#I know there’s glitter in those robe pockets

[peachyhoolagan]

The boy with stars at his fingertips

[crackedpumpkin]

𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝟎𝟐 |

[ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 ] | [ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ] | [ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ]

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law.”

“It’s a charity auction, not my judgement day.” You point out, smirking at your dad who’s adjusting his wig after sternly pointing a gavel at you. “Besides, I didn’t know that it was themed.”

“Maybe you should be the judge instead,” He says with a sarcastic scoff, handing over the gavel, “Put those skills to use.” 

You bang the gavel against the wooden table, shaking your head disapprovingly at him. “I sentence you to a lifetime of being unable to make lame dad jokes.” 

“Anything but that!” He gasps, collapsing to his knees in horror. “Give me mercy!”

“You know what to do.” You hold out your hand, gesturing for him to hand it over. He reluctantly takes out a fifty dollar bill from the pocket of his robe, slipping it into your palm discreetly with a handshake. You nod in approval, handing him back the gavel. “You have been pardoned.”

“Are you ready for the event yet?” 

“Yeah, I’m going as a Musketeer.” You hold up your sword, lazily uncrossing your legs where they’re placed on the coffee table. “En garde, my good man.” He chuckles at that, pretending to be defeated when you pretend to stab his side. He falls to the couch with a cry, smothering you with his entire body.

You gasp in surprise, only to get the air knocked out of you when he rolls over. “Get off me!” You demand, shoving him off playfully. He obliges with a cheeky smile, sitting next to you with dishevelled hair. 

“Right.” His phone chimes with a text. He skims over it quickly, getting up from the sofa and grabbing his gavel from the coffee table. “C’mon, Emily’s waiting for us at the museum. Her autograph session should be ending soon.”

Your fingers close around the sheath of the sword, hooking it onto your waist. Hopefully, no one would question why you had a real sword with you at a formal masquerade. Oh well, go big or go home, you suppose.

The car ride is peaceful enough in the beginning, but tension starts to rise when you approach the entrance of the museum. The majority of the ride was spent on the phone with Melody, texting back and forth about how excited she was to finally get the ninja's autograph, and how her date had gone.

The car slows to a halt, and you spot a plethora of reporters all crowded around a woman in a simple, yet suave black suit and a bejewelled black mask adorned with small crystals. Her hair is done into an impeccable ponytail, and a briefcase is placed on the table where she’s busy signing autographs. 

“A judge and a lawyer…?” You turn to your dad who has a sheepish smile on his lips after adorning his identical mask. “Very cute.” You remark sarcastically. The mask you’d taken out moments earlier feels cold in your hands, your thumb stroking the glittering red rubies that line the eye area. 

He simply shrugs. “You ready?” He gives you a moment to put on your mask before opening the door and stepping out. You hesitate briefly, glancing down at the sword. Nothing would happen, you decide, closing the car door behind you.

You go up the stairs together, making sure that no one accidentally steps on the hem of your cape. Luckily, you escaped unscathed. Emily spots you approaching, standing up with a bright smile. She holds her hands out to greet you, and you reluctantly let her take yours when your dad shoots you a look, gesturing to the reporters who swarm around you both.

“I’m so happy you could make it! You look stunning. I’m guessing a Musketeer?” She asks though the knowing glance directed at her husband reveals the fact that he’d already informed her of your costume before arriving. 

“Thanks. You look…good too.” It’s hard for a compliment to not sound sincere when it’s about her. No one can deny how pretty she is. Maybe that’s one of the factors why your dad had fallen for her in the first place. You retreat your hands after, starting to feel uncomfortable being under the scrutiny of all the cameras. 

Emily chuckles, accepting it gracefully. She looks at the line at her table filled with fans, seemingly realising how many more autographs she’ll have to sign. “You must be hungry. I’ll meet you inside after I’m done?”

Your dad wraps an arm around her shoulder, giving her a chaste kiss that makes you roll your eyes. “I’ll stay here. Why don’t you go mingle around? Maybe you’ll meet some new people from your school,” He says encouragingly. 

You merely shrug, turning to leave. The entrance of the museum is decorated lavishly with an arch covered in fairy lights. Various guests enter with partners and some without. They’re all dressed to the nines, of course, and you even spot a well-known reporter lounging on the side with a wine glass in hand.

You avoid most of the crowds, choosing to sit down in a space near the back where a bunch of comfortable chairs are. The spread of goodies and pastries does catch your eye, focused on the tantalising pan au chocolates that rest on the left of the table. A chandelier adorns the centre of the room, the light reflecting off of it in glittering beams.

They went all out for this event. After all with such public figures gracing it with their presence, how could they not? You stare curiously at a hallway to your left, intrigued by some of the exhibitions you can see inside. Was that a dinosaur skeleton at the end?

You’d be sure to check it out after you’d gotten ahold of some of those delectable pastries, though. As you approach the table, you become aware of some of the whispers in the room growing louder. Luckily, there’s still some form of security at the doorway, poised to take action just in case anything happens. 

As you move for the pan au chocolate, another hand reaches over and grabs the exact one you’ve been eyeing. 

What the fu-

Your lips part, about to protest. The words die at the tip of your tongue when you see exactly who’s the person beside you. He looks familiar, well-built and impeccably dressed. You’re not sure exactly where you’ve seen him before, but there’s just something about him you recognise.

Maybe it’s his hair or his outfit? His shoes…?

You watch the stranger dressed as a… actually, you’re not sure what he’s dressed as. Either way, he takes a huge bite from the pastry in his hand, humming in content. He’s wearing a simple suit, but his mask is decorated rather simply. His sigh of satisfaction amuses you, letting a slow smile spread across your lips and all of your shock from his sudden appearance (and taking away the beloved pastry of course), fades away.

He freezes when he registers you staring at the half-eaten pastry in his hands, glancing between it and you. “Were you gonna take this?” He asks sheepishly, gradually lowering it back down onto his plate with a guilty smile.

You wave it off, take another and put it on your empty plate. “It’s fine. It’s just a pastry.” 

Doesn’t hurt that he’s kinda cute either.

He chuckles. The melodious sound makes your breath hitch, looking away to take a bite, and chewing thoughtfully. “This is good. I wonder which company they got it from.”

“Oh, I know! It’s Papa’s Cakeria. You see, their butter has a really sweet aftertaste, and their chocolates are sourced organically, which is why it’s so clean and not overly sweet. Their cupcakes are really good too, but that’s in another store-” He cuts off his ramble when he notices the amused grin on your face, clearing his throat and taking another bite of his pastry.

You notice the flush on his cheeks, deciding to do him the favour of remaining oblivious to it. “I take it you’re a fan of their store?”

“I’ve tried a few things here and there.” He polishes off his pastry in a few more quick bites, reaching for a slice of chocolate cake next. “The thing about Papa’s though, is that they make their stuff to order, so you always have to order in advance.”

