure, for every single one of your senses was overstimulated by an electric shock running through your body, and causing you to collapse to the ground on all fours. It was brutal but manageable, you thought.

Little did you know, that was only the preamble. The worst was yet to come.

Rapidly, every muscle in your body contracted, including those in your chest and throat, preventing you from breathing. The spell slowly left you suffocating, while the pain took care of absorbing what little energy remained in your body. It was as if a billion needles were sticking into every inch of your skin, sinking deeper and deeper with the aim of piercing your soul and finishing you off.

It seemed to you like this hell lasted for an entire hour, even though you were confident Sebastian would never let you endure this kind of torture for more than a couple of seconds.

And then it stopped. Though the remnants of the curse remained.

You had suspected that such a cruel curse was not going to leave you alone so easily. Still, you were not prepared for how agonising it felt.

Your ears ringing. Your vision fogged with black spots. Your anarchic breathing. Your body crumpling to the ground, inert. And all of this because of the lack of oxygen. All your senses were rendered nonfunctional, leading you to believe that you would remain in this state for the rest of your life.

“Are you alright?” Sebastian asked you with genuine concern in his voice, to which you nodded silently, your strength gradually returning.

Of course, Ominis was unable to see you, and began to get upset, thinking that you were still unresponding, “Of course not, Sebastian! Do you really think anyone can be alright after receiving the Cruciatus Curse?”

You wanted more than ever to say something to shut Ominis up. Or was it to reassure him? Probably a combination of both. Either way, the reality remained the same: you were still too weak to utter a single word. Your vocal cords were still paralysed from the agonised screams you had let out.

Thankfully, the door opening put an early stop to the boys’ bickering.

“It worked!” Sebastian exclaimed and immediately entered the room to explore it, leaving you alone with Ominis.

Ominis had no idea what to say to ease your pain. Unfortunately, he had already endured the Cruciatus Curse himself – and at the hands of his family to boot – so he knew how you might feel. However, no one had ever comforted him, so he had no idea what words would be likely to soothe you.

But if there was one thing his beloved Aunt Noctua used to tell him, it was that words come from the mind, and gestures from the heart. And it was always better to speak from the heart.

So Ominis let his heart guide him.

He knelt down beside you, and helped you to lie on your back, so that you would be more comfortable. But to your surprise, he did not stop there. He made you rest your head on his thighs, then stroked your hair with a hesitant hand. It was only after a moment that he spoke again.

“Can I be of any help?” He whispered, as if afraid of disturbing your repose while you were recuperating.

“H-Help–” Your weak voice got caught. You had to cough a couple of times before you could start again. “Help me stand up, will you?”

“You should take your time and lie down for a while. You just went through a lot–”

“I’ll survive.” You cut Ominis off abruptly, in a clearer but above all more irritated voice. You had had more than enough of his constant mood swings towards you, where one moment he could not be more doting on you, and the next he was acting as if he had never met you.

Ominis remained silent. You did not get the impression that he was hesitating over his next words, but rather that he was taking the time to digest how you had harshly refused his advice.

“…If you say so.”

“You know, I’m tougher than you think.” You kept the same cold, distant tone.

While he kept the same nonchalant and stoic tone, “I know.”

“Good.”

An awkward silence settled in, where you could do nothing but contemplate the ruins of your friendship. Where once stood a fortress of shared complicity and happiness, now remained only the vestiges of two acquaintances who were unwilling to rebuild what they had once known in the past.

To put an end to this heart-wrenching moment, you headed for the next room, without adding a word. Ominis followed suit, guided by his wand which pulsed red light at its tip.

“Guys? Care to lend me a hand, or do I have to explore this room all alone?” Sebastian called out without ceasing to rummage through Salazar Slytherin’s belongings.

You were about to answer when you suddenly saw Ominis stride resolutely in front of you. The frown on his face was unmistakable, as were his tense features.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve asking us for help! Not only did you just cast the Cruciatus Curse on your friend, but you didn’t even have the presence of mind to ask me if I was all right after finding my aunt’s bones!”

Ominis’s anger only seemed to have the effect of amusing Sebastian, “I thought it was stupid to ask someone if they were okay when it’s obvious they’re not.”

“It’s a question of common sense, Sebastian! If you had any, you would have realised that it would be best for you to lie low for a while and fend for yourself.”

“Excuse me for not being perfect. Not everyone can be a saint like you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sebastian.” Ominis visibly cringed upon hearing his friend’s words.

But it only made Sebastian’s smirk grow wider, “For once, you’re right. I’m being ridiculous. You’re far from being a saint, because if we’d listened to you, we’d be rotting in the previous room, and we’d be letting Anne die too, since you’ve also given up on the idea of curing her, just like everybody else.”

“Don’t start that again. You know perfectly well I haven’t given up on her, or else I wouldn’t be here having this nonsensical conversation with you.”

Sebastian’s arrogant smile fell, “Oh, stop it, Ominis! We both know you’re not here for Anne, but you’re too shitscared to admit it to yourself. Which goes to show, even when you’re already blind, you can still be blinded by fear.”

“SHUT UP!” Ominis roared in a deeply enraged way that you had never heard before, to the point where it made you recoil. “You’ve gone too far this time, Sebastian!”

Still frightened by the turn this argument was taking, you decided to intervene, “Guys, please don’t start fighting again. We’re all on edge and–”

“Come. We’re leaving.” Ominis announced sternly, holding out his hand for you to take.

“W-What?” You stammered, bewildered.

“You heard me. Are you coming, or not?”

You had never heard Ominis give you or anyone else an order in this way. Confused as to where this excess of chauvinism was coming from, your instinct advised you to go with the flow. You took his hand – not without shooting Sebastian an apologetic glance – and let the blond boy guide you out of the Scriptorium.

Except that once outside, he continued to drag you through the corridors, towards what you recognised as the direction of the common room. Holding your hand so tightly to the point where it was almost painful, he walked ahead of you at a run.

“Ominis, not so fast.” You requested, but your plea fell on deaf ears.

“How dare he speak to me like that, and insinuate things he has no knowledge of? After everything I’ve done for him! He truly deserves to be left alone; it would surely teach him a valuable lesson. Although… if he was left unsupervised, I’m afraid he’d do even more stupid things. I don’t know what more I can do to get him to listen to reason– What am I saying? It’s not my duty to keep an eye on him. He should just fend for himself for a change!” The blond Slytherin kept rambling, spiralling out of control.

At this stage, nothing and nobody could stop him from getting worked up over Sebastian. He was so consumed with his anger that he was completely oblivious to your distress at walking, your legs still suffering from the aftermath of the Cruciatus Curse. You found it hard to keep up with his rapid pace without tripping over your own feet.

“Ominis–”

What was bound to happen did happen. Your legs gave out, and you found yourself on the cold, hard stone floor, which was undoubtedly going to leave several bruises on your skin. A blush of embarrassment crept up on your cheeks. The only good thing was that the sound of your fall had startled Ominis, who stopped and turned towards you.

He came dangerously close to you, “Pardon me if this is improper, but I can’t let you go on like this.”

Next thing you knew, you were off the ground, lifted by Ominis’s strong and protective arms. He held you securely against his chest, and with a newfound reflex, you wrapped your arms around his neck.

Your blush intensified, but this time it was because of your racing heart. You were speechless, taken aback, and mind going blank at the realisation that one of your dreams – to be in Ominis’s arms – was coming true, but not in the right circumstances.

“I’m sorry. I was too worked up to notice you were having trouble walking. I should have paid more attention to you.” He apologised as he resumed his walk.

Once in the common room, you thought he was going to put you down at the bottom of the stairs leading to the girls’ dormitories, so that you could go and rest, but instead he went and settled himself on one of the leather sofas opposite the fireplace, the exact same one where you had been sulking a couple of hours earlier. He sat down, cradling you in his lap, while his arms tightened around you a little more, as if he feared you might suddenly decide to break free of his embrace.

Assuming you were going to stay in that position for a while, you rested your head on his chest. You could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ribcage. Your best guess was that he was still on edge after what had happened with Sebastian.

Trying to soothe him, you murmured, “Don’t be too hard on Sebastian… He’s only ready to do anything to help his sister.”

Ominis let out a long, fed-up sigh, before replying, “And can’t you see that this is precisely the problem? He’ll do anything – even hurt you – and I can’t let him.”

“He hasn’t hurt me, Ominis.”

A frown was beginning to form between his brows again, “Oh really? Because receiving Crucio was a pleasure cruise for you?”

“He had no choice.”

“We always have a choice. This time it was Crucio, but what will it be next time? How do I know he won’t cross the point of no return?” Ominis raised his voice. He got so carried away with his anger that he failed to notice that he had started stroking your thigh with his thumb.

“He told me he would never hurt me.” You answered in an unwaveringly serene tone.

“And yet he already did. He’s a hypocrite.” He snarled. “Actions speak louder than words.”

You quirked an eyebrow, “Does this apply to you as well?”

“What do you mean?”

“Here you are, caressing my thighs after carrying me in your arms, and yet you still claim to see me as nothing more than a friend.”

Caught in the act, Ominis’s hand froze, as did the rest of his body; he even seemed to be holding his breath. He pressed his lips into a thin line, as if trying to seal them shut, for fear they would say something that would put his life on the line.

“Come on, Ominis. Now’s the time to tell me what you really think, don’t you think?” You said, giving him the last little push he needed to confess everything.

“…All right. I lied. Of course I have feelings for you… How could I not? You’re so considerate and graceful… But those feelings come with fear. Fear that you’ll be disappointed in me, that you’ll realise I’m nowhere near good enough for you, that you could find a thousand men better than me. But what I’m most afraid of is being with you. Because believe me, darling, if one day I have the honour of tasting your lips and your caresses, I know that I’ll never be able to live without you ever again.”

For the umpteenth time that evening, Ominis blew your mind in ways you had never imagined. And the worst part – or rather the best part, given the circumstances – was that he had no intention of stopping there. He had so many feelings in his heart that begged to be verbalised and brought to light.

“You made me want to get up in the morning again, if only to hear your voice for a split second. Before I realised it, you hadn’t just become more than a friend, you’d become my reason to live.”

With infinite delicacy, Ominis took your dainty hand in his, feeling the warmth of your skin against his. Slowly, as if to prolong this magical moment, he brought your hand to his lips and placed a light kiss on it, full of tenderness and respect.

“You are both my greatest desire and my greatest fear. Don’t you see how illogical this is? You’ve made me lose control, and I happily let you. I hope this is proof enough of how enamoured I am of you.”

Although you had regained your composure and your vocabulary, you still kept quiet, but this time it was on purpose. You had a very specific idea in the back of your mind.

“I’m begging you, love, say something.” Ominis’s trembling voice implored.

You replied, without the slightest hint of what you were thinking in your tone, “Actions speak louder than words, Ominis. Your words, not mine.”

Ominis did not need to be told twice, although he did take his time to make sure he did things the right way. His hand, which was still resting on your thigh, was trembling from the torrent of emotions running through him. With his fingertips, that same hand skimmed the contours of your body, and moved up to cup your cheek, sending shivers down your spine at the same time. You closed your eyes to savour the contact and understand a little better what the boy in front of you was feeling.

With his thumb, he sought out your lips, before tracing them to fully appreciate their voluptuousness. He felt the smile that had just appeared on your lips. Encouraged by this sign, Ominis leant towards you, his heart beating wildly. As he drew closer, your breaths mingled.

At last, your lips met, timidly at first, then with a passion that had been held back for far too long. This kiss was a moment suspended in time. The world seemed to stop around you, giving way to the magic of that perfect moment.

And suddenly, all the Shakespearean love stories you had ever read seemed derisory. Mere words of love were not enough, were no longer enough, now that you had tasted the unctuous proof of love from the handsome, touching blond boy who electrified your skin with the slightest touch.

Who needed a trite, dull ‘I love you’, when you had the loving touch of Ominis?

[manofbeskar]

i always think about how interesting it is for mihawk to keep saying he wants to live a peaceful life, but he has never once passed up an opportunity to run into danger. like his past of hunting marines, and then getting excited when he was getting hunted by marines again after marineford. he moved to a war-torn island inhabited by violent humandrills. he sought out shanks daily for at least a decade for duels. sure he has calming hobbies like gardening, but his actions show him as a man who lives for exciting places and people

i also think sometimes about the possibility that mihawk thought of (and still thinks) of shanks as the only real option for the pirate king. mihawk doesn't care to have the title himself despite being one of the leading pirates at the time (since the golden pirate age had barely started) and standing quite a good chance. compared to shanks, mihawk has more experience leading a grand line voyage. shanks then would have no experience leading a crew or successfully charting a voyage to the grand line himself. mihawk saw shanks's potential for greatness and believed in it, duelled him every day and watched his power grow stronger—to the point of shanks even developing a haki that directly opposes his own (and being the only known user of it so far, so there's a possibility he invented it from how much time he was spending with mihawk?) as roger's son, maybe mihawk expected that, while shanks wasn't ready at the time to find the one piece, that he will be in the future. he's helped shanks grow a reputation (since shanks got famous from how often he was fighting mihawk), grow in power (anti-observation haki and improved swordsmanship over the years). he's watched shanks's crew grow over the years (since there's a chance he might've known shanks before he even recruited his first crewmate)

the big betrayal comes when shanks gave up his arm because of his belief in luffy being able to be pirate king someday. because to mihawk, the title has always belonged to shanks. he's bet everything on him. he's the one who sought him out daily for a decade. he's the one who's helped him hone his skills. he's the one who believed in him when most of the world didn't even know who he was. and now shanks threw away all of that for a little boy? so mihawk stopped duelling him because there's no point if shanks isn't as invested in this as he is. but shanks still had hope mihawk would eventually return, possibly because he may not be aware of how much mihawk believed in his potential >> when mihawk came back with luffy's poster, shanks for some reason still thinks mihawk wants to fight him, even though mihawk just says he lost interest many years ago

mihawk also refuses to fight shanks on other people's orders. and even when he was fighting shanks regularly, despite their duels being so wracked with power that whitebeard said the grand line would shake, somehow shanks never leaves with so much as a scratch on his person. didn't whitebeard even say he thought his scars were given by mihawk? and yet as far as we know, mihawk and shanks have never had any real intention to hurt each other, and have never done so. mihawk left marineford after being ordered to attack shanks, and then questioned buggy for thinking he would attack shanks (and the other emperors) for him >> if even a little part of him still believes in shanks's potential to be pirate king, there's really no reason for him to hinder his progress. adding on that, as shanks doesn't seem to have any interest in competing for mihawk's title of greatest swordsman, mihawk also has no interest in competing for his as the pirate king. they've avoided each other's goals the whole time

mihawk also tells zoro "when a man like you throws away his pride, it is always for someone else" (when he begs mihawk to train him so he can protect luffy). maybe i'm reading too much into this one, but i always thought it was an interesting detail to throw in that mihawk apologises to shanks when he decides to attack luffy. he apologises even though shanks is not there yet, and specifically apologises because he is not going to hold back. it almost implies he has promised shanks to hold back on luffy and his crew—more likely that shanks might've requested this of mihawk when they celebrated his bounty than mihawk volunteering to do so lol. mihawk cares a lot about pride. when he first fights zoro, he humiliates him by not going all out and using kogatana. he apologises to mock zoro. he's cocky and prideful. mihawk doesn't apologise for doing anything because he feels he has nothing to be sorry for. he does whatever he wants, and everyone lets him because he's strong. yet his apology to shanks at marineford could imply he agreed to stand back. and his sincere apology to a man who isn't there, about being unable to continue holding back his power... idk to me that reads as something mihawk would consider shameful. mihawk enjoys being powerful and unstoppable, yet here he is apologising for that because of shanks —who again isn't even there to hear it!

this even ties into my "theory" (i say theory in quotation marks bc honestly it's more of a hope than something i seriously believe in) that mihawk may eventually leave the cross guild and join up with the red hair pirates—either because he's secretly been their swordsman the whole time, and why the RHP has never had a swordsman on the crew (in terms of rank like zoro, not just people who wield swords) or he feels this is his best option—to find the one piece. because if he stays with the cross guild, he'll have to find the OP for buggy who he thinks is a fucking idiot. if he has to find the OP no matter what, mihawk might prefer to spend his efforts on the same man he's believed in from the very start. also just think about how everything we know about mishanks's rivalry is all hearsay from other characters and behind-the-scenes stuff, and we haven't seen either of them go all out yet. just imagine when we finally get that, it's them teaming up. the world's most legendary rivalry teaming up to find the most coveted treasure. i think that'd scare everyone, pirate and marine alike (and not to throw in non-canon stuff here but i mean... mishanks vs the straw hats is already a battle that exists in one of the games 👀 )

and to tie it back to the first paragraph here. because mihawk can't run in the opposite direction of what excites him. and he has spent the past decade trying to find someone who excites him more than shanks. and he has very clearly failed. marineford ended with mihawk being excited to return to his past of when marines used to chase him, and maybe he could be excited too at the prospect of returning to the only man who ever made him feel alive

idk idk i have a lot of thoughts about them!!!! you can tell i'm very brainrotful about them!!!