“Dang, so I can’t just waltz in and grab one?” You frown, disappointed by this piece of news. “Maybe I should find some Tupperware or something…” You mumble, though he seems to overhear. He clears his throat, taking out his phone and showing you the screen. 

“This is their website. You should order at least two days in advance though, so you can secure a spot. I know the owners, so I can help you speed up a pastry or two if you ever need it.” He offers. You quickly take a picture with a delighted smile, pocketing your phone happily. 

“Thanks, I’d appreciate that. I’ll be sure not to abuse the privilege, though.” You say warmly, your joking words drawing a laugh out of him.

He shakes his head in amusement. “Anything for a fellow pastry-lover.”

“So, what’s your name?”

He pauses a forkful of cake halfway to his mouth. “My name’s Cole.” 

Oh?

Wasn’t the guy at the comic book store also named Cole? The very guy who coincidentally turned out to be your soulmate? But the man standing in front of you now is completely different from his frigid, cold and angsty demeanour. 

However, his eyes glint with the same gold tint when the light reflects off of them, and although his hair is styled a little differently, his wavy strands are still the same. The only thing different is his outfit and his attitude. 

“Hold on.” You place the plate down, taking a moment to gather yourself. The complete overturn of his brash attitude toward you yesterday is a stark contrast to his current one. The drastic difference gives you whiplash, even mistaking him for a gentleman. “You’re sure your name is Cole?”

“I’m pretty sure,” He chuckles, nonchalantly continuing to munch on his cake. Your hand subconsciously grips the hilt of your sword, fight or flight instinct creeping up on you. You didn’t want to feel as powerless as you did last time when he’d forcefully dragged you into that alleyway. That’s not how your mother raised you. 

His curious eyes signal another unsaid question. Before he can ask it, however, a calm, yet friendly voice interrupts.

“Cole! Where were you? We’ve been looking everywhere for you.” A man dressed similarly as Cole asks worriedly, making his way over. He notices you, glancing at Cole who stares back just as cluelessly. “And who is this?”

“She was just about to tell me.” Cole shrugs.

The presence of his relaxed and soothing voice does ease your nerves a little, letting go of the hilt. You take another moment to compose yourself before saying your name. So much for not seeing each other ever again. You’re not sure if it’s fate or luck, but either way, you’d be sure to not let him realise now that you’re his soulmate. 

Now that you’ve regained your composure, though, you realise one fundamentally wrong with the picture-perfect scene in front of you of the two boys chatting with each other. 

One of them has metal as skin. 

You don’t want to be rude, so you decide not to point it out. After all, he seems nice enough. You take a step toward the cake, Cole noticing and helping you take a slice. “Thank you,” You say gratefully, though your gaze flits over to the very person you’re dying to not ask. 

Cole spots this, clearing his throat and introducing his friend. “This is Zane.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He takes your hand and places a small kiss on it. You’re too stunned by this sudden move to reply, processing his name. It rings a faint bell, finally placing his face. 

“You’re the Ice Ninja,” You state simply. He nods, confirming your words. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too,” You hurriedly add to not seem impolite. Melody’s reminder nudges a small corner in your mind, the wheels finally turning. You hurriedly take out an album of the ninja from the hidden pocket of your vest, along with a marker. 

“I know we just met, but I was wondering if you’d do me a favour. Could you sign this for a friend of mine? Her name’s Melody. She’s a really big fan of the ninja.” Zane takes the marker and signs it with a smile, adding a small message at the end before handing it back to you. 

“I hope this will suffice?” 

“It’ll more than suffice, thank you!” You say gratefully, putting away the album before noticing Cole’s outstretched hand. “Can I help you…?”

“It’s nothing.” He coughs, retracting it. Zane glances at him curiously, about to say something before he’s silenced by a quick shake of his friend’s head. You watch the whole exchange go down with an oblivious smile, focusing purely on the rest of the buffet spread. 

“I have to go check on Master Wu now, but I hope you enjoy the party. It was nice meeting you.” The words are just empty formalities, but there’s a sense of sincerity in Zane’s voice, along with a hint of amusement.

Cole holds up his plate with a different cake now on it, the yellow sponge with buttercream nestled between its layers making your mouth water. “Want another slice?” 

You agree with an eager nod, humming happily when the scent of lemon fills your mouth upon taking a bite. “So tell me, fellow cake enthusiast, how does one simply get to know the Ice Ninja enough for him to be so familiar with you?”

“We’ve been friends for a while now.” His words intrigue you, though you can’t help but still feel wary around him. It doesn’t seem like he’s realised who you are yet though, so that’s a relief. “I think it’s been like, what, five years? I can’t remember anymore,” He laughs. “Besides that, it seems like this friend of yours knows her stuff.”

“She does. She became a fan a couple of months ago and every time she rambled about them I’d kinda tune her out,” You admit sheepishly. He raises a brow in interest. “In my defence, it’s almost always the same thing about how Kai’s the strongest or something.”

He takes a break from yet another slice of cake to take a sip of water. “Well, you should never say that around him, that’s for sure,” He muses.

Seriously though, how is this guy downing cakes faster than you can talk?

“I take it he’s another friend of yours?” 

“You could say that. He’s more like an annoying brother that needs to be given a good whack every now and then to bring his ego back down to earth.”

“If you’re their friend, could you do me a favour?” He tilts his head. 

“Anything for my fellow cake enthusiast,” he replies, cheekily quoting you from earlier.

“Could you help me get his autograph too? I kinda need autographs from all of them, and if I don’t keep my promise to her…There’ll be consequences, that’s for sure.” Your emotionless smile makes him laugh, already resigning yourself to the fate of a hospital bill to be paid for your poor finger.

“What kind of consequences?”

“Broken pinky finger, y’know the usual.” You reply with a shrug, handing him the album and marker. “Pretty please?”

Cole takes it from you with a playful salute. “You have my word.”

He disappears into the crowd, and your shoulders instantly relax in relief. It’s incredible how he hasn’t noticed, considering that you’ve only just met yesterday. Then again, both of you look vastly different and even have masks on. It’s insane how different he is though, to a stranger who shares his clear fondness for cake, compared to his interaction with his actual soulmate. 

Your fingers curl into fists, mildly infuriated by this fact. 

Are you, his soulmate, not even worthy of civil conversation?

Ridiculous.

With that thought, you suddenly feel much better about your own reaction to him yesterday. Regret fills your chest when you think about how you could’ve given him another punch yesterday. Alas, what’s done is done. 

You’re about to gorge yourself on the rest of the buffet when a blaring siren starts to resound through the halls, murmurs and confused whispers filling the air. The sound is familiar. A fire drill, perhaps. 

Who’s the idiot that’d set fire to a museum of artefacts?

“Please remain calm everyone, and follow the ninja to evacuate safely.” A staff member announces, flashing their staff ID to reassure everyone that they can be trusted because, y’know, authoritative figures usually have a big badge. 

Unfortunately, the presence of said authoritative figure doesn’t calm everyone else’s nerves. The people around you are filled to the brim with panic, and you spot a few trembling hands here and there. What are they so scared of? It’s not like they’ll get hurt with the ninja around, right?

Your mask slips off in the rush of people scrambling to the exit, roughly bumping against you in the process. You’re just about to pick it up when someone’s foot kicks it away. Annoyed, you make your way toward it, pushing past the panic. Again and again, it’s constantly kicked away from you. 

Why are you even making so much effort to get it? A small voice whispers in the back of your mind. You push past another person with gritted teeth, finally making your way to where it’s landed in the corner of the atrium. 

The answer is simple — because it’s made with actual emeralds.

Or is it because Emily gifted it to you? The same small voice pokes at your patience, trying to get you to admit an answer that doesn’t exist. It’s valuable, that’s all there is to it. 

You spot a shadowed figure slipping away into a different hallway. Suspicious, you glance around. Good, no one’s paying attention to a simple musketeer in this panic. You skulk around the corner, keeping close to the walls as your fingers close around the hilt of your sword. 

The further you walk away from the main rooms, the fainter the sounds of chaos. The lights are oddly dim, and a few flickers, giving an ominous feel to the room of scrolls that you enter. A hooded figure stands under a painting of an old man, an ancient scroll in their hand. They're engrossed, reading it intently to the point they don’t even notice your presence.

You draw your sword, the light reflecting off of it alerting the suspicious person when it shines on the painting. They turn instantly, rolling up the scroll and stuffing it into their cloak. “Who are you?” You demand. 

Upon seeing you, their shoulders relax, a shadowed smirk on their lips almost as if to say ‘Oh look, I’ve been caught by a costumed musketeer’. Unfortunately for them, you’d taken a few lessons in kendo. 

Sure, maybe you’ve never bested your master to this day, but whatever skills or muscle memory you have, you’d have to utilise it to the best of your abilities. A sense of unease stirs something uncomfortable in your stomach, eyeing their shapeless figure and trying to figure out what exactly seemed so off about this person.

They watch you, making no move to defend themselves. They’re waiting, you realise, to see what you’re going to do next. “I will use this,” You threaten, though the way you glance around the room draws a muffled laugh out of them. 

Are they…amused?

“Over here!” A voice echoes down the hallway, just out of sight. This alerts them, glancing between the skylight and you before seemingly deciding that being caught isn’t worth the entertainment value you provide. 

Before you can react, they punch the ground, revealing an arm covered in a strange contraption, reminding you of a gauntlet. The tiled floor caves below you, and you fall into a pit of their making. “Hey!” You shout, scrambling to your feet, watching them easily manoeuvre their way to the skylight and exit without a problem.

“Damn it,” You mumble, sheathing your fallen sword with a frown. They’d taken the scroll with them. So much for being a musketeer and bringing justice. Looking around, you try to climb your way out of the pit. However, your attempts are in vain as the ground easily crumbles beneath your fingers, giving you the honour of letting you fall again and again.

You grumble, sitting down. May as well wait for someone to arrive. 

Butt, meet ground. 

The light is momentarily blocked by a shadow. You squint, looking up to see someone staring down at you. He jumps down from above, landing with ease. You scan him briefly, taking in his black gi and hood that covers his face. The Earth Ninja. Once his gaze lands on you, however, he does a double take.

Recognition flashes in his eyes for a fleeting moment. He shakes his head, refusing to let it sidetrack him from his duty. "There’s someone down here!" he urgently calls to what you suppose is another person above, before pivoting back to you. You regard him with an air of suspicion, mildly confused about his reaction toward you.

His voice, his piercing gaze, his build…Finally, finally, the puzzle pieces click into place. You stare at him, ignoring his concerned hand reaching out for you. “Come on! We gotta get out of here!”

You’ve gotta be kidding me.

You reluctantly take it, allowing him to tug your body into his arms as he hauls you out of the pit. Landing on solid ground jolts you, and you grumpily hit his arm, sending him a signal to at least make your journey more comfortable. 

He accepts it with a muffled huff under his hood, manoeuvring you with care until both of you stand outside. You let go of his arm, taking a step back and brushing yourself off. The weight of his gaze lingered on you, and you met his eyes head-on. A flinch gives him away, and he awkwardly turns, feigning interest in checking on other civilians who had also escaped unharmed, thanks to the rest of the ninjas.

You can’t help the exasperated sigh that brushes past your lips, crossing your arms. “Of course, my soulmate’s the fucking earth ninja.”

[sarahwroteathing]

Christmas Drabble Request: Tinsel, exhausted, Natasha

[Natasha Romanoff x reader]

*****

Natasha was late. Very, very late.

She ran up the stairs like there was a supersolldier on her ass, holding her paper bag over head in an attempt to protect it from the worst of the jostling.

"Please be awake. Please be awake," she muttered to herself.

The hall lights flickered on as she rushed out of the stairwell, caught by the motion detectors. As she neared the door of your shared apartment, she caught the soft sounds of your "night in" playlist filtering through the door. After taking a moment to catch her breath and plan her approach, Natasha fished her keys out of her pocket and let herself inside.

The overhead lights were off, the living area only lit by strands of colorful twinkle lights below the TV, the small tree in the corner, and the candles in the window. The music was still muffled, coming from the back bedroom. Nat slipped her shoes off and followed the sound with a small frown.

The bedroom was similarly lit, the overhead light off and the walls glowing with circles of red, pink, orange, green, and blue. String lights were fixed carefully around the headboard, and a lamp on the nightstand was on. You were sitting at your small vanity table, wrapped in your soft winter robe and finishing the last step of your evening skincare routine.

"Hey, baby," Natasha said softly. And she wasn't trying to play you, but she couldn't help letting her eyes go a little soft, a little wide. "I'm sorry I'm late."

She didn't offer any excuses. You knew the drill by now, unfortunately.

"I'm glad you're safe," you said, trying very hard to sound casual. But Nat still heard the lingering disappointment in your voice. You were about to say something else when you finally caught a glimpse of her in the mirror.

You turned quickly on your low stool, reaching for her with a sad frown. You'd been together for too long to be surprised by the bruise blooming on her cheekbone, but that didn't mean you were ever okay with seeing it.

Natasha dropped gently to her knees beside you, closing her eyes with a contented hum when you hands came up to cradle her face.

"Do I need to go kick someone's ass for you?" you asked, reaching for the small glass bottles and jar on the table again, your touch achingly gentle and sweet as you started applying those fancy serums and moisturizers to her skin this time.

"No, I took care of it."

"Good."

"I'm sorry I'm late," she said again, but you shook your head dismissively. "I really wanted to decorate with you."

"It's okay. I took care of it." You stood up, drawing Natasha up with you. "You look exhausted."

"I am," she sighed, following you thoughtlessly as you led her back into the living room. "But I don't think I'm ready to sleep yet."