[duplicitywrites]

“Is that homework?”

Potter did not sound annoyed. In fact, he never sounded annoyed by anything that Tom did. Disappointed, maybe, but never annoyed. He laughed at Tom’s insults and grinned at Tom’s dry jokes. Only because he was incapable of taking anything seriously, no doubt.

Tom said, “It is an essay on the defensive applications of ancient runes against class XXXX plants.”

“So it’s homework.” Potter perched his chin on his hand like an infatuated schoolgirl. “What’s your favourite class?”

“I thought we had jointly decided against sharing personal details,” Tom commented, licking the tip of his index finger before turning the page of his herbology text.

“If you’re going to blatantly disregard my very serious order to sort out these millions of boxes of files, then I think I’m entitled to a bit of questioning.”

Tom shut his textbook with a sharp thud and turned around. Once again, Potter was wearing an easy smile, like they were two old friends chatting while having a cuppa.

“You’re pathetic,” Tom said with a roll of his eyes, dispensing with the veneer of politeness.

“You’ll have to hit a lot harder than that to damage my ego.” Potter lounged back in his chair and gave it a slow spin. By the time his rotation had completed, he was smirking. “Besides, I don’t see what you’ve done that’s so impressive, seeing as you won’t tell me any of it.”

“I am going to be Head Boy next year, and that is all you need to know.”

“I put out Fiendfyre with my bare hands—”

“Hardly.”

“And my lovely, soon-to-be Head Boy intern won’t even tell me what his favourite class is. Tragedy has struck me, truly.”

Tom folded one leg over the other. “What was your favourite class?” he demanded. “Quidditch?”

“Got it in one.” Potter’s shit-eating grin intensified. “And defence class.”

Defence class. Potter would be good at duelling, Tom could picture it. That defiant, determined expression Potter had worn before approaching the Fiendfyre. Wand held confidently at the ready, shoulders impressively broad, navy robes whipping with the wind—

“I could take you,” Tom found himself saying.

Potter eyed him. “In Quidditch? Or defence? Because while I’m sure you’re very talented, Tom, I don’t think you’d stand a chance at either.”

snippet for some like it hot 🥵

[galaxiasgreen]

🍭☀️A Cruelty Vivid and Sweet

Slow burn angsty Ominis x F!Reader [T-Rated, 8.7k words]

"I can't lose him," he whispered, a shattering realisation. "Not like I lost Anne, and... and you." "You haven't lost me." "You are the one good thing in my life right now," he said, voice broken with rage and pain, "and we can't even talk in the hallway!" You leant against him then, shoulder to shoulder. And there it was, like clockwork. Strawberry laces. "Then let's be two normal people right now. Just... for a little while. Like before."

In which, with his relationship with you a secret, Ominis tries to pull his best friend from the brink of darkness.

Tropes: angst/ romance/ drama, slow burn, black cat x golden retriever, opposites attract, forbidden love, pure-blood culture, canon rewrite, book!canon compliant, Ominis meets the Sallow Twins, Forced Proximity, Denial of Feelings, duelling practice, the Relic Quest.

[MASTERLIST][FIRST][PREV][NEXT] [read on AO3, read on Wattpad]

3. A Secret Friendship

From then on, your friendship together was a secret.

Ominis' growing feelings even more so.

There was a forbidden agreement between you that, to save you, and to save himself, you wouldn't interact in the outer world. No cheerful waves in the hallways, no hanging off each other's arms between lessons. The only way to communicate was through notes, traded like secrets, a folded scrap of parchment slipping into his robe or your pocket. Ominis doubted Perry Malfoy and his cronies would bother to learn braille at his expense, after all, and this way you could keep in contact without breaking the façade.

Your grasp of it was clumsy though. In your impatience, you forgot words like the and a, your cadence was robotic and primitive, and one time you forgot the L in public, which made him snort so hard he got detention in History of Magic.

When notes weren't needed, or seemed too risky, there was the language of touch, even more heretical to his family's values, and even more seducing. Your elbow a gentle nudge to his side, in the hallways, on the front lawns, your pinkie brushing his in class, lightning through his skin. They were fleeting, these moments of connection between you, but no less potent.

No less desired by him.

Even though you were a social creature, most energised when you spent time with your friends, you took to this naturally. No matter how tedious, you lived for the notes, for the secrets you shared. Your mood improved drastically, he could sense it, freed of your previous burden.

He felt the same too. Lighter on his shoulders, his heart.

On days when the both of you felt the most daring, where the stars aligned for a culmination of your letters, you met him under the Astronomy deck, when everyone was away at the evening feast, to have a little feast of your own, an eclectic mix of sweets sent from your family and treats bought at Honeydukes. It often left Ominis feeling a little sick, but he never minded, not when it meant he could spend time with you. Sometimes Sebastian joined in – but mostly not, his attentions captivated by his search for a cure.

And, Ominis was starting to realise, by Missy.

"He fancies her sooooo much," you said to him one day.

Ominis reclined against the wood. Even wrapped in blankets by a lit brazier, hushing the cold, he wasn't comfortable – he never would be, not when this meeting was illicit, stolen from beneath the stars. But there was something about you that relaxed him enough to forget it all, even temporarily.

"Do you think it's requited?"

"Er, yeah. Those two are always flirting." You threw a popping candy into your mouth, and it crackled as you spoke. "And goodness, you should see the looks they give each other. Seb makes googly eyes every time she looks at him, and she makes googly eyes when he's not looking."

For once, Ominis was grateful he didn't know what googly eyes were.

"What's she like?" he asked, curious. "Missy?"

You waited a moment, fishing for the right words.

"Intense."

"Like Sebastian then."

"In a different way. Sebastian is hell-bent on finding a cure for Anne. He has one goal in mind. But Missy isn't driven by one thing alone... but I don't know what drives her. She's extremely good at everything she does, spells and history and theory, but she always seems... guarded."

"Naturally, you took that as a challenge."

You made a raspberry noise. "No! I just happened to stand next to her in Flying. She's the sort of person you want as your friend, not your enemy."

That alone troubled him. "And paired with Sebastian makes a dangerous cocktail."

"You think she's encouraging the Dark Arts?"

"I know she's encouraging the Dark Arts."

You didn't reply to that, as unsure as he was.

"She's not a bad person, but she's definitely... hiding something."

She had her secrets. He had his as well, but his didn't try to lead his best friend into the waiting arms of Dark magic. Into Unforgivable Curses and choices that could not be taken back.

Letting Sebastian embrace the darkness was an option Ominis didn't even think to entertain. He was family, after all. Like you were, like Anne. A steadfast companion through thick and thin, through his best days and his worst – and now, when Sebastian needed him most, Ominis would not turn away.

A choice made despite its painful consequences, he now realises.

He remembers the first time he met him, all those years ago. It was not, in fact, in the dungeons of the Slytherin common room, their beds next to each other in the dorms by fate, but earlier, when they were both eleven and the Malfoys hosted an expensive soirée to officially welcome the new incoming year into the magical world.

Ominis already had his new wand and was relying on it excessively, since he discovered with its power his senses were more acute to his surroundings. It pulsed intermittently, moulding the world around him to a language he could understand. The Malfoy Manor ballroom was lit by chandeliers, torches burning along the walls, and a hearth, twice his height, the heat from it alone enough to make the whole house swelter. The floor was polished, heels squeaking along its smooth surface, and scents interwove like tapestry, roast pork and lavender bouquets and a tangle of overwhelming perfumes. How vast it all was, how grand. He imagined this was what it was like to see, to drink in the sights greedily, the world beyond his fingertips fascinating.

Unfortunately, to everyone else, it was not as fascinating as he himself.

"Behave yourself tonight, Ominis," his mother hissed to him as she shucked her coat, dropping it with a whumph onto a tiny house-elf's waiting arms. His father hadn't been able to attend, so she had taken his place, just as callous and stern, caring as much about family connections and alliances as the rest of them did. "Make friends with the older students. They will be your guides. The Nott girls are two years your senior, for example, and one of the Lestrange children three."

"Isn't there anyone starting in my year?"

"A few." Her sneer was audible. "The Reyes have a daughter – Imelda. I've never liked her mother, so uptight and condescending. The McDowells as well, but there's a rumour her father was unfaithful, probably with some Mudblood. It's a shame. The Malfoys, Blacks, and Ellingboes all have their children starting next year."

For some reason that brought him relief. His mother didn't let go of his collar though, thrusting him in front of her society friends and their progeny, sometimes too young for Hogwarts, sometimes having already started. Questions arrowed his way were never about his personality, his likes or dislikes – always, they opened with his eyes and their murkiness and the sight he did not have. One boy even farted and asked Ominis whether he could already smell it, which earnt a cuffing from his father, and led Ominis' mother to pull him away in disgust.

"Ominis," his mother said at one point, dropping her forced, sycophantic pitch. "You remember Phineas Black? He's the current headmaster at Hogwarts."

Oh, Ominis remembered Phineas Black all right. His unpleasantness was legendary.

"You will behave, won't you, Gaunt?" Professor Black spoke down to Ominis, voice a dismissive rumble that said he'd soon forget this exchange ever happened. "Every year there's always someone making unnecessary paperwork for me. Last year a group of sixth-year Gryffindors thought it would be funny to jinx my quills to sing every time I wrote a letter. If it were up to me, I would've had them lashed for insolence."

"It's what they deserved," his mother agreed.

"Alas, capital punishment is rather frowned upon these days. I had to settle with detention instead. And scrubbing the entire Hall of Herodiana with a single toothbrush."

Staying silent, Ominis thought, was the wise move.

Soon his mother tired of brandishing him like a prized Puffskein, leaving him unattended at the buffet table to entertain her friends. Ominis was alone – lonely, when the sounds of laughter and music were suffocating from the inside. He clutched his wand, using it to navigate to the closest wall, where a cascade of belladonna draped over stone. How was he supposed to network? There were too many bodies, too much noise.

"You're Ominis Gaunt."

In the chaotic din of the ballroom, he hadn't heard the snooty boy come up. He tuned to the voice, scolding himself inwardly. Pay more attention. "Yes."

"I'm Peregrine Malfoy."

Well, at least finding the Malfoys had been easy. Ominis frowned. "You're nine."

"Nearly ten."

"You don't start Hogwarts for another year. What do you want?"

"My father says I should introduce myself." Peregrine barely gave himself enough time to pause for breath. "What's it like being blind?"

The question fatigued him. "It's like being blind," he snapped, unable to help himself.

"That's not an answer."

"I can't give you an answer since I don't know what it's like being not."

"If you can't see, how are you going to do schoolwork?"

He thought about telling him about braille, but he was smart enough to know that Peregrine didn't actually want answers. He just wanted to prod where he didn't belong.

When Ominis didn't say anything, however, Peregrine took it as a sign of composed aloofness, and dragged him over to his own clique of friends. It was an overwhelming few moments, shaking hands, first names flying into one ear and out the other, the only one he recognised being Dorothy Ellingboe – his cousin once-removed. He barely knew her, the Ellingboes being an old wizarding family that originated in Norway that extended a branch into England to strengthen the line. Yet Dorothy was a sneering, simpering girl that thought herself better than everyone else, ugly in temperament as well as voice.

"So you're blind?" asked the Fawley boy. "Why can't you just use a spell to make yourself unblind?"

He resisted the urge to sigh. He'd done this rigmarole a thousand times before.

"It doesn't exist."

"Bet it does. You just need to think about the Latin. Vide means see. Have you tried doing that?"

Never, because his parents had already done it.

"Maybe," the boy continued, "you could take a potion. The powdered root of asphodel, for example—"

"Quiet, Hector," Peregrine muttered, facing the door. "Look who's just come in!"

"No way," said Dorothy, sniggering. "I'm surprised they could afford the Floo Powder to London!"

"They look like they've just climbed out of a fireplace, all right," said the Black boy, Ominis didn't remember his name – some pompous star, no doubt. "Like those peasant Muggle chimney sweeps."

"Who is it?" Ominis asked, feeling stupid and left out.

"It's the Stone-Broke Sallow Twins," said Peregrine. "Look at what they're wearing!"

Ominis couldn't see, but he could guess – plainly adorned breeches, or a threadbare frock. He felt the shift in the room as they entered with their uncle Solomon. His mother had babbled about the Sallows once or twice – their parents had been Hogwarts professors who died in a freak accident – often accompanied with similar contempt, but she disdained almost all of pure-blood society, so who really knew what they'd done to invite so much ire.

"We should invite them over, shouldn't we?" asked Peregrine. "That's the courteous thing to do."

"Ugh, this again?" said Imelda Reyes, with an audible roll of her eyes. "Can't we just have one party where we don't butt heads with the Sallow twins?"

"You're one to talk, Imelda," Hector muttered. "Butting heads is all you do every day."

"Only because you make it easy."

"Don't be a spoilsport," Peregrine jeered at her. "Honestly, you're just as bad as Kaydence Lestrange. If you're going to ruin the fun, run along to your parents and be dull with them."

Imelda made a noise like she was going to beat him, physically throw a punch, but instead stormed off.

"Oi, Sebastian, Anne!" With no one to stop him, and Ominis a quiet observer, Peregrine called out across the ballroom. "Come over here!"

Even with this supposed history between them, Sebastian and Anne came over. The tension ratcheted up.

"What do you want, Perry?" muttered Sebastian.

"Peregrine," the boy snapped. "I wanted to introduce you, because it's polite – not that you would know politeness. You remember Hector Fawley, Antares Black and Dorothy Ellingboe, and meet my new friend, Ominis Gaunt."

Friend? Hardly. Ominis had half a mind to run off with Imelda Reyes, and fought to keep a shudder off his face.

"So, who did you bribe?" asked Dorothy.

"What?" said Sebastian.

"To get in, of course," she said, like she was asking about the weather. "No way Edwin Malfoy invited you."

"He invited us," Sebastian said through gritted teeth, "because we're starting Hogwarts next year."

Hmm. Ominis' mother had failed to mention that.

"Can you even afford a wand?" Antares laughed.

"Yes." A soft whip noise as he withdrew it. "Would you like to see how it works?"

"Sebastian," Anne cautioned, grasping his sleeve.

Antares wasn't deterred. "Oh, please. I doubt you know a single spell."

Peregrine laughed then, laced with taunting. "Even if he did, I wouldn't worry, Antares. It's not like that wand chose him. It's probably a hand-me-down from his dead, mud-loving parents."

Ominis was suddenly knocked to the ground, wand scattered out of his grip. There was a struggle above, and Anne's voice rose above the boys' grunts.

"Leave it!" she demanded. "For goodness sake, Sebastian!"

Sebastian shook her off, but the fury was there. "Say one more word—"

"You'll what?" spurred Peregrine. "Cry about being a sad orphan?"

"Boys," came a thundering voice. This one Ominis recognised – Edwin Malfoy. "What's going on?"

The scuffling stopped at once. There were two wide steps back, echoing in the sudden quiet of the ballroom.

"Just some light banter, Father," Peregrine said immediately, still and cool. "Nothing to be concerned about."

Sebastian hastily cleared his throat. He knew the boundaries, too.

"Nothing at all, sir."

Edwin made a noise of disbelieving. "Play nice, Peregrine. You'll all be going to school together soon enough."

But when he left, and Peregrine did too, Hector, Antares and Dorothy dogging his heels, it was with a loud snigger, one that promised that this altercation wasn't the last. Ominis wasn't sure whether anyone even noticed him, left on the ground, panicking as his wand was nowhere close. He palmed the floor in frenzy, terrified someone would tread on his hands.

"Here." Anne tapped his arm, then looped hers with his. "Let me help you up."

He stood. "My wand—"

"It's here." Sebastian pressed it into Ominis' shoulder, and he took it, grateful. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push you over."

He was pretty sure it was Peregrine's elbow that went wide, since he was standing right next to him, but an apology of any kind was novel.

"Are you hurt?" asked Anne.

"Just my ego," said Ominis, which made her laugh.

"Ominis Gaunt, right?" Sebastian contemplated a moment. "So you really are blind— ow! Anne!"

"Don't be so rude!" she snapped. "He already knows!"

He did, but he couldn't help but grin anyway.

"You don't like Peregrine Malfoy?"

"Don't like?" Sebastian crowed. "I'd rather lick the underside of a Graphorn's arse than—" He seemed to remember himself. "I-I mean, you know, he can be, er, difficult—"

"It's all right," said Ominis, grinning. "I bet a Graphorn's bottom spews a lot less manure."

Sebastian let out a hysterical bark. Even Anne giggled.

"Thank goodness. We thought we were the only ones who didn't like him. He's so pretentious."

"Hector, Antares and Dorothy can shove it too," said Sebastian. "Mean gits with bad manners. They're all the same. And we're the twins here!"

Ominis tried to picture them, identical, but all he could imagine was their voices, how they inflected the same, laughed the same, spoke in the same accents.

"Dorothy is my cousin, actually."

"What?" said Sebastian.

"Oh, no," said Anne quickly, "h-he didn't mean—"

"And she's horrible."

This time they all laughed.

"I don't understand though. Why don't they like you?"

"Because we don't have money," Anne said, harrumphing as she did. "Because we live in a hamlet and not a fancy house, like this one. Stone-Broke."

"And don't forget Mama and Papa," Sebastian added. "They didn't care about blood or whatever, and taught everyone at Hogwarts when they were professors."

"Like they could turn away the Muggle-borns!"

Aunt Noctua, then, wasn't the only pure-blood to have such radical opinions. He may not have totally agreed, not when he'd yet to meet a Muggle-born, yet to have these notions proven, but it made him like these two, this odd pair the society kids disdained, all that much more.

He stayed with them for the rest of the party. The pair were hoping to follow their parents into Slytherin, same as Ominis; Sebastian liked Aurors and fighting magic, whereas Anne was eclectic, her interests broad yet undefined. Both of them shared an insatiable thirst for knowledge, and eventually even Anne caved to asking about Ominis' condition: how the wand helped him, how he sensed the world. This time he didn't mind their questions. They treated him like a person, not a pet.

When the party was over, Sebastian and Anne promised to wait for him when he arrived at Hogsmeade Station on the first of September. They promised to see their first few months together, as a team. Ominis left the party feeling lighter than he had all summer.

"The Sallows?" A hum escaped his mother's lips when he told her of his new friends. "They're poor. No money to their name, and their parents were happy to educate the Mudbloods at school. Still, they're dead now, and I'm loath to admit they both come from good breeding..."

That had been good enough.

And indeed, Sebastian and Anne had been waiting on the first of September, as they said they would, on the platform. They'd walked into the Great Hall with arms linked, taking in the new sights, smells and sounds, and rejoiced when they were Sorted into Slytherin together. Anne had sought to make her own friends and establish herself independently, free from Sebastian's influence – the last thing she wanted was to live in her boisterous brother's shadow for her entire Hogwarts tenure – but always she came back to him and Ominis. They hung about in the Undercroft, playing Gobstones, testing new jinxes, enjoying their newfound freedom and space.

Eventually she grew fond of you too, like he had. When your schedules worked, you were a tenacious quartet, three pure-blood Slytherins and one, odd little Muggle-born Hufflepuff.

Once you were all best friends. You were family.

Now the darkness threatened to ruin everything.

When the Astronomy deck was occupied, Ominis invited you to the Undercroft. It was dismal there – a reason you didn't enjoy it as much as anywhere else in the castle. Not a reason he understood, of course, but he never pretended to comprehend your particulars, nor your need for natural light. Nonetheless, you agreed on occasion. It was private, it was his, and it was safe.

Until it was no longer any of those things.

He headed down the lift to meet you, excitement brimming in his bones. December had long since arrived, and the chill along with it, weeping from the underground walls. He'd come earlier than planned, prepared to make the place as welcoming as possible. Lit torches, pillows and blankets, sweets, whatever it took.

But as the lift clunked to a stop, a female voice drifted down the hallway.

And it wasn't yours.

"Don't you think you should tell him?"

"What? About our frolicking around for the triptych?"

"It's not funny, Sebastian," Missy scolded. "You can't keep the relic a secret. It's thanks to him that you have this spellbook in the first place."

Ominis' excitement vanished, replaced with the emptiness that came after a string of broken promises.

"I know that," Sebastian admitted, "but if it works, then he'll see we have nothing to worry about. If the relic really can reverse Anne's curse, he'll see that nothing was in vain."

"He'll find out one way or another."

"It won't be from me." There was a hopeful inflection to him. "And... from you?"

She sighed. "I... suppose not."

"I promise," he said, so believing of own delusions, "it's for his own good."

Ominis threw up the gate then.

"I'll decide what's for my own good."

He sensed it then, the small things. A sharp intake of breath. Sebastian's fingers on crinkled paper – his feet moving to block the book.

"You lied to me," Ominis said, thrusting his wand at his friend. "You swore—"

"I actually said I understood—"

"Don't be deliberately obtuse. You knew exactly what you were implying."

"Ominis, please, see reason." Sebastian was calm, which was even more infuriating. "I love Anne, more than the world. Wouldn't you do anything for someone you loved?"

"You're arguing a pointless moral question."

"Am I? You have Gibby, after all."

It was like stone in his gullet.

"Don't you dare compare our situations."

"Why? It's no different."

"I'm not resorting to Dark Magic to talk to her!"

"But you are half in love with her. You're willing to risk being a blood traitor to your family for her."

Hearing him say it out loud was unfathomable.

"I— I'm not—" he stammered. "This is besides the point—"

"It isn't." He pushed past Ominis, spellbook in hand. "We're both willing to do whatever it takes. You do it your way. This," he said, "is mine."

Sebastian had gone through the gate when Ominis yelled, "Your obsession will cost you!"

His friend didn't reply. Soon the lift ascended the shaft, and Sebastian was gone.

Missy stepped forwards. "Ominis—"

"No, you don't get a say!" he barked. "You shouldn't even be here. This is my place. I didn't invite you. Sebastian shouldn't have brought you here!"

"He— he thought you'd be okay with it," she said quietly. "I would've found this place eventually."

"How? Only the Gaunts know of it!"

She didn't answer. Typical.

"I know you've been encouraging this— this madness—"

"I want to help him," she insisted, "but I'm trying to rein him in. I promise."

"Your promises mean nothing to me."

The gate opened then. In you ambled, jovial and beatific.

"Hello!" you piped. "I passed Sebastian on the way here, but he— Missy? What are you—?"

"She was just leaving," Ominis said.

Missy hesitated – a second, two. There was more she wanted to say.

Then, "Yes. I'm sorry to disturb you both."

When she left, you pattered over, joy diminished.

"Something happened, didn't it?"

He blew breath from his teeth. "Something always happens."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Frankly, all he wanted to do was scream, but telling you would do for now, though he was careful to leave out the being in love with you part. The way Sebastian threw it out there so casually... it unsettled him that these secret feelings he'd been trying to quash were so conspicuous. Sebastian was reckless and willing to do anything – would that include divulging Ominis' darkest secret? Did he have to fear the power his friend had over him now, too?

By the time he was done, both of you were leaning against the pillars, your legs tucked against your chest, his anger decaying to a low ache.

"But he doesn't know where the relic is?"

"It's only a matter of time." Ominis was certain of it.

You hummed. "I didn't realise how bad it was. Poor Anne..."

Anne, the victim in this, had her voice filched by her brother a long time ago.

"I'll write to her tonight," you said. "Sebastian has always been too headstrong for his own good."

"I can't lose him," he whispered, a shattering realisation. "Not like I lost Anne, and... and you."

"You haven't lost me."

"You are the one good thing in my life right now," he said, voice broken with rage and pain, "and we can't even talk in the hallway!"

You leant against him then, shoulder to shoulder. And there it was, like clockwork.

Strawberry laces.

"Then let's be two normal people right now. Just... for a little while. Like before."

Before. The nostalgia was painful. He missed those simpler times, when it was you, him, Sebastian and Anne, parading around Hogwarts without a care in the world.

Now Anne was cursed.

Now Sebastian was obsessed.

Now you had become a dirty secret.

And he clung to you, begging fate not to steal you too.

He smiles now, a memory coming back to him fondly. A memory of first year, after Christmas lapsed and the snow and ice were finally retreating from the grass. Exams were looming on the horizon.

And you were doing terribly in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Though you were Muggle-born and humbling to the magical world, though you knew your grades were poor enough to raise concern, you swaggered into the Clocktower Courtyard that afternoon like an untouchable knight.

"Someone's confident," said Anne. She, and Ominis and Sebastian, had been waiting for you.

"Always," you trilled. "I may be the worst duellist in Hufflepuff—"

"Try the whole year," muttered Sebastian.

"— but I have the most fun, so who's really winning?"

Ominis snorted. You swatted his arm lightly.

"You're going to fail the class if you don't get better at duelling, so," a little teasing fluttered through Anne's declaration, "we're going to be your new teachers."

"You may only address me as Professor Sallow from now on," said Sebastian airily. He paced, drawing Ominis' ear across the courtyard. "And I don't plan on going easy on you."

Your bravado vanished "Do we really have to do this? Have you all fight me at the same time?"

"Diamonds are made under pressure, aren't they?"

"I don't want to be a diamond. A nice, sturdy rock would do."

"You sound scared, Gibby."

"Of course I am! It's three against one!"

"All you have to do is protect yourself," said Anne. She stepped backwards six paces, and Ominis copied. "A simple Protego spell. Okay?"

"If I say not okay, will you leave me be?"

"Stupefy!" Sebastian cried.

"EEEEEK!" Instead of blocking, you pitched to the ground as the spell hissed on stone behind you. "Hey! I-I wasn't ready!"

"Sometimes you won't be ready!" Sebastian said darkly. Then, "Come on, Ominis. Help me."

He wasn't certain attacking you this way was the best way to learn, but, well, there was something about diamonds and pressure. Hogwarts was a safe haven, protected by enchantments more powerful than a dynasty, more ancient than a family tree, but the outside world wasn't so kind. It was cruel. He wanted you to prepare, because Sebastian was right: one day you might not get the chance.

He shifted his weight. "Impedimenta!"

You dodged that one, too.

"Ominis!"

"What?"

"You're being— mean!"

He threw up his hands in exasperation.

"Come on, Gibby! At least try!" Anne's boots scraped against stone. "Accio!"

You stumbled forwards. "Ack! P-Protego!"

"Crus Vacillare!"

A soft thud. You tripped over yourself.

"Too weak," Sebastian called. "You have to mean it."

"I-I am meaning it!" You stood. "I-It's just— hard!"

"How about we make it more interesting?" he suggested with a flinty smugness. "If you don't cast Protego successfully... we all get to eat your sweet stash."

Your gasp was unfiltered. "You wouldn't."

Ominis sighed. He would.

Sebastian danced on the balls of his feet. "Again!"

Anne's voice was clear. "Aqua Eructo!"

"P-Protego!"

Water gushed forwards, but judging by only the slight squeal you let out, your charm had been slightly successful.

"That's more like it!" Sebastian yelled. "Again! Impedimenta!"

"Prote— ah!" You were laughing suddenly. "Look! I'm sooooo slooooow."

"Gibby!" Anne cried. "Do you want us to eat your year's supply of Fizzing Whizbees?"

"And all your toffee nougat?" added Sebastian.

"And," Ominis smiled, "your strawberry laces?"

"Okay, okay! I swear I am trying." You inhaled deeply. "Give me the one-two, Ominis!"

He wouldn't attack you very hard. Despite everything, he couldn't bring himself to.

"Levioso!"

"Protego!"

Zing. The spell lanced off the shield.

"Ah!" you cried. "I-I did it!"

Anne came closer. "Only because Ominis is holding back," she sang.

"He's not!" A pause. "... Are you?"

Ominis grimaced, which made Sebastian snigger.

"Boo!" you pouted. "I-I could defeat you, for real!"

He sincerely doubted that. His family had been instilling duelling technique and practice since he got his wand, in first year. It was imperative, they believed, that Ominis learn to defend himself, use his magic to the fullest potential, to prevent their 'enemies' from taking advantage. Their words. It was why he knew Crucio so early into his education, why he knew too much about Dark Magic. He suspected there was more to it – that they feared, because he was blind, he was more susceptible to defeat. Still, he liked to think he'd done well to keep up.