"I know. Go sit on the couch. I'll be there in a second."

Natasha dropped heavily onto the cushions. Now that the adrenaline was starting to wane, her whole body felt clumsy and heavy.

"Oh, there's a bag by the door!" she called to you, hearing you shuffle around the kitchen. "I brought some stuff."

“Oooo, did you buy me something shiny?” you joked, settling beside her carrying the bag and balancing a small plate of rugelach that Nat knew on sight was from her favorite bakery. 

“Yes, actually,” she said, accepting the plate with a soft thank you.

You set the bag on your lap, smiling as you carefully lifted a small, potted poinsettia out first.

“Is this your festive twist on apology roses?” 

“Mhmm,” Nat hummed around a mouth full of pastry. 

You shook your head with a smile, setting the poinsettia down on the coffee table. Next came a small ornament, and a crinkle of confused amusement appeared between your brows. It was a tiny blue and red striped cup with a clear dome lid covering a disc of red glitter. 

“Is this an icee?”

“Our first date,” Natasha reminded you. “You got a cherry icee. And a brain freeze.” 

“You little softie,” you said, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “That wasn’t a date though.”

“I kissed you at the end of it.”

“That doesn’t make it a date,” you laughed, kissing her again. 

The ornament joined the flowers on the table, and you pulled the last item from the bag. 

“Tinsel?”

“Something shiny.”

“Right,” you said knowingly, glancing over at the tree. “You want to sneak in some extra decorating tomorrow?”

“I would love to,” she said sincerely. 

“Okay,” you said, patting your lap. “But rest first.”

Nat set her plate aside, scooting around on the couch until she could rest her head on your thighs. Your hands were in her hair almost immediately, combing gently through the chaotic strands that were still damp from her post-mission shower. She let her eyes slipped closed, taking a deep breath and finally releasing all that tension she still held in her body, melting into the couch, into you. 

She was almost asleep when she heard the faint crinkle. One green eye slid open just long enough to watch your hand slip into the tinsel package. She smiled a little, feeling the way your fingers worked through her hair and knowing that she’d wake up with bright silver strands woven through a messy braid.

[days-until-burnout]

For whenever you're feeling better and refreshed and not burnt out!!! :

Scott x Impulse, romantic pairing, first kisses and/or cuddling perhaps?

(also!! Thank you for doing all of these stories, they're incredible!!!)

thank you for reading! and sorry i couldnt make them justice. _____

📧 Day 73 -

Characters - Impulse/Scott Words - 702 Time - 25 mins Content - Band AU

In between blinks and flashes of light, from one thundering moment to the bustling next, the show is over. The crowd is cleared out and they are ushered to the back, alcohol wipes for their faces and water bottles for their dry mouths. Everything happens quickly, at least their side happens quickly as they are in the car then their hotel room in a single breath.

(Well, more than that, but it feels the same.)

"Ough, I hate morning flights," Scott gripes from the en-suite. His voice is louder than his phone taps, which brings an amused smile to Impulse's lips. "Absolutely ridiculous. I'm going to have no time to get ready."

Impulse chuckles, sends the last few texts before pocketing his phone. "I mean, you don't have to get dressed up and all facied out."

Scott gasps, offended. "Public appearances, Impy, public appearances."

Impulse says nothing else, instead, he shoves the still warm towel on his face, rubbing a little hard to get all the glitter from his face. It had been at Gem's insistence, for their initial gigs, and now it became a stapple. Hate is a too strong word, and dislike is hardly comparable.

There is a quiet sigh as Scott saunters out of the en-suite, robe tight on his body, damp hairs shaken from his forehead, skin clear. Impulse gives him a look, and Scott can only dramatically fall on the bed.

Scott does not sleep, however, but he lays on his side, arm perched and apple of his cheek on the heel of his palm. "Well then, we have yet to discuss sleeping arrangements. How will we do this? I don't want to—"

"We'll share, that's what we agreed on. Did you forget?"

One thing, a very good thing about Scott's pale skin, is that Scott blushes easily. Noticeably. Not like those subtle blushes when he is teasing someone or playing a part, but a deep blush when he is taken by surprised. Like now, rendering him speechless as Impulse looks at him over his shoulder.

"Plus, the couch is too small for either of us. Gem, maybe, but she's got her room."

It happens between heartbeats, Impulse wipes the sides of his face, his hairline, then tosses the towel among the dirty pile. Nonchalantly, he makes his way to the lightswitch and turns it off, using his phone's light to guide him to the bed.

Every step, Scott follows, mouth agape and utter… blankness in his eyes. Unlike other times, Scott takes longer to recover and retort. Impulse will like to think it has something to do with tiredness, though he knows it has everything to do with the headlines from ealier that morning.

'Impulse isn't bad on the eyes,' Scott had said with that flirty tone of his, the smoothness and confidence that everyone knows and expects. It had been on defence of yet another rumor, something stupid Impulse did not even bother remembering. He had missed the interview, having been in another by himself at the same time because of some miscommunication. But he had seen the clip, and he had seen Scott stumble when Gem mentioned the possibility that Scott might like him more than just eye-candy.

Impulse is not one to rush to conclusions, but facts are facts, and his phone is telling him that is nearly midnight, so they should both sleep. He slides under the covers, leaning over to press a brief kiss in a still frozen Scott, something small under his temple, beside his eye. Not quite where he had planned, but the little light made it hard to aim.

"G'night, Scott. And by the way, I think you're good on my eyes, great even."

It takes a while longer, that edge where Impulse can only respond with a hum to Scott's voice, his eyes refuse to open and his pillow too comfortable. Despite that, his brain is barely awake enough to feel him, finally moving. Settling behind.

Nothing grand, nothing loud or flashy, just arms around his back, a burning face pressing on the back of his neck.

Impulse drifts off not long after, and he likes to image the whispered confession is not something he dreamt.

_____

sigh. brain will brain brain one of these days</3

[alittlebitofwonk]

The Hall of the Gods was deathly quiet when Martyn eased the door open and stepped inside. It was lit only by the setting sun behind the stained glass, and the candles placed before altars.

He walks slowly down the hall, pausing to look at the portraits of the gods. He recognizes many: The Watchers, a conglomerate of wings and eyes, stand near the front, their altar overflowing with gold and diamonds. The Ocean Queen, hands folded before her, draped in a white robe and pearls, her blue skin covered in glittering scales, each painstakingly hand painted— beautiful, but somehow sinister, too. The Thunder God, tall and strong, lightning crackling behind him, the epitome of power. Santa Perla, in a dress of gold and emerald, a sheath of wheat resting in her arms and blood dripping from her wings.