But he was nonchalant with you, not wanting to pop the balloon of your confidence. "Are you challenging me to a duel?"

"Yeah, I am! Let's do this!"

He swung around to create space between you, amused – but if it helped to improve your grade, he was glad.

"Two Sickles says Ominis ends up on his arse," Anne muttered.

Sebastian let out a single, hysterical laugh. "I'll happily take that bet."

"Thanks, Anne," muttered Ominis.

"Thanks, Anne!" you chirruped.

She was right though. For someone who'd only just learnt Protego, your ego was inflated. He had been holding back because he didn't want to injure you, nor your pride, but there was a fine line between that and arrogance. He raised his wand in your direction, preparing a list of spells to use.

"Duellists, bow!" Sebastian called.

He dipped his head. Presumably you dipped yours.

"Ready?" Anne called. "And... go!"

"Impedimenta!"

"Pro— eeek!" You rolled out of the way. "Wait— let me think— Stupefy!"

The spell skimmed his ear. Well. That was unexpected.

"Accio!"

"Protego!"

A great block. You squealed delightedly.

"That's it, Gibby!" yelled Anne.

"Flatten her, Ominis!" yelled Sebastian.

Ominis scoffed. "Impedimenta!"

You parried the blow again, retaliating with your own. He was starting to enjoy the competition, the fierceness of your pushback. You traded blow for blow with him, soon finding a rhythm that worked for you.

Sweat was collecting on his brow. "Diffindo!"

You cried out then, a wild howl, and crumpled to the ground.

"Nice!" called Sebastian.

Ominis smiled.

"Gibby?"

You didn't respond. You didn't move.

Horror washed over him – he hadn't meant to hit you so hard... he only wanted to graze!

Panicking, he ran over, robes fluttering. "I— I'm so sorry—"

"Flipendo!"

Suddenly he was gyrating through the air, spinning and helpless—

"Arresto Momentum!"

Anne's spell prevented him from smacking his head. Instead, he plonked to the ground, unharmed. Then you were standing above him, clapping, jumping with joy.

"Hahah, you fell for my trick! You did!"

He grunted, sore. "It was... clever."

A mistake. You let it fuel your slightly maniacal laugh.

"I am undefeatable! Unstoppable! Un... Un-attackable!"

"That's not a word." Still he filled with pride and got to his feet. "Well done."

"Yeah, good show, Gibby. Now you won't fail DADA miserably," said Anne. Then she coughed. "Looks like someone owes me two Sickles."

Sebastian grumbled and placed the tinkling coins in her hand.

"I have you all to thank," you said, humbler now. "I will carry these lessons forever, Professor Sallow, Professor Sallow... and Professor Gaunt."

But that wasn't end of them. From then, Ominis didn't underestimate you. He duelled you again and again, testing you, noting your mistakes, but he'd learnt from his own – not to fall for your trickery again. For any trickery. It gave him a sense of peace to know, should the time come, you could hold your own now.

A time, Ominis anticipated, that would come sooner rather than later.

"Where are you going?"

His and Sebastian's clashing ideas had been left unspoken, like shattered glass left on the ground between them, neither willing to pick up the pieces.

"I don't like the accusation in your tone, Ominis," said his friend, shunting another article of clothing into a bag. Their dorm was empty, a rare moment for a Friday morning. "I'm just going to visit Anne for the weekend. That's all."

But Ominis wasn't stupid – he heard the clinking of glass, the sharp, clinical scent of dittany. Who packed Wiggenweld Potion for a weekend home? It honed his suspicions immediately.

"I see," he said at last. "When do you plan to go?"

"Tomorrow morning, after breakfast."

"May I come along? I haven't seen Anne in a while."

But Sebastian was hesitant. "I'm sorry. I just... don't think it's a good idea."

Ominis relented. For now. When he left the dorm, he summoned the house owl with a click of his fingers. For once, he didn't give a damn if he got caught – this was something too worrying to go through the discreet channels with you. He had the Quick-Quotes Quill scribble the note.

Wooden Bridge, 6pm. Urgent.

At six o'clock, during the feast, he was there, waiting, leaning against the crooked panelling and let the biting wind chop across his hair and face. The air was parched today, snow impending but hesitant to fall. Even stacked in layers, a chill ran through him.

He heard the tell-tale clop of your boots, hurrying to meet him. Your breaths came out in shuddering pants.

"What's wrong?" you asked at once. In public, yet you didn't care, coming right up to him, halting a hand's reach away. "Are you hurt?"

"No," he said. "I'm sorry to call you out here, but it's Sebastian."

"Is he hurt?"

"I think he's about to do something stupid," he murmured. "And reckless."

You sighed. "I would have so many Galleons if I bet on him doing something stupid and reckless."

A fair point, but it was especially poignant now. After the argument, the feeling of trust in his friend had eroded. Now that trust was pocked with holes, and those holes were quickly filling with suspicion.

"Have you seen Missy?"

"Today? We did some homework during our morning free period. I asked her if she wanted to finish it tonight, but she said she was going to pack for Irondale. She's going there for the weekend – some catacombs, I think, to pay respects."

Irondale wasn't far from Feldcroft.

It seemed to click for you at the same time.

"You don't think— the relic—"

"I do," muttered Ominis. "In fact, I have a feeling I know where they're going." His heart thundered. "You said she was leaving tomorrow?"

"Yep."

"Have you seen her since this morning?"

You hesitated. So that was a no. Sebastian hadn't been around since the morning either.

They've already left.

You stomped your foot. "Oh, sugar, honey, iced tea!"

"... What?"

"Sugar, honey— never mind, Muggle thing. What do we do?"

"We have to go after them. If they've had a break-through with the artefact, it could put them in grave danger."

"But if they left earlier today, they could be there by now!"

He struggled to think. "Then we fly."

"We— fly?"

"Do you have a better idea?"

"But, Ominis— I'm a terrible flier! Madam Kogawa has made me take first year classes every year!"

He wanted to reach for you, to imbue you with confidence. Flying was your weak point, he knew. You loved the sensation – not so much the control it required.

"It has to be you. I can't navigate." He didn't want to push you, but this time he insisted. The stakes were too great. "If we don't do this... Sebastian and Missy..."

"I know," you said, defeated. "Ugh, okay. Meet me at the end of the bridge. I'll get a school broom."

It took you little over ten minutes, to rush to the front lawns and snag a broom from the cupboards. He heard the one you chose guttering over the horizon, shakily hovering to a stop next to him. You took his sleeve.

"I really think this is a bad idea. What if— what if we crash?"

"We won't crash."

"What if you plummet off the side and I can't catch you?"

"I won't plummet."

"What if Ranrok's loyalists shoot us down?"

"They won't spot us."

"... You're suspiciously optimistic."

"I'm moderately realistic," he corrected. "We don't have time to waste."

"Okay." Your grip wavered, even as you guided him to the broom. "Hop on."

It was a sudden hesitation that gripped him then, stuffed cotton down his throat. Because he hadn't considered how, exactly, he would be travelling. That for this to work, he would have to share a broom with you, holding onto your waist for support.

He swallowed, though his mouth was dry, and settled over the broom shaft. Already you were close – too close for him to fathom, the scent of strawberry laces suppressing the billows of pine and lake waters that swept in from the south. His fingers hovered, mere centimetres away from your waist. Even the brush of your coat was enough to drive his mind to catatonia.

"Are you, erm," you said shyly, "are you going to hold on?"

"Y-yes," he choked out stupidly, "right."

He reached around, looping his arms around you, pulling you close. Your back fit neatly against his chest, your heat and warmth abolishing the cold, your head tucking beneath his chin, a swathe of your hair under his nose. Already he was nervous, already he gnawed with worry for Sebastian and Missy, and yet this was the moment he almost unravelled. You were his safety. You were the wind beneath him, buoyant and uplifting.

"Hold tight," you mumbled, voice a vibration through his own chest, which only made him even more delirious. "Three, two—"

You pushed with your legs, sending you both cracking into the air. Stomach yanking down to his legs, his grip cinched, and he cried out as you shot them upwards so fast he didn't get to take a breath. You were hitting max speed too quickly. Wind churned around his ears, sluiced along his toes – you might have yelled something that he couldn't understand.

You steadied the broom, levelling them with the horizon, but he didn't dare loosen his grip. Flying was terrifying, and magnificent, and it was twice as terrifying and magnificent with you.

"Merlin's beard, Gibby! Slow down!"

"S-Sorry!" you called, fear and exhilaration evident. "I'm going right. Brace yourself!"

You leant starboard, and he leant with you. Now that you were pulling on the shaft, the broom slowed to a decent pace, enough that he could hear the sky. The distant rush of train and trees, the snake of the river that ribboned through the valley, a humming thread. Wind, carding through his clothes. He rested his chin on you, and your hair curled against his face, each tendril like a cat's tail, flickering and restlessness.

A thought came to him, unbidden. What would it be like to kiss the top of your head? To draw the hair away from your neck, and place his lips there too? Desire burned through him, drunk on adrenaline and nerves, and he had to clench his jaw to dispel the feelings.

Now was not the time. In fact, there was no time when such thoughts were appropriate.

Yet they came to him nonetheless.

"W-We're going between Irondale and Feldcroft," he pushed out through gritted teeth, through his useless feelings. "South of the mountain peak!"

He feared landing with you even more than take-off, but by some miracle, you managed to shakily jettison them between a cluster of trees, on an even patch of grass. The ground came up hard though, and he took the brunt in his knees, crying out as he fell to the side, the handle tangled between his legs. You stumbled off the broom into a patch of honking daffodils.

"Ack— Gibby?"

"I'm okay!" you chanted, voice pilfered by the tooting flowers. "Just bruised my bum! You?"

"I bruised my everything."

"... Touché."

You came over, sliding the broom from beneath him and helping him to stand. The touch was innocent, and yet your hand in his, with the flight fresh in his mind, hyper-aware of the proximity of you, stoked his cheeks to flames and his heart to a marching drumbeat.

You let go almost instantly, but it was enough.

"Well," you said, "that wasn't so bad."

"We almost died," he muttered. "Twice."

"My lowest record yet, so be grateful. Are we close?"

He withdrew his wand, and the scenery fell into place in his mind. The evergreen honeysuckle, dotting the nearby dirt paths, wending through the uneven terrain of the countryside. A flash of hard, callous stone. A funny taste of smoke and ash, like an unpleasant bonfire. Strange. Nonetheless, you were close – very close, in fact, that he recognised the nearest stretch of fencing, leading towards the Feldcroft Catacombs.

"It's just south of here," he said. "Let's go."

When you reached the cave entrance, the great stone wall had been moved. Someone was already inside, and casting Revelio showed that it was not too late, that the footsteps before you were fresh. You propped the broom aside and went to go in, but he reached for you, held you for a moment – that stupid feeling stirred within him again.

"Wait. Let's— let's think. I don't think it's a good idea they see us."

"Why?"

Truthfully, he didn't know. Perhaps it was only to see what they were doing. Perhaps it was only so he could have you to himself, just a little longer.

"We ought to be cautious," he amended.

You gasped, suddenly excited. "Ominis Gaunt... are you suggesting a stealth mission?"

"Hardly," he retorted. "Let's just— keep our distance."

"Okay." But you were practically bouncing. "We have to catch up to them first. We'll need to be quick."

"Lead the way."

So you closed your hand in his, and led him inside.

The way was dark and cold, a bone-deep sort of eeriness. You cast Lumos, and he did too, to help you see. Together you ran across the dust-ridden earth, over bones and rat droppings and the splattered blood of spiders, pricking the air with a tangy note. You shuddered when a few of the babies crawled into view, but it seemed that Sebastian and Missy had cleared the larger ones out.

Still, you didn't let your fears daunt you. It was quite something to feel your determination, vibrating through your touch, the tremble that went through you as you held his hand to guide him. It gave him courage and might, especially when the quiet sank deeply into him, an omen of trouble to come.

Only at the heart of the catacomb did familiar snippets of voice quell the silence.

"They're close," he whispered to you.

You cast Disillusionment, and he quickly followed. Your boots steps were light, but still the ground crunched. It was enough to let them pursue, closer and closer, until the voices crystallised.

"The relic must be nearby," Sebastian was saying – the desperation in his voice was like nothing Ominis had ever heard before. "I can feel it."

Missy tsked. "Stay focused. I believe there's another chamber ahead – and we have yet to face any of the matriarchs."

"Bet they'll be thrilled when they find their friends dead."

They hurried ahead – you followed.

"Thank you," Sebastian said suddenly. You stopped, causing Ominis to bump into the back of you. "Thank you for doing this."

"It's nothing."

"Nothing? You're risking your life for me, and for Anne."

She didn't reply.

"Why?" he asked into the brazen silence, surprise tinting his voice. "Why are you helping me? I know you partway agree with Ominis, and you barely know Anne. You barely know me."

"Can I not help anyway?"

"No one wants for nothing."

Missy was quiet a moment.

"Perhaps. I'm not entirely altruistic."

"So?" he asked again. "What's your price?"

And she said, "Redemption," like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Redemption?" you muttered to Ominis, at the same time Sebastian said, "Redemption for what?"

But Missy simply scuffed a rock. "Come, we're nearly at the end."

Intense and guarded indeed. You crept forwards on light feet, and Ominis dogged your heel, unsure what to make of the conversation.

There wasn't time to dwell when the spiders descended, great hulking beasts that shook the ground, all the way through his feet. He felt you stiffen beneath your grip – the sight of them must've been terrifying.

"T-There's so many—"

Still, Sebastian and Missy had charged in, spilling enemy blood against the walls.

"S-Should we help them?" you asked.

Ominis hesitated. "No. Perhaps— perhaps it will deter them."

But of course it didn't. The spiders kept coming, vicious wave after vicious wave, and yet, Sebastian and Missy's resolve never puddled.

"Depulso!"

Missy sent the spider soaring. Unfortunately, it landed on its feet.

Right next to you.

Disillusionment wasn't strong enough so close. The creature heckled, then screeched, sucking up venom through its body, guttering, preparing to shoot—

"No, look out!" you yelled.

It spat venom and you shoved him, hard against the ground. The concealment broke, but the venom hissed against the rock face where his head had been.

"Sorry— it was going to hurt you—"

"No time." He got to his feet, helped you and readied his wand. "Ready?"

"Can't really say no." Then, loudly and brashly, "Confringo!"

The spell blasted the spider backwards. Despite your terrible fear of spiders and insects, you ran into the fray and zapped another off its perch above. Pride reared through him again. That duelling practice, all those years ago, had not been for nought.

"Gibby?" Sebastian yelled. Then, with even more shock, "Ominis?"

"Less talking, more blasting!" he said.

One by one, the spiders were felled. It seemed endless, the onslaught – when one died, three more would surface their way up to take its place. He worried for you, panicked nearly, but remembered to trust you to defend yourself. In fact, you all shielded one another, in tune like an orchestra, thrumming to each other's beat. Sebastian's Exploding charms gave you the opportunity to flee when you were overwhelmed. Missy froze the spiderlings to let Ominis deal with the mothers. Then there were moments he couldn't explain – moments where even magic didn't seem to be the answer. Explosions like lightning, striking down their shrieking enemies, the air charged with a sharp tang of it. Always it followed Missy like a storm cloud, she its wild epicentre.

"Ominis," she called, "watch out!"

The spider had been in front of him – he was certain of it. But suddenly it was not, and Missy was stomping down, crushing shell and bone beneath her boot. How, when it is twice the size of me?

He let the questions fester until the spiders were all dead. Hot breath escaped him in shallow bites, there was foreign blood splattered on his front, and his arm was sore from casting so much, so frantically – but he was alive, and so were you, and Sebastian and Missy.

"What..." Sebastian managed a long breath. "What the hell are you two doing here?"

It was the offence he took that boiled Ominis' blood.

"I could very well ask you the same thing," he snapped back, advancing on Sebastian. "You told me you were going to see Anne!"

Still, Sebastian did the unthinkable.

He turned away.

"I knew it. You are here for the relic!" Ominis yelled. "Don't you dare, Sebastian—"

"Or what?" Sebastian challenged, swinging back to face him. "Why are you so determined to stop me? To stop me from helping Anne?"

"Because you are losing yourself! Because the Dark Arts seem harmless until it is too late."

"Anne is in pain every damn day!"

"A Dark artefact will. Not. Work!" His wand hand shook. "It will not reverse the curse and it will require a sacrifice too steep to pay!"

"You haven't tried! You can't possibly know what will happen!" He laughed suddenly. "Your family is broken, Ominis. You don't understand what it's like for me to fight for mine."

He was enraged, but a new feeling came swooping in, extinguishing and final. Hurt.

"That... that is a low blow—"

"Wait," Missy said, perturbingly cool. "Let's not argue."

"Yes," you agreed at once. "We can compromise."

"And you?" Sebastian scoffed at you. "Are you going to stop me, even though you love Anne too? Are you going to side with Ominis because you always do?"

Your reply was injured. "T-There are no sides, Sebastian—"

"If you're going to stop me, then there are sides!" he bellowed. Ominis heard the wooden whip of his wand. "I'm taking that relic. So step aside."

Ominis gripped his wand tightly.

"I will not."

"Stop," snapped Missy, and this time, she was no longer composed. She was firm, commanding. "We're not fighting. That's absurd."

"Only one of us gets our way," Sebastian muttered. "Are you going to strike me, Ominis? Are you?"

"Sebastian, go stand over there. Cool off, for goodness sake." Suddenly someone hooked Ominis' arm – Missy, dragging him away. "You, with me. Gibby—"

But you were already heading towards Sebastian. Ominis hoped you were talking it out, telling him why it was a bad idea – he had to trust that you could convince him.

He yanked off Missy's grip. "You can't seriously think taking that relic—"

"I know it's risky," Missy hissed at him, "but Sebastian has made up his mind. There's no convincing him otherwise. I tried."

"Not hard enough!"

"He's relentless, Ominis. The only thing we can do now is to let it play out, and minimise the consequences."

It was so ridiculous he laughed. "What was it you said you sought? Redemption?" He flung the word back at her. "Tell me, how does encouraging Dark Magic redeem you?"

By the elongated pause, he'd cracked through her impervious armour.

"How did you—?" Then, he was met with cold steel. "My reasons are my own and not for you to know. I'm trying to take the middle path here, but you're both being impossible."

"I'm trying to stop him making a stupid mistake!"

"And are you willing to ruin your friendship over it?"

His next words rammed themselves back down his throat.

Because the answer was no. He wasn't.

"Ominis," and he hated how perfectly reasonable she sounded, "there will be no talking him out of this. He is beyond reasoning now. So you either step aside, or fight. Your choice."

He knew what it was like to steep in the Dark Arts. He understood its allure, its false promises. Yet even so, he couldn't possibly let these years slip through his fingers like sand. He couldn't possibly release all the joy and jokes, the laughter, the pranks and brotherly love shared between the two of them. Sebastian was an anchor in the perpetual raging sea of Ominis' life. Anne had already been taken from him too soon, and you were teetering close to the edge, risking so much with his family's hatred encroaching you.

If Ominis lost Sebastian, he lost everything.

"You—" Anguish tore him from within. "I... I will step aside."

"A wise choice."

"But I will not stop fighting for him. I won't."

She didn't reply. She merely called Sebastian over to the relic, which fell into her pocket for safe-keeping, and then they were leaving.

"For what it's worth," Sebastian said as he passed on the way out, voice broken with his own hurt, "I... I'm sorry we can't agree on this."

Ominis didn't respond.

They left.

He was alone with you.

There was nothing to say, nothing that could be said. He felt his chest breaking, fracturing into pieces, slowly but surely taking his resolve down until it was lying in dereliction before him. A lump that had swollen in his throat became painful.

Why? he wondered. Why does the darkness haunt me so?

You didn't have to say anything. You simply took his hands in yours, rubbed your thumb over his trembling knuckles.

And he fell into your arms, and cried.

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[aesopsharpmybeloved]

A Good Morning, Indeed

Reader decides to wake up Professor Sharp in the most pleasant way...

A tiny little pwp fic. As always, huge thanks to the best girls @tea-withjamandbreadand and @dzajna for being there for me and providing me with feedback on my silly endeavours.

18+ GO AWAY CHILDREN

A Good Morning, Indeed (2.5k words)

tw: explicit sexual content, oral sex (male)

Your closed eyes furrowed a bit further in an attempt to keep the bright morning light out of them. You were rather certain you were having a dream mere moments ago, but as your slumber slowly faded into consciousness, the dream was swiftly forgotten like fog on a dreary morning once the sun rises and its warmth whisks it away. Your mouth opened wide as a yawn rolled through you, and you used the fingers of your right hand to wipe the remnants of sleep out of your eyes.

Opening them finally, a smile appeared on your face, soft and tender, just like the embrace in which you were reclining. Aesop Sharp slept soundly beside you, his face relaxed, brows unfurrowed, lips slightly open to allow the occasional snore to escape, prompting you to stifle in a giggle. 

The professor was always handsome in your opinion, no matter the situation. When he taught, he had this mysterious allure to him, his voice, as sharp as his name, cutting through the dimness of his dungeon classroom in a way you found intriguing at first, and maddeningly irresistible after he began pulling at your heartstrings. When he duelled, he was a force of nature, destructive and unforgiving like a tempest, face locked in concentration and focus as he sent spell after spell at his adversary. He was concentrated and focused when he brewed too, but it was a different kind of focus, a gentler one, and if one looked close enough, they’d see the absolute peace in his eyes as he masterfully chopped up the needed ingredients, or meticulously swirled the stirrer inside the cauldron. He was in his element then, completely content. 

However, you were one of the very few who got to witness different sides of Aesop. Like when he drew, his digits blackened by charcoal, the pink tip of his tongue occasionally peeking out from behind his lips, and his thumb often coming to view as he checked whether he got the proportions in his sketch right. You were also one of very few to have his loving gaze directed at you, the dark eyes soft with emotion and so very inviting, pupils stretching wide at the mere sight of your smile, and so, so much wider at the simplest touch of your hand. 

And you were the only woman to have the utmost privilege of seeing him like he was now, at his most vulnerable, barely dressed and sound asleep, his wand lying atop the bedside table, and soft puffs of air leaving his lips with every exhale. His hair was spread on the pillow like a dark halo, and you found the little bit of dried drool at the corner of his mouth frankly adorable.

Oh, but one part of him was very much awake, as you suddenly came to realise…

Your face spread into a grin, and you moved your leg slightly, using it to press against the hardness concealed by his drawers. A small murmur left the teacher’s open lips, but his sleep remained otherwise unbothered. The smile hadn’t left your lips as you carefully slid your hand down his body, mindful not to wake him, as that would surely put a damper on the idea that just popped up into your head. You propped yourself up on your elbow and leaned your head against your free hand to be able to watch him better.

You lovingly caressed the skin of his arm, shoulder, chest… Your fingers fondly combed through the dark hair on his breasts before moving to gently brush against his nipples. They strayed further then, and followed the line of hair leading down his sternum to his belly, soft skin and the slightest bit of pudge atop firm muscle. Aesop sniffed but remained fast asleep when a cheeky finger poked at his belly button. Your hand then carefully snuck past the hem of his drawers.

There was a small change in his breathing when your nimble digits slid through the trail of hair leading to Aesop’s need, his lower belly fluttering deliciously under the teasing touch. As they danced just above the hot erection straining the professor’s underwear, Aesop turned on his back. For a minute, you were worried he had woken, but other than loosely closing one hand around the sheets next to him, Aesop’s eyes remained closed and his breathing even, if the tiniest bit faster than before.

Smiling at your lover’s face, you plunged under the covers and made a swift journey down his body until you were face to face with the tent in his pants. Slowly, your fingers curled around the hem, and pulled at it. The aching cock sprung out from inside, and, though muffled, you could hear a small gasp coming from its owner.

It was a bit dark here under the blanket, but you could just make out Aesop’s length standing proudly and throbbing gently every now and then, his pink tip partially hidden by foreskin, the few defined veins begging for your attention. And attention they would receive.

But first, you very carefully slid the blanket down until it rested just below your shoulders, wanting to look at your lover and make sure he didn't wake up too early.

Aesop’s cheeks were pink and mouth opened a bit more, chest rising and falling with each breath he took. You stuck your tongue out, and licked a long stripe starting at his base, then moving up over his underside until you reached the glans, playfully probing at the slit. His breath hitched again, and his hand closed tighter around the sheets. 

You took your sweet time toying with the tip, running your tongue around it like it was a lolly and lovingly watching Aesop’s reactions. He went from slightly quicker breathing to making an occasional soft sound, both of his hands now flexing around whatever it was they were able to grip, and whenever your devilish tongue dipped under the soft tissue of his foreskin, his head buried further back into the pillow.

Finally you began to take him into your mouth, at first just sucking on the head, your movements completely unhurried and incredibly gentle.

You knew that if Aesop was to wake, he would not just let you finish him off like this, not unless he was able to pleasure you as well, the gentleman that he was. He enjoyed your mouth plenty, always full of praise, hand stroking your hair, but found it difficult to just lie back and enjoy you sucking him off from start to finish, so you hoped to be able to bring him too close to his peak to stop you before he woke up.

It was a real shame he didn’t let you do this more often, you thought, as you absolutely loved the way he and his pleasure were entirely under your control. You thought he was simply irresistible when he tried to hold himself back, but everything about him looked ready to snap, ready to just hold your head while he chased his gratification in the hot depths of your mouth. You relaxed your neck, and let him slide in deeper, his musky scent filling your nostrils and making you aware of the starting dampness between your legs.

His hips twitched when you managed to take in all of him, your nose buried in the dark hair on his pubic bone, your saliva escaping from where your lips were stretched around his heavy prick, and a moan left the potions professor. You stayed like this for a while, just breathing deeply, letting him throb lightly in your mouth. When you swallowed around him, Aesop moaned again, and you felt the bitter taste of precum.

It was getting progressively more difficult to keep your ministrations slow and gentle in order not to wake him, especially with Aesop looking the way he did. You released him out of your mouth momentarily, but almost right away replaced your lips with your hand, using the slickness of your saliva on the cock to slide your palm up and down along it smoothly. You watched your beloved with a smile on your face, your enjoyment immense.

Aesop’s face was much more flushed than before, and a light sheen of sweat appeared on his skin. Oh, you wondered how far you’d be able to take this, what all you were able to get away with before he inevitably woke up, but also how much longer would you be able to bear doing this until you needed to see to your own need. The teacher was throbbing in your small hand, beads of crystal clear fluid seeping out of his slit. 

Maybe you could bring him to his release like this, a nice slow rhythm just gradually building up his pleasure until his hips twitched for the last time and he leisurely spilled into your hand or mouth, maybe still on that line between slumber and consciousness. 

However, while you did like this idea quite a bit, you decided to keep it for another day. Right now you were feeling rather too aroused, and decided it’d be quite more thrilling to have him come to all desperate and aching to cum.

And so you lowered your mouth down onto him again, this time taking him fully in a single swift plunge, a louder moan rolling from his lips as he was once more entirely enveloped by your wet warmth. You began to bob your head up and down his shaft in a faster rhythm, sucking him on every upwards stroke, and letting your teeth graze him every now and then.

“Oh, f-fuck!” he cried suddenly, and his dark eyes opened, unfocused and hazy from pleasure. It took him a moment to gather his wits about him and look down to realise what you were doing, but when he did, his head fell back again and his fingers again closed around the crumpled up sheets in a vice grip. 

“Wh-what are you-” he tried pitifully, his voice high and breathy, but wasn’t able to finish speaking on account of sharp gasp as you swallowed around him again, your hands doing their best to hold his buckling hips down. One of them left its position in order to gently knead at his tightening bollocks, looking for that special little spot behind them that drove Aesop absolutely wild. 

“A-ah-” came a broken moan from above, and you looked up, slightly cross-eyed, to see your lover had his eyes screwed shut, his brows turned upwards, one hand roughly running through his own hair. You raised your head up and off him, wanting him to look at you. He looked positively delicious like this, so painfully hard, and for once allowing himself to get lost in his pleasure. After a minute, during which his laboured breathing slowed down the tiniest little bit, he finally opened his eyes to look at you.

You couldn’t help but grin when those beautiful brown eyes of his, blown impossibly wide with arousal, met your own, and then fluttered when you licked another long line over the now continuously leaking shaft, dark lashes fanning across red cheeks. You decided you tortured him for long enough, not to mention the ache between your own legs was begging you to get on with it. Quickly, you took him back in and started working him in earnest, the tips of your fingers finally finding that little sweet spot they were looking for, and pressing against it firmly.

Aesop nearly howled with pleasure and urgency, his head once more arching back, his hips thrusting up to meet you, heels digging into the mattress below, and legs pushing the forgotten blanket further away and off the bed entirely. His hand suddenly landed on your head, calloused fingers closing around a fistful of your hair, lightly pushing on your head on every downward movement. You felt him throb heavily in your throat, his balls drawing up, his hand trembling slightly.

He moaned your name, the rhythm of his hips staggering: “S-sweetheart, I’m g-going to-...” 

You doubled down your efforts, each sound that now freely rolled out from his lips spurring you on, making you take him faster, suck harder, massage his perineum with your finger in the same rhythm, and reduce the strong former Auror into a sweating, moaning mess. The room was filled with a cacophony of wet noises, heavy breathing, and Aesop’s desperate sounds. And when his hand in your hair was joined by the other one, you knew he was done for. 

You relaxed your mouth and throat, and instead braced both your hands next to his thrashing hips, letting him fuck your mouth as he wished in pursue of his orgasm. Aesop harshly filled you one, two, three times, his glans dragging over the back of your throat, and your eyes watering with the effort of holding your gag reflex at bay. 

You managed to open and focus your eyes to look at your lover, just as his back arched and a final, guttural moan left his damp lips. Just then your throat was flooded with his bitter cum in several large spurts, making you once more swallow around him as he rode out his release, his legs shaking where they were bent at the knees at each side of you. Finally, Aesop’s straining body went limp on the bed, his breathing ragged and uneven, his hands releasing your head from their grasp, and his head lolling off to the side. 