Finally, Martyn comes to a portrait where he pauses, looking up at the figure. His hands and feet are stained black with soot, great claws marking each digit, webbing stretched across his fingers. Brass scales cover his bare arms and shoulders and calves, glinting like armor. A long, fish like tail extends behind him, complete with wicked sharp spikes. His clothing is deceptively simple— a loose black sleeveless shirt, a green sash around his waist, cut off brown pants, feet left bare. His hair is long, ending a few inches below his shoulders. Leather chords with shells and beads are tied around his arms and waist and ankles, his hair braided back on one side. An eerie wooden mask sits upon his face, carved to resemble a fish, but there’s something far more sinister about it. Everything about the god is primordial and ancient.

The Codfather.

Martyn takes a hesitant step towards the altar when the door to the Hall suddenly opens, making him jump, and he turns just in time to spot Grian swiping some of the offerings from the Watchers’ altar. Technically he’s allowed to do so, being a Watcher himself, but Martyn wouldn’t be surprised if they smited him anyways.

As he passes by the portraits, seeming nonchalant, he drops half of the offerings in his hand onto Santa Perla’s altar and then, as he steps up next to Martyn, he drops the other half onto the Codfather’s altar.

“Hard to believe that’s Jimmy, isn’t it?” Grian says, shoving his hands in his pockets as he gazes up at the portrait.

“Absolutely. Jimmy? Intimidating? Surely not,” Martyn says, but he feels a cold chill down his spine, like claws traced along his back. “Okay, a little intimidating,” Martyn admits. The claws are gone.

Grian snorts. “He wouldn’t have hurt you and you know it. Though, to be fair, he can be brutal when the moment calls for it.”

Martyn can’t disagree— he knows the stories. Rivers drained dry when villages turn on the innocent. Nets coming up full of rotten river fish when the fishermen commit acts of cruelty or violence. Pestilence and disease flowing down the rivers to forcibly end wars by killing both sides slowly.

A god of Justice, to be certain.

But Martyn has heard stories of kindness. Rivers suddenly overflowing with fish in frozen winter months, where a village risks death by starvation. Lakes and ponds once muddied and foul turning clear overnight, the water sweet and cold. Even rumors of mountain springs whose waters could heal any wound or cure any sickness, placed by the Codfather to be found by those who were pure of heart.

“Why doesn’t he utilize his powers in the Death Games?” Martyn asks. “Surely he’d last much longer if he did.”

Grian shrugs, still gazing up at the portrait. “Maybe he thinks it’d be unfair. Maybe he doesn’t like using his powers. Truth be told, I don’t really know. I’ve asked, but he always brushes me off.”

Martyn looks back up at the portrait, and he swears that the Codfather is looking back at him.

You could win, he thinks, tugging an emerald out of his pocket and placing it on the altar. So why don’t you try?

As Martyn turns to leave, Grian still standing before the altar, he swears he feels another brush of claws and hears a whisper in his ear;

Because I don’t have a choice.

[dramioneasks]

HP FESTS: Dreomione Fest (Part 8)

Dreomione Fest 2024:

Shut up and dance with me by emotionalsupporthufflepuff - M, one-shot - It's the twentieth anniversary of the Yule Ball and Hermione need to brush up on ballroom dance. Her instructor just happens to be Theo Nott and his curious husband...

The Domino Effect (Challenge) by sportfucker (SportFucker) - M, one-shot - London, 1887: Draco Malfoy, Lord St. James, is in want of a wife- and his long-time lover and companion, Captain Theodore Nott, bastard son of the Earl of Shrewsbury, knows just the girl. Miss Hermione Granger, newly created Lady Hermione, is the untamable daughter of an upstart nouveau riche doctor turned business tycoon. After meeting at a clandestine salon, Theo knows Hermione is just the woman for Draco to take to wife- that is, if he doesn't fall in love with her first. Historic AU, no magic Outtake for Dreomione Challenge!

An Unwilling Sacrifice by willamalfoy - M, one-shot - The Celtic Goddess Ériu accepts offerings from those willing to shed innocent blood, in exchange for power and riches. “Her heart thumped quickly in her chest, body panicked even as her mind accepted the inevitable—she was about to die. The king’s ancient advisor came forth, holding the cauldron with thick hide gloves. He was muttering words in an ancient language that she’d only ever heard in her dreams, beads of sweat glittering on his brow. Setting the cauldron down by her bound foot, he settled his eyes upon hers. “This is for the greater good, my dear,” he said, voice kindly even as he withdrew a small blade from his robe pocket.”

Body Shots by JCOBryan1990 - E, one-shot - While being partnered together, Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott chose a pub night for a Muggles Studies assignment. Leading to Draco teaching Harry Potter to dance properly and Hermione teaching about body shots.

When Slytherins Met Gryffindor by UNFKNBLVBL - not rated, one-shot - This oneshot is based on my favourite scene in the movie When Harry Met Sally (if you are unfamiliar with it I recommend you watch it first, so funny!) Hermione is having tea with Draco and Theo, when the conversation takes an interesting turn.

Welcome to the World by JCOBryan1990 - M, one-shot - Theo reacts to becoming a father.

Only Wanna Be With You by kcg07 - M, one-shot - After they leave Hogwarts for good, the triad struggle to adjust to the realities of their past. Theo and Draco comfort Hermione with the story of how they got together - way back in the fourth year

This fest is ongoing.

[blueraineshadows]

Dark Betrayals Part Thirteen

Sebastian 🔺️F!MC 🔺️ Ominis

It's time for MC and Daisy to leave, Sebastian has revenge on his mind, and Ominis must make a final farewell. Chapter Master List

Triggers: violence, panic attacks, murder, death

Chapter Thirteen - The Last Dance

The delicate strains of violins filled the hall, a cultured backdrop to the low murmur of voices, as the Wizarding World's finest pure bloods and supporters mingled and sipped from fancy fluted glasses. Dressed in their finest dress robes and observing immaculate etiquette, MC eyed them with mild disgust. These distinguished ladies and gentlemen appeared to be cultured and polite, but underneath, they were no different than the most basic savage in the street. She had seen most of these simpering guests attending the duels down in the tunnels, their faces flushed, and voices baying for blood as spells cut through the space.

Marvolo was in his element, chatting with guests and ensuring everyone had a full glass, his smile smug and cold. He couldn't help showing MC off to his fellow cohorts. His star duelist, who was currently sitting at the penultimate slot on the league table, and his future sister in law.

His eyes gleamed as he took her arm and presented her to those he was rubbing shoulders with. "This time next week, MC will be my champion," he boasted. He eyed them slyly. "You may want to start placing your bets now."

MC forced a smile onto her face, nodding and agreeing whilst knowing full well that those bets were pointless. This time next week, she would be long gone from here. The pretence was starting to make her jaw ache from forcing the smiles, and she was glad to be returned to Ominis and his much gentler touch and presence.

Ominis greeted the guests with handshakes and polite nods of his head, accepting their congratulations and introducing MC to these so-called family friends. She could see the strain around his eyes and mouth and held his arm tightly, hoping to ease his worries with quiet murmurs of support near his ear. It was the closest they had been to each other in days, and she felt the sting of sadness as she realised it would be the last time they would be together.