You used your tongue to gently lick him clean, making him whine with oversensitivity, before you let his softening prick out of your mouth entirely with a soft pop. With a grin of a cat with seven canaries in her paw on your slightly swollen lips, you began your ascent up his body, pressing soft kisses to his skin on the way, his belly, sternum, each pectoral, collarbones, your tongue darting out to taste the sweat-dampened skin.

You finally reached his mouth and gently ravished it. The teacher immediately yielded to your tongue, tasting himself on you. 

“Good morning, love,” you chirped happily, combing your fingers through his messy hair. 

“Merlin’s beard, good morning, indeed,” he replied breathlessly before finally opening his eyes to look at you. He chuckled weakly when he saw your smug little smile, arms wrapping around your waist and holding you close: “Well, that certainly beat the old alarm clock, that’s for sure…”

You rested in each other’s arms for a while, Aesop’s heartbeat slowly returning to normal, his arms growing tighter around your body, your lips meeting for more kisses. And, after one such kiss, long and ardent, you looked deep into his eyes, a content smile on your face. “So, Professor Sharp,” you asked softly, “what are your plans for today?” The teacher gave you his own grin, suddenly toothy and wild, and it made you remember the forgotten ache between your legs.

“Oh, I’m quite certain we shall think of something,” he promised, his voice low and hungry. You squeaked involuntarily when you were suddenly flipped onto your back, your thighs roughly parted by a pair of strong hands: “but first, I think I’ll have some breakfast, if you don’t mind.”

Oh, you did not mind at all…

Hello! I hope you enjoyed reading this silly little thing! You can check this and my other stories over on my AO3. Feedback heals my soul ❤

[dailyadventureprompts]

Scragglmop the Destroyer

Once feared throughout the land, a great and terrible dragon grew tired of being endlessly hunted for his hoard and faked his death with the aid of a glory-hungry gnomish bard. Living on for centuries in the guise of a street cat, the dragon is now a hair's breadth from resuming his rampaging ways after the bard's descendants have lost the fortune he gave over to them for safe keeping.

Adventure Hooks:

A series of unexplained fires has wracked the city in recent weeks, which has both the guard and the populace on edge. Rumours swirl blaming arsonists, saboteurs from a rival kingdom, even an illegal duelling society of mages, but none have yet put it together that all of the workshops and businesses were all patronized in one way or another by the famed Candlebright noble family.

Coincidentally, Hignatta Candlebright, young head of that same noble house has sent an invitation to the party to join her at a famed teahouse to discuss a delicate matter involving the retrieval of stolen property. Hignatta has all but taken over the teahouse and its guestrooms since her own family home burned down near the start of the panic, and the party might begin to draw a connection when half way through their meeting the teahouse begins to fill with smoke, panicking patrons, and a booming, sourceless voice that demands "WHERE IS MY GOLD, CANDLEBRIGHT?!"

If you really want to mess with the party, consider introducing them to the fluffy street cat completely independently of the arson plot, making a nuisance of himself in the market while they're trying to shop, or catching mice in their store-room should they have acquired a residence in town. Have them befriend the cat as they might any bad-tempered stray, only to realize after the adventure is half way through that the mice he catches are always somewhat charred. Also imagine the looks on their faces the moment the party's home is broken into by an enemy and their housecat incinnerates a wave of intruders for disturbing his nap.

Background: Everyone knows the story about how the legendary hero Gailen Candlebright saved the realm from the tyrannical dragon Slaggrath, a beast known to devour whole armies and raze kingdoms in search of treasure. It's the ubiquitous tale against which all adventurers are measured against, made all the more ubiquitous thanks to the fact that the deed is memorialized in drinking ballads, children rhymes, and even a few folk operas. Gailen was a troubadour of not insignificant skill before he became a legend, and he had little trouble using that skill and hardwon fame to ensure his deeds would never be forgotten.

As with many tales told by the bards, Gailen left out quite a bit of the truth when concocting his tale: It was a late night in a roadside tavern and the young Candlebright was approached by a sourfaced man with a tangled beard and clothes that might have once been quite fine. Gailen had sung for his supper and then some, his hat was overflowing with tips from a long night's work and a greatful crowd, and the old man wanted to know how it was exactly that the Gnome hadn't yet been robbed; The roads were full of all sorts of rough types who thought that their strength entitled them to others' wealth, bandits yes but worse yet kingsmen, who took what they wanted sure that that they were above any kind punishment.

Seeing that the old man had fallen on rough times, likely having been robbed himself, Gailen spoke from the heart: He'd been robbed a few times yes, but he got by looking like someone that no one would bother to steal from, dressing in his fine clothes only on days he'd perform, and keeping most of his riches in the safe keeping of others, such as the caravan masters he frequently traveled along with.

The old man considered Gailen's words and the two sat up drinking through the night debating the merits of the Troubador's duplicity. Was it not better, asked the old man, to defend what was yours with strength and reputation, That everyone might learn from the failure of those that had trifled with you before?

Gailen looked at the many scars the old man bore and countered that fools never learned their lesson, they just thought themselves better than the last fool who risked it and they'd keep risking it till luck won out or they went to join all the fools that had come before.

It was dawn when the two parted ways, Gailen tottering off to bed thinking he'd given council to a reformed bandit chief, the old man slipping out of the inn and taking to wing thinking he'd concocted a brilliant scheme with the help of his newest, and perhaps first, friend.

i was a week (and one pants-shitting revelation over the old man's true draconic nature) later that the legend of Slaggrath came to an end: Gailen walking into that very same tavern bloodied, burnt, and with the broken off horn of the great wyrm held above his head as a trophy. The news spread like wildfire, the name Candlebright ascended to the shortlist of the realm's great champions, and not a soul questioned when the newly knighted Gailen comissioned the construction of an elaborate series of vaults beneith the castle he'd just been awarded. The bard had everything he wanted, and in return he and his family would hold the dragon's horde in trust, not touching a single copper and adding a little to it each year out of respect for the wyrm's generosity.

Future Adventures:

Even before he charmed his way into unexpected riches, Gailen was an ardent follower of Garl Glittergold, god of ambition, wit, and wariness. Genresavvy bard that he was, he understood that this fabulous windfall wasn't just some gift from his god, it was a test, and that to keep his good fortune going he'd best abide by the exact deal he'd struck in that tavern. Gailen kept Slaggrath's treasure under lock and key all his life and made sure his children did the same despite never telling them where he got it, in accordance with his pact with the dragon . Feeling that the Candlebright family has sat on its laurels for far too long (especially since practical and buisness minded Hignatta has been increasingly questioning why her late grandfather insisted on keeping a giant pile of money in their basement and never spending it), the god has seen fit to shake things up, ensuring that some long lost blueprints for the vault have fallen into the hands of a group of thieves, who broke in and cleared the vault though the very same secret passages Slaggrath used to pop in every decade or so and make sure the count was up to date. The dragon is pissed, convinced Hignatta has reneged on her family's deal.. and all the while the thieves get closer and closer to escaping.

Depending on how the party handles it this situation could break bad in any number of ways: The dragon could give up on being Scragglmop and go on a rampage forcing the party to put him down, they could intercede on Hignatta's behalf and ensure the treasure is returned possibly earning themselves a cushy position as retainers of house Candlebright, perhaps most dangerously they could earn the attention of Garl Glittergold himself and end up being singled out for their own unstable blessing.

In addition to being motivated by the prerequisite desire to get rich, the thieves were hired by an ambitious mage who has long desired to get his hands on Gailen's Horn, the draconic trophy the bard thereafter used as the sigil for his house and hollowed out into a heavy instrument through which he channelled his most showy magic. The mage has designs on the horn as the centrepiece of a ritual drawing on the object's history of power and triumph. Given that the horn is in fact the centrepiece of a giant con it's going to bring some very unaccounted for variables into the mage's ritual which is liable to set off its own chain of problems down the line.

Art

[buckysburnout]

chemtrails over the country club ☆ sebastian sallow x f!reader

summary: you and sebastian have always understood each other better than anyone else.

a/n: based on chemtrails over the country club by lana del rey!

warnings: none i think, just a lot of fluff + you and seb have lots of unresolved trauma, mc is a flirt

i’m on the run, with you my sweet love, there’s nothing wrong contemplating god, under the chemtrails over the country club

running through the highlands to fight goblins with sebastian shouldn’t have you feeling this exhilarated. fighting ranrok’s loyalists fills you both with a sense of purpose. yours being the final end goal of saving the wizarding world from another war, and sebastian’s being to get his revenge for anne.

no, fighting loyalists or poachers with anyone else didn’t excite you as much as it did with sebastian, because there was so much more to it for both of you. sebastian had introduced you to the world of duelling, and had practiced with you in the undercroft, poring over books and different wand movements.

“you coming y/n?” sebastian was standing a few feet ahead of you, and pulled you out of your thoughts as he questioned you.

his brown hair was tousled from the wind and the running, and his freckled cheeks were slightly pink. he looked like an angel, and you never wanted to look away.

“right behind you seb, you know your legs are longer than mine.” you smiled at him and jogged to catch up with him.

“race you to the next encampment love!”

you laughed as he started running ahead of you, shaking your head at his childish antics. yes, running with sebastian was definitely better than with anyone else.

meet you for coffee, at the elementary school, we laugh about nothing as the summer gets cool

the summer after you defeated ranrok, sebastian had disappeared to his (now empty) cottage in feldcroft. only you and ominis knew he was there, and that he had been doing yard work around the village all summer to make some money. ominis was still wary of being his friend, but you couldn’t just stay away. his sad face hadn’t left your mind since you had left hogwarts on the last day of term, and it was getting impossible to not run to him.

you had exchanged a few letters throughout july, just checking up on each other, making sure the other was staying out of trouble and getting enough to eat. you were staying in a room at the three broomsticks, courtesy of sirona ryan, and working a few days a week.

as august approached, it was getting harder and harder to stay away from him, so one day you told sirona that you were taking a week off to go stay with him. she was more than okay with it, and insisted you bring along some butterbeer to share.

sending him a short letter via owl, you packed your bag and took the nearest floo flame to feldcroft.

when you arrived in feldcroft, it didn’t take you long to spot him, as he was outside of his house chopping fire wood. your breath hitched as you looked at him, slightly sweaty, and definitely more muscular. his freckles were painted across his skin even more prominent with a summer tan.

“sebastian!” you called out to him, lugging your trunk with you as you crossed the path to his house.

his head shot up when he heard your voice, and the most genuine smile you had seen since the catacombs spread across his face.

he dropped his axe and ran to you, wrapping his arms around you and burying his head in your neck.

“i missed you so much.” his voice was thick, and you pulled away from him to cup his face in your hands.

“i missed you too sebastian, more than you know.” his arms didn’t leave your waist as he smiled down at you. after staring at each other for a few more seconds, he snapped out of his gaze and came to his senses.

“here let me get your trunk for you. i’ll bring it into the house and we can catch up.” he lifted your heavy trunk onto his shoulder with ease, and you had to restrain yourself from drooling at his display of strength.

once you had unpacked your things, you and sebastian sat down with your butterbeer from sirona.

“tell me everything you’ve been doing this past month seb, i’ve been so busy working at the three broomsticks i barely have time to write to anybody!”

so the night went on as you both talked and shared quiet laughs in the orange light of the sallow cottage, happy to be back in each others presence again.

i’m not bored or unhappy, i’m still so strange and wild, you’re in the wind, i’m in the water, nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter, watching the chemtrails over the country club

4 days had passed since you had arrived at the sallow cottage, and with each passing day, it was getting harder and harder to ignore the amount of feelings you had for the boy. you both had thrown around a fair few compliments and flirtatious remarks at each other throughout the week, and you decided that you could do this with him for the rest of your life. making breakfast together in the kitchen, walks around the trails near the village, and rolling around in the flowery meadows, pointing out different clouds and what they looked like.

it was all getting very domestic, and you were going to go crazy if by the end of the week you were still just friends.

today is the day you decided. the shameless flirting was already at an all time high, and you decided that today you were going to kick it up a notch.

sitting at a small table in the front yard of the house, you were watching him pull weeds out of the garden, his white shirt sleeves rolled up showing off his strong forearms.

“hey sebastian?”

he turned to look at you, wiping a few beads of sweat of his forehead. “yes love?”

“nothing, i just think you look very handsome today.” it was bold- you knew that, but you were past the point of caring. you knew no one else could ever make you feel how he made you feel.

he was blushing when you looked at him, a small smile on his face. he brushed his hands on his trousers and came to sit down beside you at the small table.

“you think so? because i think i’m covered in dirt and sweat and desperately need a bath.” he chuckled and his thigh brushed yours under the table.

“need any help with that?” you flirted, as you rested your hand on your cheek and leaned up to look at him through your lashes.

the flush on his face deepens, and he has to look away from your gaze or he just might explode.

“you are a terrible flirt, do you know that?” his voice is low but his eyes are swimming with a softness he saved only for you. “this whole week, i don’t think i’ve ever been more flustered.”

before you can open your mouth to retort, sebastian leans down and captures your lips with his. it’s soft and hesitant, and your shocked at first, but quickly throw your arms around his neck and kiss him back deeply. the kiss is needy and desperate, something that you both know should have happened a long time ago.

when you both pulled away for a breath, sebastian’s hand stayed in your hair at the back of your neck, and his forehead was pressed against yours.

“i’ve wanted to do that for so long, you have no idea.” he breathed.

“how long?” you asked him breathlessly, as you fought the urge to just kiss him again as much as you could.

“honestly? since you bested me in that duel at the beginning of the year. and pretty much any other time we were alone after that.”

“so you’re telling me we could’ve been doing that this whole time!?” you joked and he laughed heartily.

“we have all the time in the world to make up for it now love, don’t you worry.”

you gave him a loving smile, and leaned up to give him a soft peck on the lips. he smiled at you as your hand came up to rest on his muscular chest.

“why don’t we go run you a bath, and you can show me just how much you’ve wanted to do to me since that duel..”

sebastian didn’t need to be told twice as he grabbed your hand and all but dragged you into the house, shutting the door behind him quickly as possible.

the sound of your laughter filled the house as you both ran to get the bathing supplies.

yes, you both may have some unresolved issues, but as long as you were together, you knew you could get through it.

it’s never too late, baby, so don’t give up… under the chemtrails over the country club

[ohsunnyboy]

against everything | shen quanrui ˚₊‧⁺˖

you know nothing about shen quanrui, duke of the north. all you do know is that you're getting married and you're winning this sword fight.

TAGS: royalty!au, cold duke!ricky, gn!reader, rivals/enemies/strangers to lovers, arranged marriage, sparring!!, a little mean!ricky for the sake of the au, gets angsty in the end v sorry haha

A/N: this has been in the drafts since debut lmao it's v long but enjoy!!! as always, purely self indulgent ! (pls imagine historical manhwa level visuals iykyk)

WORDS: ~1900

Could there be a worse fate than this? Marrying Shen Quanrui, elusive Duke of the North and Lord of Yuehua.

You knew that marriage was coming. Being the youngest in the family and the rest of your brothers off to the capital to play bachelors and sisters bartered off for titles. One by one, marriage invites piled up over your desk until it finally came time for you to write your own.

Yet still, you have yet to meet him.

What you do know of the duke, is that he exists and is not mere fragment of your imagination — according to your mother.  It’s his estate you’re getting married at, but he hasn’t shown his face once in your week here. Not a letter, a word, anything! Anything would be better than this silence that plagues the grounds.

You pull your coat tighter around you as the northern chill slides under your bones. You want to begin to rethink all your feeble decisions right then and there. Or rather, the lack of your decisions that's brought you here. Wandering the Shen gardens like a ghost with an intent to haunt someone you’ve never even met.

Though, it seems like a calling of fate when you turn to an open yard.

Here, the snow clears away to worn cobble leading to a snow spackled dirt and a sparring platform. Swords line the training ground and gleam in the moonlight as you make your way towards them. Clearly standard issue and worn beyond ware, but swords, nonetheless. You can’t help but feel a little giddy, no one should be about at midnight like this, and no one should be out looking for the training grounds either. You clamber up the stairs to the wooden stage. Each board creaks lightly under your feet, almost like the decks of the galleys you used to run about on. From above, it’s easy to become entranced watching the snow spiral down as it settles.

You really could stand in marvel all night, but a figure watches you from where you came from. A bolt of fear strikes through you, dark eyes watching you freeze. Is it fate? Another ghost that haunts this place?

"Who are you?" the boy ask – or rather, demands.

You almost blink twice to make sure you aren’t dreaming. His hair is the palest of whites, rivalling the light of the moon and the falling snow itself. You’d stay in your stupor for longer, but he stares with a hard set in his eye that you know only means trouble.

"Oughtn’t you introduce yourself before you ask?" you snap.

“I asked first.”

“And it’s rude to ask and not offer your own name first.”

Your reply only ticks him off further it seems as he reaches for one of the sabres on the rack. "Then we fight for it,” mystery man says simply.

"Now? anyone could see us plain as day if they look out the windows! are you insane!" You can hardly believe it when he kicks another sabre across the stage to your feet. "What if the duke sees us?" you hiss, but it only makes him smirk further.

"Then let him," he counters with a flourish of his blade. "Or are you scared, peasant?"

Heat rises to your cheeks, and you swipe it from the floor with indignation. Honestly, he’s nothing impressive. What’s a pretty face when he’s built like a sheaf of paper? Your brothers are easily bulkier and taller compared to him, and you've swept the floor with them before. With him? it’s a matter of deck scrubbing him into the snow.

The sabre fits into your palm with a comforting weight. It's a far throw from duelling on ships and jagged seas but it's the song of duelling that sounds like home.

"Done playing with it? Or do you need a sword lesson instead?" and oh, that smirk is infuriating. "First to yield divests their name and title – should they even own one," he drawls.

All you can do is nod and settle into stance. Low and wide for balance, steady as an anchor in tide – all the more important with the ice. He mirrors with his own, a little taller, a little more forward, and with a whole lot more ego than what he should have.

A moment, slow and quiet, is spent staring down the edge of your swords. His steps, closer and closer, the howl of the air—

Then, he lunges.

When you meet, it’s mean, forceful and utterly demanding. Though, would you expect anything less of him?

It’s a game of darting and pushing. In and out of each other’s reach by just a breath. When you circle each other, his eyes follow you everywhere. It’s a gaze that would crumble you if you weren’t running on sheer adrenaline right now. You could count the sweat on his brow each time he tries to brute force his sabre down on you, but you parry just as strong. 

Every strike you sweep, you channel all the pent-up nerves behind them. A week of restlessness, of anger all coming down an a willing, taunting target.

The next sweep that he dives for cuts from his left to right, instead of parrying, you decide to lunge again. You go low, essentially diving under his blade and entirely into his space. You seize your chance, blood rushing in your head and mouth twisted in a horribly cocky grin and shove him to the floor. When he lands with a thud, lips parted in surprise, you waste no time in pinning him down, forearm barred across his chest and sword staked into the wood next to his neck.

"Do you yield?" Your breath ghosts across his face, twining with his own in this cold air.

The moon illuminates his sweat like shattered stars across his skin, pale as the snow and flawless as the sky. You want to sneer it into his skin: his gorgeous devastation. Perfection and arrogance wrapped into one.

"Out with it,” you glower over the pound of your heart and the silence between you two.

He must see something because you have no idea what’s got him smiling like that.

"Shen." What? " Warden of the North and Duke of Yuehua." A thousand thoughts, and a million more revelations. No way, this isn't possible. "Shen Quanrui, though, I thought you would have known already – with your attitude and all."

You feel the heat of the situation pour into you like the sun projecting a thousand-fold upon yourself. You scramble back, desperate for some decency because you've effectively just sat on the duke, warden of the north, and, least importantly of all, your soon-to-be husband. Quanrui rises as you fall backwards into the snow, the sword clattering next to you as he reverses the position.

“My lord,” you’re babbling now. The grin on his face is sly and all too prideful but it brings an angry red to your face that would have your brothers rolling in laughter. “I…I had no idea.”

And Quanrui huffs a small laugh at you beneath him, scrambling for words. “You have made that quite clear, darling.” His silhouette eclipses the moon, and you swear the glint in his eyes twinkle along with the stars above.

“Darling?”

“Do you not like it, darling?” Quanrui says it like trying a new wine on his tongue. He tries to roll it, like one of those sopranos at the opera, all natural and beholding. Is it stupid to be so entranced in someone? You know nothing about him – no one does. But can you say that when he’s staring at you like this? Calling you darling like this? Holding you like this?

So blind to it all, isn’t he?

“No, not at all.” You shake your head getting yourself out of your stupor, trying to put your words together. “It’s just… you have not come to see me once in my week here. Why do you only turn up now, not even on purpose, when we’re to be wed by the end of the fortnight?” It comes out in a stream, past freezing lips and over piles of abandoned reasoning. “Is this the cruelty they speak of? Your empty coldness then a taunting heat? What then after this, my lord. Will you leave me to the cold another week, to haunt your palace like a fool? What then—”

An arresting hand presses over your mouth, stopping your stream of consciousness. Devastation paints Quanrui’s face when you blink past your anger. Long gone is his smirk, and all the stars in his eyes. It’s pinched with guilt.

“I never meant for it. Never – I never meant for cruelty. I’d thought you would want space, time to adjust and settle in by yourself! I thought—”

“You thought! But you never wrote, you never knew in the first place, my lord,” you sneer. “You never had a right to assume, when all you know are damned titled deeds and how many men my father will send for your blasted armies. Do you even know I’m from the eastern coasts? That I’d never even seen snow until I stepped foot into your land. And you think I wanted space!?”

“Enough.” He sits back on his heels, head facing to the falling sky; illuminated like a god ascended. What a waste of a pretty face when Quanrui looks down at you, eyes bared to confess. “I had no right. You are true, everything is true.  I do not know you, but I will learn you,” he promises. “I won’t leave you to bear this cold alone. Leaving you to face against everything yourself was my first mistake and I will make it my last.”  

You almost laugh, nigh incredulous at his claims. “Bold words, my lord. Are you rehearsing your vows as we speak in this moment?” Your temper ebbs and flows, this is cruel, you want to say, but you bite your tongue before he remembers that abandoned sword next to you.

“Nothing about this—“ Quanrui gestures to both your states “—is rehearsed, I swear.” The honesty is etched into his being. “You fought me – the real me. And beat me well at it too.”

Finally, you do laugh. “That I did! Doesn’t that make you even more unworthy of me?” It’s posed like a barb, but you say it with a grin. If he can fight for his honour, there’s a chance at the truth.

Infuriating as ever, his smirk is back in full force. “I don’t know. How about we settle the score properly?” Maybe you’ll come to love it – just one day. One day you’ll see past the snow and ice, remembering tumbling waves and open sun, to love a marriage wrought with him.

“Alright then.”

The night is long in the north, impossibly so. But time will come, and the day will thaw the love that was buried all along.

i ran away with this defo, but i'm glad i’m done :) thanks so much for reading!! Please leave a reblog and a like if you enjoyed ⭒ masterlist

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

Jump then Fall prt. 5

Thank you so much to @stabbythespaceroomba for cropping the Aeron picture. You're a real gem!

I took a lot of inspiration from a glorious Benji oneshot by @valdezthg Go read it if you haven't already. Their writing is amazing!

Description: Another knight takes an interest in Y/N, sparking Aeron's jealousy, and when a banquet descends into chaos Y/N is left wondering if Aeron's love for her was ever real.

Part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 6

Warnings: Aeron being a lovesick dolt with idiotic tendencies. He's trying his best. Hurt/comfort, angst, female reader. I don't understand basic topography and refer to Stone Hedge as Bracken Hall, I just like it better.

There was a cold chill in the air and a thin layer of mist had settled over the Riverlands. Despite the cold of the Autumn morning, Aeron's heart warmed to see his lady love and favourite cousin settled on a balcony overlooking the training yard of Bracken Hall. She had come to see him despite the inhospitable weather conditions. To see Y/N laughing with his cousin filled him with happiness and pride in her, a sign of how well she would fit into his family as the future Lady Bracken. "Aren't you going to greet your lady? I am surprised you didn't bolt over the balcony railing as soon as you saw her. Alas, I see you're too busy standing like a dolt, staring at her." Aeron glared at Samwell before briskly walking to the base of the balcony and beaming up at Y/N. "Good morrow Y/N, dear cousin. I am most grateful for your attendance." He greeted them both. Y/N leaned over the balcony, shooting him a smile of pure sunlight that seemed to make the clouds break overhead. "Good morrow good knight. I hope you know we expect a good showing today."

Aeron grinned at her teasing "and a good show you shall have ladies." At the sweet sound of Y/N's laugh Aeron decided to take Samwell's advice for once in his life. Using intertwined vines and the railings of the balcony as leverage, he pulled himself up so that that could be at eye level with her, capturing hers lips with his several times before separating from her as he noted his cousin's light blush of embarrassment. He would hate to make his shy cousin uncomfortable and so jumped back down from the balcony onto his heels. With a final parting smile he turned back to the other knights who greeted him with playful jeers at his lovesick behaviour, though none were tinged by any malice.

Aeron's focus was drawn back to his fellow knights as they engaged in mock combat with one another. He was proud of his improvement in swordplay, though he'd never admit to Samwell or his Lord Uncle that Y/N had played a great part in his renewed dedication to the art. He wanted to do his duty as a knight of House Bracken, to Aegon the true king, and to protect his homeland. More important still to him was his desire for Y/N to see him as someone capable of protecting her. He tried not to glance in her direction too often for fear of accidentally impaling himself or his duelling partner in a moment of distraction. But no longer seeing her up on the balcony he whipped around to find her and his cousin in a corner of the training yard engaged in conversation with a knight he had not met before.

An uncomfortable feeling settled into the pit of his stomach as he watched the knight take both ladies' hands to place a gentle kiss upon them. Upon his love's hand, he bristled. He halted his movements and he was lucky that his opponent had the reflexes not to decapitate him. Aeron felt heat rise in his face, his chest tighten, and his jaw clenching as he watched Y/N laughing at something the knight had said, gifting him with an attentive smile which sent Aeron's thoughts spiralling.

He wanted to be the one making Y/N laugh, to be the only man she smiled upon. He wanted to curse the knight for daring to flirt with Y/N, for presuming to touch her but a deep sense of insecurity he had never fully addressed also threatened to consume him. What if Y/N should like this unknown knight to approach her. What if she preferred him to Aeron? Fists clenching as a wave of helplessness crashed over him, Aeron for better or worse succumbed to his anger with the knight. Storming over to stand next to Y/N, he took hold of her waist and glared at the knight whose expression dropped from his former joviality upon seeing Aeron's stony faced expression.

The anonymous knight spoke first. "Good morrow Ser Aeron. Allow me to introduce myself. Ser Renly at your service" with a respectful bow he continued "I must commend you on your swordplay today, your defeat of Ser Humphrey was most impressive." Aeron could not discern whether the knight was in earnest or seeking to antagonise him in a misplaced attempt to incur favour with Y/N. "I am indeed surprised you can comment on the fighting at all Ser, engaged as you are with entertaining my lady and cousin." His tone was laced with suspicion and Y/N shifted uncomfortably at the palpable tension crackling in the air. Ser Renly attempted to diffuse the tension with an awkward laugh. "I am glad to have made your introduction. But I have tarried too long and must attend to my own training." Aeron said nothing as Ser Renly gave a respectful bow to himself and each lady in turn before departing.

But upon looking down at Y/N's face he was immediately struck with an intense feeling of regret and concern for his lady. Her face had turned red, not with the blush he so loved to incite with his affections, but with unconcealed embarrassment, her arms wrapped around her stomach as if she wanted to shrink herself or dissapear entirely. Before he could open his mouth to stumble out apologies for his actions Y/N had grabbed his hand, practically dragging Aeron away from from the yard. She did not stop until they reached the treeline that separated Bracken Hall from the Brackenwood. Wordlessly dropping his hand, Y/N turned to look at him, a look of dissapointment in her eyes. "What was that?"

Aeron's jealousy and anger at the presumptuous knight had yet to subside completely, but he was aware that he acted in a way like to cause his lady shame, evident from the look of displeasure upon her pretty features. "I admit I acted in jealousy. I saw how that blaggard looked at you and I could not bear it to see you grant him your sweet smiles and laughter." Aeron fell down onto a tree stump in front of Y/N, his head falling into his hands, embarassed at his behaviour and prepared to accept any rebuke from his lady.

"And are you displeased with me?"

Aeron looked up in alarm and swiftly began pawing at her skirts, pulling her towards him until their knees knocked together. Placing his head on her abdomen and holding her in place by her hips, he mumbled into the fabric of her dress "Never. It is you who should be displeased with me." Aeron despaired that he had made Y/N believe herself to be the object of his ire, that he could ever be angry with her was beyond the realms of his imagination. "Y/N to me you are perfect. It is not your fault that others see that too. Today I behaved rashly in my jealousy and worse still, made you believe I could possibly be angry with you. I beg your forgiveness."

Y/N slowly brought her hands up to lightly caress Aeron's head. "I will gladly give it. I only ask that you trust in my love for you in future." Aeron looked up at her, a wave of relief crashing over him at her willingness to forgive him so quickly, and he thanked the gods for gifting him with the love of such a gentle and merciful lady. "I swear to you that I will comport myself in a manner becoming of a knight and one deserving of your love for as long as you will have me." A slight frown ghosted over Y/N's features and Aeron quickly tried to ascertain what in his words might have offended or upset her. He watched various emotions flicker in her eyes before her expression settled into one of resolve, he knew not what for.

He stopped breathing momentarily, frozen in place, when she lowered herself to perch on his knee, immediately capturing his gaze with hers. She seemed to measure the weight of her words carefully. "You do not need to persuade me to love you. I have already given you my heart fully and it hurts me for you to act as if that were not the case. As if I did nor love you in equal measure." Aeron had not considered that his own insecurities, his difficulty believing someone as precious as Y/N could return his love, could be hurting her. Even now her cheeks were dusted with a pink blush at the boldness of her actions, and he could not but admire her bravery, as she put aside her own shyness and embarrassment in order to reassure him.