Mr and Mrs Gaunt looked almost regal in their fine robes, Mrs Gaunt wearing a glittering tiara in her hair and an elaborate locket around her neck with the Slytherin 'S' set into it. An heirloom by all accounts. MC found it rather over the top for her own taste and just smiled politely when it came time to shake hands and listen to their approval of the marriage.

Finally alone with Ominis, MC sighed and wished she could lean her head against him, a weariness washing over her, and she stroked a hand absently over her stomach. Ominis slipped his watch from his pocket and tapped the face with his wand, nodding. "It's just after 9," he said. "Two hours."

"Would you like to sit down and rest for a bit?" MC asked.

Ominis shook his head. "I'd rather not." He tilted his head, thinking. "Would you like to dance?"

MC looked up at him, her heart skipping a little beat. As tired as she felt, how could she say no to that? "I would love to."

Ominis led her out onto the dance floor with ease and took her in his arms, his hands placed respectably on her body as they began to sway to the sounds of the band. There were other couples dancing around them, but MC paid them no mind. She merely watched Ominis.

He was flawless, meeting each step and guiding her through the dance, his wand still in hand to aid him with both of their fingers entwined around it.

"I truly am sorry, Ominis. For everything that has happened," MC said quietly. "I never wanted to hurt you, and it pains me that I have. I know you may never forgive me, but just know, I wish you happiness."

"I just hope you find whatever it is that you are looking for," he replied. "Promise me you won't waste this chance, MC. Don't get caught up in darkness and end up trapped by someone else like Marvolo. Make the most of the fresh start to do something that fulfils you."

MC felt her throat tighten with emotion, his words ringing through her mind and coming up against the truth, the future that was growing inside her belly. It wasn't just herself she had to think of now. "I will do my best, Ominis," she said.

They twirled, the full skirt of her black gown flaring out. She squeezed his hand, her lips trembling a little. "I shall miss you," she said truthfully.

"Not now, MC," he whispered. "Not yet."

She swallowed back her tears and felt the gentle caress of his hand at her back.

"For now, we just dance," he said. "Goodbye comes later."

....*....

Two lackeys stood in the corridor near Marvolo's office, slouching and chatting, their eyes widening, and both of them straightening up as Sebastian strode towards them. Appearing as Marvolo, he kept his cold smirk in place and narrowed his eyes at them.

"Did Sallow drop the gold off this evening?" He asked icily.

The lackey that Sebastian had made sure to greet as himself earlier nodded. "Yes, sir. Saw him myself. He was here about 7, I reckon."

Sebastian gave a curt nod. "Good," he said. He ushered them both into the office and closed the door. The two lackeys gave each other curious looks as Marvolo/Sebastian moved to open the safe.

"I need you to do something for me," Sebastian said. He took out the bags of gold and started piling them on the desk. "I can't hang around, I need to get back to my brother's engagement party. So, I will get to the point. Go and track down those lackeys that are double agents, you know, Benny Cripps' little spies."

The lackey's looked at each other. "Whatcha want them for?"

Sebastian gave them his best stern glare. "I want you to kill them."

They both gaped, watching as Sebastian began to stuff all the gold into the enchanted pocket of his robe, making it obvious that he was taking it all, every last bag of Benny Cripps' money. He put his hand in and took out some coins, and handed them out to both lackeys. They took them uncertainly.

"Hunt those spies down and kill them," he ordered.

"But...er...won't that start a turf war, sir?" One of them asked nervously.

Sebastian smirked. "And?"

"Benny don't take no prisoners, Marvolo, you know that," the other one said.

"Neither do I," Sebastian said coldly. "Are you questioning your orders?"

Both lackeys immediately shook their heads. "No, sir, of course not. When do we do it?"

Sebastian tucked away the last of the gold and smiled. "Around 11pm should be about right. Oh, and don't mention this to Sallow. He is too loyal to Cripps. His card is marked lads, and he is mine for the taking. Understand?"

The lackeys both nod again, and Sebastian dismissed them. A quick glance at the clock told him he had an hour to change back into himself and then go and fetch Daisy.

With a turf war breaking out between Benny's gang and Marvolo's, that should keep them busy for a while. Sebastian patted his pocket smugly as he made his way back to the room where he had stashed his clothes. With this amount of gold, MC and Daisy would be able to start a proper new life with a bag for himself for his troubles. And with the seed planted that Marvolo was going to take him out, his disappearance would be assumed as him being dead. Sebastian almost chuckled to himself. Marvolo was obsessed with gold and power, and this would hit him right where it would hurt.

Those lackeys would blab about Marvolo stealing that gold. They were all two faced and out for themselves. Once Benny Cripps heard that Marvolo had swiped the gold and started taking out his spies, then there really would be trouble. Sebastian was glad he would be long gone by the time the proverbial hits the fan.

....*....

As the minutes ticked towards 11pm, Ominis felt his restlessness grow, his fingers fiddling with his wand. MC kept putting reassuring hands on him, but every one of her touches merely reminded him that she was going within the hour. He needed to hold it together.

Finally, he took her arm and led her out onto the paved terrace at the back of the hall, the night air chill on his face. "Time to go, MC," he said.

He had picked up the tones of sadness in her voice tonight, her soft words as they had danced making his heart ache. He would miss her too, terribly, but wasn't sure he could find the words to express it.

"Then let's go," she murmured. She held on tight to his arm and he could feel her trembling. He focused his mind, and with a crack, they vanished from the terrace.

....*....

The street was dark, the shadows long and smothered by swirling smog as Sebastian hurried along, Daisy clutching his hand. She was dressed in the most modest gown he had ever seen her in, her pretty little face void of excessive makeup, her hair neatly pinned. He had wrapped her in a dark cloak all the same, though, the fabric dragging along behind her small frame. He was worried she might trip and fall, and he kept a tight grip on her tiny hand.

He felt sick. His stomach was churning with nerves, but also, the transition back into himself had left him exhausted and drained. He'd had to take a minute, using one of Garreth's restoring potions to get him back on his feet.

Sebastian paused a moment, pulling Daisy into an alley to let them both catch their breaths. He pulled out his wand and muttered the locator charm. The deep tug pulled at him, and he closed his eyes, savouring the feel of it. MC was still wearing the necklace, and then, the tug shifted sharply, pulling in a different direction. He opened his eyes. Her and Ominis had left the party.

"We need to get moving," he whispered. "I can Apparate us. It will be faster."

Daisy grimaced. "I aint no good with that vanishing crap you lot pull. It makes me proper sick."

Sebastian smirked. "Yes, it's not the most pleasant feeling, but it gets you places fast. We need to get out of here, Daisy. MC is waiting for us."

Daisy looked up at him. "She loves you, you know," she said. "I hope you got a plan in that pretty head of yours for tracking us down after all this."