He would not make the same mistake again. He brought his hands, still latched onto Y/N's skirts up to her waist to hold her and keep her from falling, lowering his head to slowly brush his lips against her forehead, then her cheeks, and the tip of her nose. "I am ashamed to have given you pain on account of my own insecurities. You are my love, the other half of my heart." With that he lowered his eyes to her lips before looking into her eyes, silently asking for her permission. When Y/N glanced at his own lips he gladly brought their lips together, pulling her closer towards him with one hand on the small of her back. As Y/N's arms wrapped around Aeron's neck he determined that he should be as brave as his Lady in expressing his love for her, and be confident in offering her his affection however she would allow.

Breaking the kiss, Y/N leaned her head against Aeron's shoulder, an affectionate gesture that always had his heart stumbling, an assurance that she felt safe with him and looked to him for comfort. "I believe your cousin may have a secret lover you know" Y/N half whispered conspiratorially. Aeron blanched at that. Is that why his dearest cousin had been sneaking off so much of late? "What makes you think that?"

"She seemed terribly distracted the whole morning as if deep in thought and blushed when I asked her the cause of her wandering thoughts" Y/N smiled. "I am pleased for her, are you not?"

Aeron grimaced slightly. "In truth I am concerned for my cousin. I should be glad to see her make a match that pleases her. But she is my favourite cousin and I doubt anyone would be good enough for her. But as long as it is not that bastard Benjicot Blackwood then I suppose I have little to worry about" He joked, hoping to reassure her that he shared in her joy for his cousin.

Just before Aeron turned in to his Chambers that night Lord Bracken informed him that he was to hold a banquet within the week for honoured guests. Aeron assumed the aforementioned guests would be squires of The Greens, that this banquet would serve to strengthen their bond with House Targaryen as his Uncle swearing to King Aegon had. Aeron believed in the sanctity of Aegon's cause, appalled by the kinslaying of the Blacks, declaring himself to his uncle as most in favour of this banquet. Though he could not deny that his mind did wander to what gown Y/N might wear, how she might style her hair, and if they would dance together.

On the evening of his Lord Uncle's banquet, Aeron found himself positioned at the door to the Great Hall, welcoming guests to his ancestral seat. His mind had begun to wander as he routinely uttered the standard greetings required of him until he spotted Y/N walking towards him with her parents. Stunned by her ethereal beauty, her lilac dress embroidered with the symbol of his House. He had a hard task schooling his expression in order to formally greet her parents. He wished for their two Houses to be joined in marriage one day and was eager to express his respect for his love's family. Y/N smiled shyly at him from behind her parents, which he happily returned as he welcomed her parents. As she passed by him he secretively brushed his fingers against hers, promising himself that he would let her know how beautiful she looked as soon as he could get a moment alone with her.

As the last few guests filtered into the room, Aeron took his place by his uncle at the head table. He paid little attention to his welcoming speech, eyes focused on Y/N sat several tables away from him, trying to draw her gaze to his. After a while her eyes met his and he smiled back at her, having no intention of averting his eyes despite being caught staring. He wanted her to know how difficult it was for him to tear his gaze away from her, and he enjoyed her light blush in response.

Aeron and Y/N continued to shoot glances at each other throughout the banquet, agitated by the distance that separated them he couldn't help fidgeting in his seat and bobbing his knee up and down constantly as he waited for his uncle to announce when the dancing could begin. He was fully prepared to take the distance at a run and sweep Y/N into his arms for as many dances as she would allow before Ser Renly or another knight had the same idea.

When his uncle finally clapped his hands to command the attention of the room and invite his guests to dance, Aeron shot up before the minstrels had even begun to play. Unfortunately his idiot cousin Edmund had been closer and beat him to it, pulling a reluctant looking Y/N to the dance floor as he watched on. He made a mental note to thrash Edmund later, he did not think his Uncle or Edmund's father would care all that much if he broke his nose.

He watched his lady's face carefully for any sign of discomfort, noting that Edmund seemed to be doing most of the talking. Borish brute. It was only when he saw Y/N's face fall and her eyebrows furrow that he decided to step in and rescue his lady, crossing the distance in a few paces.

"Mind if I cut in cousin?" The question would have seemed amicable enough to an onlooker but Aeron made sure to give Edmund a look that assured him of dire consequences should he argue. Shrugging carelessly he released Y/N, Aeron waisting no time in wrapping his arm around her waist and taking her smaller hand in his. "Of course, Y/N I hope you will consider what I've said." Before Aeron could ask what he meant by that Edmund had stalked away. Turning to Y/N and placing her hand on his shoulder he began to lead them in the steps of the dance. He was relieved to finally be able to hold Y/N in his arms as he had wished to all evening but Edmund's comment had rattled him.

"May I enquire as to what Edmund was referring to Y/N? I hope he did not bother you or behave poorly. I will rearrange his pompous features for you if you like." Y/N snorted in amusement, though he hadn't really been joking, and pressed his shoulder affectionately. "Worry not, I can handle a fool like Edmund. He just likes to meddle. Give it no more thought." Aeron disliked not knowing what had caused the look of distress on his lady's face, but forced himself not to press her if she did not want to reveal it to him. Instead, he made good on his promise to himself from earlier that evening.

"You must allow me to tell you how beautiful you look, I have been driven to distraction all evening because of it. You shine more brightly than any star my love." Y/N beamed up at him and discretly brushed her hand against his cheek before returning it back to his shoulder. "Thank you my handsome knight, and for my part I apologise for distracting you." Aeron laughed heartily at that before placing her hand closer to his heart and leaning down to whisper in her ear "I would gladly be distracted by you for the rest of my days, I can think of no better sight to gaze upon than my lady love." Suddenly twirling her away from his body as the dance required, he raised their arms as she placed a hand on his waist and they spun slowly in the spot. Impervious to everything else around them, they gazed lovingly into one another's eyes.

Aeron had hoped to dance with Y/N again but as the final note of the music rang out he spotted his uncle beckoning him over to the head table at the other end of the hall.

Grabbing both of Y/N's hands he placed a kiss upon her knuckles and reluctantly walked away from her to take his place beside his uncle, who was preoccupied with arresting his guest's attention oncemore. Aeron could not have known that his Uncle's next words would dismantle all of the happiness he had felt that evening, having finally been able to dance with Y/N instead of watch her longingly from a distance. "Revered guests, I have an announcement to make which will bring good tidings to House Bracken and to all those who support the true king Aegon Targaryen. Lord Tully has consented to marry his eldest daughter Roslyn to my nephew Aeron. In so doing we will bind our houses with blood and forge a bond strong enough to finally oust the treacherous Blackwoods who support their false queen. I welcome Lord Tully and Lady Roslyn to our festivities."

Aeron's head turned so sharply in the direction Lord Bracken waved his hand so as to almost give himself whiplash. And there on the other end of the high table, where they had not been before, sat Lord Tully and his daughter. She at least looked just as put out by his uncle's announcement as he surely did. Her face tight with anger she barely repressed.

Time seemed to have frozen in this moment of horror as Aeron frantically looked over at Y/N to see her reaction, and try to tell her with his eyes what he could not across a room of watching spectators. That he was hers alone, that he had no intention of marrying the Tully girl. That it had always been his greatest wish to marry her if she would consent to be his wife. Pain tore through his chest as her expression crumpled and he could see tears beginning to well up in her eyes, before she quickly turned and fled from the room, from him.

Bless the pretty wee Bracken. God love him but he's an eejit and he has a lot of explaining to do to Y/N. Angst incoming.

@lovebabe18 @poppyflower-22 @ithilwen-blackwood @spinachtz @lady-callisto @twistytimesandthoughts @abookloverlawyerfan-blog @mymoonempress @alexandracgg

[shinystealingbirb]

Some thoughts on Yanqing

I don’t quite know how or if Yanqing was shown in Honkai Impact, but I’d like to talk about my understanding of him.

Biiiiiiig cut.

I assume many think he’s a flat character. He’s a child prodigy who arrogantly took on two immortals leagues more powerful than himself, and couldn’t get over his loss. Right? Who went out seeking some strange person, who Jingliu almost treats like an amusing pet, who tried to shortcut his way to total mastery. Who desires a title of a championship rather than the art itself. That’s the mark of a flat character- no displayed motivation, and traits we’re told, rather than shown, exist.

This is what the game explicitly tells us. In fact, it takes pains to push this narrative, and in my opinion, it’s specifically because he’s never in our party. To Stelle, or Caelus, or whoever you play as, Yanqing will always be on the other side. He faced Dan Heng and Blade, who we controlled. He duelled Stelle and Kafka. Faced us under the voluntary control of a heliobi. The only time we control him is when Yanqing battles Jingliu, and even then, he was canonically alone. To the Trailblazer, he is a child. An irritatingly strong one, but a child nonetheless, ultimately a footnote in their journey.

So that’s what the game says. But I want to talk about what the game doesn’t really put out there as much, but becomes more obvious the more we encounter Yanqing.

It’s a little hard to explain- I got a kick in the balls when I went through the Fyxstroll Garden quests and got to Yanqing, but I’ll explain that in a moment. For now, allow me to begin with a brief explanation of his character in the way I see it, rather than what the game has taken pains to show us.

He’s a winner- all he’s done is win, and he is young. It’s all he’s known, training and success. He’s showered with praise that he easily tires of, and the General is the only one he spars with that consistently defeats him. This praise is the expectation, the norm. You must win can be a hell of a motivator.

So when he loses to Dan Heng and Blade, it rocks his fucking world. He had no idea where he was in terms of power- really, the only thing he had to compare himself to was Jing Yuan, and the gap there is enormous. He got a taste of a true life-or-death scenario, as opposed to the competition he’s accustomed to, and according to the heliobus, the two immortals- who are way out of his league- left him teetering on the brink of death.

In an attempt to discover his prowess, something outside of the meaningless praise and predictable spars with Jing Yuan, he was absolutely ripped apart by an undead Hunter and a reborn Elder. The worst part? The heliobus in the Fyxstroll quest says he would’ve died “if the hunter’s blade pierced him,” which could quite possibly mean Blade was holding back. Given he was in a rush to beat the shit out of Dan Heng, I doubt it, but it is a possibility that would add salt to the wound- being defeated without being cut once by Blade, only using the flat side of his sword to almost kill him?

So he’s aching from that loss. He got fucked up and knows exactly where he stands, and that’s the single greatest defeat he’s suffered in his life.

For some children, for those who began or became skilled, who build and build and gather ourselves, trying to fight good to become great, a fear we have to overcome is failure. And failure is the single more horrifying concept to a gifted child, the absolute worst outcome.

A normal person fails. Oh well. Time to move on with life.

A competitive or gifted child fails, it means something. It means the effort put in, every single move spent in our lives, every thought, every moment of practice or rest, even if not working on that skill specifically, was a waste of a life, and as failures, that child, too, is a waste. Failure is like death. The way I can best describe the feeling… your heart clenches. Cold sweat, a sudden mental blank. A spider crawls up your throat, and with every step your throat grows tighter, the sense of dread closer and closer until the spider has made its way up to your stinging nose, your tearing eyes, and you are humiliating yourself with those tears.

It’s hard for people who do not understand this to be empathetic. To these people, a loss like this is just a loss. Things like “you’ll get them next time” or “they were out of your league” are said, and these things will never be consolations.

We, the Trailblazers, do not understand why Yanqing goes back to it in his thoughts so often, why it is a pivotal moment for him, why it appears in his character lines, and why he speaks about that battle so ruefully. It was inevitable, we think, that he would lose, isn’t it?

Shouldn’t he know he would never have beaten him?

Of course he knows.

But Yanqing is a child. For all his power, all his cheer and skill, he is a child. He’s gifted, and loss stings really fucking bad if you’re gifted, if you’ve won and won and already realized that praise is false and results are king (his trace voiceline sounds so sarcastic when he speaks of praise.)

Now: we can go over Jingliu and Stelle’s battles if you wish- more salt in the wound, to twist the knife just a little more(loser, loser, loser)- but by far our most interesting encounter with Yanqing is in the Fyxstroll Garden quest.

He’s possessed by a heliobi who claims- and delivers- that he can teach any weapon and advance the soldier to a warrior beyond compare. Despite the memory-wiping effects of the heliobi after possession, I believe said possession- at least for this one- is voluntary.

After all these losses, Yanqing finds a spirit who pushed a Cloud Knight into something lethal, and the spirit tells him, “I have seen your losses, I see them inside your head. Offer me your sword; offer me your allegiance, your body, and I will make you great.”

Knowing he was almost killed for his naivety, knowing he has been painted as the enemy, knowing he has won and won for his entire gifted life, right up until he hasn’t… why do you think he takes it? Of course he’s desperate, of course there’s a nagging doubt, a painful needling that tells him hes not enough anymore, nothing is enough. Of course he allowed himself to be possessed.

After all, praise is empty. Results are king.

The real kicker comes when Jing Yuan gets there.

I think Jing Yuan’s reaction to Yanqing’s possession says a lot. He’s not surprised it was him, nor how easy it was to get into his head. He knows these things, understands they are part of growth and motivation. He is only disappointed because Yanqing has allowed himself to cheat, to find the shortcut.

He arrives at the island, and so calmly he says “Yanqing would never lift his sword against me.”

Yanqing raises his blade. And then he turns to the heliobi and demands a duel. He proceeds to rip the false Yanqing apart with all the speed and precision that Blade and Dan Heng dueled him with.

I’ve seen people talk about how Yanqing was put in a loaded situation. That his choice was made based on disappointing one teacher over the other. It’s not an unreasonable claim, but a shallow one, i based on the surface teacher-student dynamic and taking nothing the heliobi or Yanqing said into account.

It comes down to the choices he has: in that example, his choices are loyalty to a heliobi he only just met, or a teacher he’s known since he was a little kid. In this perspective, the choice is obvious.

This one is not an incorrect perspective, merely an incomplete one. I think the complete choice was as follows: Instant power from an unpredictable, harsh master, one who is asking strange things of him- attack your friends, attack your previous master, don’t you want power?!- or turn back to the training he feels he’s outgrown, mentored by a man who he holds in such high regard and, if his voice lines are any indication, would trust with his life in an instant.

He’s braver than I am for choosing Jing Yuan’s side. Yanqing’s been shown to have an honorable teacher, but we have not seen him put in a situation where he has to prove it. We couldn’t confidently say what he’d do.

This quest displayed his desperate side. The heliobi had already exploited it, promised and delivered power. The heliobi proved it could be trusted, for that at least. Jing Yuan is a trusted mentor, almost a father figure, but those methods led to failure at the most critical of times. This undoubtedly crossed his mind- it certainly crossed mine as I played through that quest- and I genuinely thought I’d have to fight him again.

Frankly, I’m astounded he chose Jing Yuan, and that surprise made, at least to me, made him feel complete.

Yanqing is a child, with a child’s complex emotions and weaker understanding. He is cheerful and confident, a trait easily confused with arrogance. He is competitive. His worth is based on his prowess with a sword. He knows praise is empty and results are king. He is desperate, but more than that he is loyal beyond his own desires, honorable to a fault, which is more than I could say about most adults, much less myself.

He’s flawed and requires a certain prerequisite to understand. Yanqing feels childish in a different way than Hook and Clara, in motivations rather than actions. He feels human, and I really like his character