Sebastian lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "Can't bear the thought of not seeing me again, Daisy?" He teased.

She smirked and slapped his arm. "Just make sure you find us," she said. Her face grew serious. "MC is going to need you, whether she will admit it or not."

Sebastian frowned. "What do you mean?"

Daisy shook her head and took hold of his arm. "Never mind," she said quickly. "Come on then, handsome. Vanish us the fuck out of here before I change my mind."

....*....

The area of King's Cross in London was no longer the genteel and affluent area that it once was. The lovely houses there had made way for industry and the railway over recent decades, the industrial boom hitting the hardest on those who dwelled in the city.

Now, the area was factories and small dwellings for the workers of such industry, and for those who worked the railway. Amongst the few remaining larger houses was one of the last properties remaining to the Gaunt family in the city.

Ominis stood in the main living space, what little furniture remained draped in sheets, while MC changed out of her dress and into more comfortable travelling attire. He pulled his pocket watch out and tapped it with his wand. Ten minutes past the hour.

"Where the devil is Sebastian with Daisy?" He hissed. "It's taking too long."

He heard MC's sturdy boots as she stepped across the room. "I'm sure he will be here any moment," she assured. But he could hear the nerves in her voice. "I hope whatever he had planned to do hasn't gone wrong."

The whipping crack of someone Apparating in came from outside the door, and Ominis turned his head. "Maybe that's him," he said. He reached out to catch MC by the arm as she moved towards the door. "Check before you open it. Just in case."

Nerves were making his breath shake as MC stepped slowly towards the window. While this house was rarely used, Marvolo had eyes everywhere, and he didn't want to linger here too long. Sebastian would start the fake trail at King's Cross Station, while the girls would take the Floo to Southampton docks. Everything would be alright if they stuck to the plan, he assured himself.

MC confirmed it was indeed Sebastian and hurried to open the door. The clatter of feet signalled their arrival, and Ominis held up his wand, the shadowy outline of Sebastian and Daisy coming into the room.

"What took you so long?" He snipped.

"Sorry, that's my fault," Daisy said. "I ain't keen on that vanishing trick."

Ominis well remembered after their trip to his family home with her. He turned to Sebastian. "Well, did you pull off your secret deed?"

"It's all kicking off as we speak," Sebastian said. Ominis could hear the grin in his tone and frowned.

"What did you do?" MC asked.

Sebastian's shadow shifted and he began to pull something out of his robes. "Open up your bag, MC," he said. "I've got a gift for you."

MC and Daisy both gasped, and MC swore softly. "Are you crazy?" She hissed. Ominis heard the slap of an arm and Sebastian's grunt. "Marvolo is going to kill you!"

"What is it? What has he done?"

Ominis felt a wave of dread as Sebastian filled them in on his little trick. Marvolo was going to be incandescent with rage over this. Ominis put a hand to his forehead, exasperation at Sebastian's tendency for chaos making his head ache. "You do realise that I have to stay behind with my brother, don't you? Are you completely mad?"

Sebastian shifted closer, the familiar waft of cinnamon and citrus reaching his nose, and Sebastian took his hand, placing a heavy cloth bag into it.

"This bag is for you, old friend," Sebastian said. "You don't have to stay behind. Use it however you wish to, but I would rather you used it to get out of your family's clutches as well. You deserve happiness as much as MC does."

Ominis went rigid, stunned at this gesture. He should hate Sebastian for having such a hold on the heart of the woman he loved, for being nothing but an absolute pain in his neck, and for causing so much disruption and darkness. But it seemed he couldn't, because just when he thought he had washed his hands of Sebastian for good, he would pop up with this kind of gesture, with words that showed the love and generosity behind the chaos.

Ominis swallowed thickly and nodded, taking the bag of stolen gold from Sebastian. It felt heavy in his hands, and not just from the coin. "I will think on it," he said stiffly. "Thank you."

The sound of MC's tears reached his ears. A gentle hand touched his arm. "Do it, Ominis. Get away from them, live how you want to."

Tears burned the backs of his eyes. "We shouldn't linger. It's time, MC. You need to say your goodbyes."

He grunted as she threw her arms around him, squeezing him tightly. As much as he wished to hang on to his control, he couldn't, burying his face into her hair and holding her just as tightly. There were no words that could explain the ache in his chest, the pain of her leaving, and he just held her against him, savouring the softness and her scent.

As she pulled back from him she pressed the engagement ring into his hand. "Save this for someone worthy of you, Ominis," she whispered. "I mean it. I wish you happiness."

He opened his mouth to speak, to tell her that he doubted there could ever be anyone else, when the front door blasted inwards. Splinters of wood bounced around the room accompanied by Daisy's scream.

"Well isn't this a touching little scene," Marvolo said strolling in. "Hello, little brother."

....*....

They had been so close. Freedom was but one Floo trip away, but this bastard just couldn't leave them alone. MC felt fury twisting up her insides as she held her wand up towards Marvolo Gaunt, who stood there in his fine black robes, a cold smile on his handsome face.

Behind him stood one of his lackeys, a scruffy, thin faced rat of a man, who quickly darted forwards to grab hold of Daisy. Daisy whimpered, her eyes darting from Marvolo to MC as they faced each other down.

Slowly, Marvolo slipped out his own wand and held it up towards her. MC chuckled, the sound not humorous in the slightest. "Are you going to face me in a duel, Marvolo?" She taunted. She narrowed her eyes at him, hating him with everything she was. "I'll fucking kill you."

He shook his head, lips twisted in a mockery of a smile. His eyes darted to one side, where Sebastian was also standing with his wand held up. "Oh look, it's lover boy, coming to the defence of his little darling," Marvolo taunted. "I wouldn't. Do it, Ed, hurt her."

A scream sounded from behind MC, and she spun, eyes wide. The lackey had hit Daisy with a spell, not Crucio, but one that had her rigid and screaming. MC lifted her wand, but two things happened at once.

Marvolo cast towards a distracted Sebastian, who was flung backwards into the wall, thick coiling ropes that looked like snakes wrapping around him and binding him tightly, his body trapped against the faded wall. His wand clattered down onto the floor, and his face twisted with rage.

The second thing was a spell cast by Ominis, a strong stunning spell that hit the lackey in the face, sending him sprawling backwards over a sheet covered table. Daisy staggered and landed on the floor, sobbing. Ominis was with her in two strides, bending to help her up.

"Oh, for goodness sake, Ominis," Marvolo growled. "Why the fuck did you do that? She's nothing but a dirty, Muggle whore."

MC shook with fury and turned her wand back on Marvolo, casting a curse towards him that he blocked with surprising ease. He side stepped, assuming a duelling stance.

"I will fight if you want me to," he goaded. "But I am much more interested in finding out what is going on here. Ominis, dear brother, you purchased two tickets for a ship recently. The question is, who for? Which two of you four are making a run for it? Don't tell me it's the secret lovers? You wouldn't help them run, would you little brother?"

"Don't tell him anything," Sebastian said, struggling against his bindings.

Marvolo shot a basic cast Sebastian's way, making him grunt and go rigid. MC cast again, a Diffindo that Marvolo deflected, and it sent deep gashes through a settee in the far corner. He cast back towards MC, a flurry of spells lighting the space between them as they circled each other in the room.

"It's over Marvolo," MC said. "I'm done doing your bidding. My debt is paid."

He chuckled. "I dont think so."

MC cast again, dodging and blocking, surprised at how good he was. Then he shot another cheap cast towards Sebastian, and this time, he screamed. MC flinched, distracted, and then she was hit, thrown backwards onto the floor with a thud and a roll.

Daisy shouted, tearing herself from Ominis' grip where he had been holding her at the far side of the room. She hurried towards MC. "No, stop!" She cried. "The baby!"

MC froze, her eyes flying up to Daisy in shock. The room fell silent, the laboured breaths coming from her own mouth sounding far too loud to her own ears. Daisy cringed, her eyes full of apology. MC knew why she had done it. Daisy was protective of the baby, determined that it would get a good life with people who loved it, her own loss a hole that would never be filled.

But she had just announced it to the three men MC had been desperate to keep it from.

"What baby?" Marvolo demanded coldly.

MC couldn't move, half sitting up, leaning on her hands, her gaze flying to Ominis who was holding his wand up towards her, face utterly pale. Her eyes then turned to Sebastian, who was staring at her, eyes wide.

Daisy glared up at Marvolo, her eyes blazing with hatred. "She's pregnant," she snapped.

Marvolo stared at Ominis. "Is this true, Ominis? You told me you were on a potion."

MC felt tears slipping from her eyes as she looked at Ominis. He was shaking his head, his brow furrowed. "I...I do take a potion," he said. His voice was strained. "I never stopped taking it."

"I'm sorry," MC whispered.

Daisy got up and stood in front of her, hands on her hips. "No, you don't apologise, MC," she said firmly. "Not for this."

Marvolo turned his furious gaze towards Sebastian, who had gone limp, staring at MC in disbelief. She met his gaze, begging with her eyes for him to understand.

"You!!!" Marvolo yelled. "You did this!"

Marvolo lifted his wand, the curse bellowed from his lips with wicked intent. "Crucio!"

Both MC and Daisy screamed, MC scrambling up to her feet, grabbing for her wand. But Daisy, brave, selfless Daisy. She jumped forward and placed herself between Sebastian and Marvolo.

"No!" MC screamed.

The curse hit Daisy full pelt in the chest, the blinding red light filling the room along with the ear shattering sound of her scream.

MC stood frozen, transfixed, as Daisy convulsed under the blast of that curse. Her eyes were rolling back as that horrifying scream split the air. MC was taken back to the night when Marvolo had taken her, and they had witnessed Marvolo torturing his lackey. She was sent back even further to a darkened chamber below Hogwarts, and Sebastian casting the very same curse on her to get them out.

"No," MC said. She shook her head in denial at what she was witnessing. Daisy was not magical, she had no strength for this, it was too much and Marvolo's intent was vicious. MC shouted louder.

Of course nobody could hear her. Sebastian was shouting, Ominis was shouting, and Daisy kept on screaming, even as the blood began to trickle from her mouth as she collapsed to the floor.

It was a matter of seconds but they seemed to stretch and stretch until time had no meaning.

Marvolo released the curse, breathing hard, and MC moved to aim, murder in her heart. Her ancient magic began to surge and flicker. She vaguely heard Ominis calling her name, but it faded out into the background. She would tell him she was sorry, but she wouldn't mean it. Marvolo needed to die.

But she wasn't quick enough. Marvolo uttered the devastating words in a cold, calm voice, and a flash of green filled the room.

"Avada Kedavra."

Daisy was silenced. Her body went still, no more convulsions as she lay there, staring at nothing.

A blast of red shot past MC's shoulder and hit Marvolo, a swift Bombarda that sent him slamming into the wall with a sickening crack. He slid to the floor in a heap, and MC could still hear Daisy's scream ringing in her ears despite the quietness that now filled the room.

....*....

Sebastian stopped fighting against the bonds, shock filling him. How had this all gone so terribly wrong? He stared down at Daisy's lifeless body, the green light, and the muttered curse, triggering dangerous flashbacks from that night in the catacombs all those years ago.

Sweat beaded on his brow as his chest tightened and fluttered with panic, a roaring sound in his ears, and he fought to get air in his lungs. Memories swamped over him, and he fought back the vomit that was threatening to push up his throat. He looked up at the ceiling, his eyes registering the cracks in the plaster, but his mind was reeling as he tried to get a hold of himself.

He heard Ominis speaking, the familiar voice grounding him a little as he sucked in deep breaths.

"No, no," MC muttered. "Not Daisy. No!"

Sebastian looked back into the room, his eyes focusing on MC as she dropped to her knees before Daisy. She reached out a hand that shook, and she carefully brushed strands of hair from Daisy's white face. Trickles of blood ran from Daisy's mouth and nose, her eyes were red too, and Sebastian was sure that the killing curse had been a mercy.

Daisy was a Muggle. She was small, and she would have had no chance against the violence with which Marvolo had cast that curse. Her insides were probably ruined, and that alone would have given her a slow, painful death.

A death that had been meant for him.

His chest tightened even more at the look of horror and denial on MC's face. The pain in her eyes was shattering. Daisy had died trying to protect him. He felt tears well up and he blinked them furiously back.

MC began to moan, a distressed sound that turned into shaking sobs, her hands pressed to her face as she rocked with her grief. Ominis winced and moved towards her, his hands hovering as though to hold her, but he pulled back. Sebastian cleared his throat, his own arms aching to hold MC.

"Ominis," he croaked. "Get me down."

Ominis turned, wand out. He hovered it over where Sebastian stood and then muttered a few words, a charm spiralling out from his wand that released Sebastian's bonds. Sebastian shook himself and bent to snatch up his own wand, the sound of MC's crying filling the room.

Sebastian stared at Marvolo on the floor, a cold fury gathering in his stomach. His fingers flexed around the handle of his wand as he ran through a myriad of black curses in his mind. He could make that man suffer, make him wish he had never laid eyes on Sebastian or MC.

"You need to leave," Ominis said. He grabbed hold of Sebastian's arm. "Get her out of here, now."

Sebastian gave him a dazed look and pushed his fingers through his hair. His dark thoughts slunk back into the corner of his mind, and he turned to gaze at MC. "Give her a minute," he muttered.

MC was bent over, her arms wrapped around Daisy's limp form, sobbing. He swallowed thickly, his thoughts returning to the day when he heard that Anne had died.

So much death.

"We may not have many minutes to spare," Ominis said. "Marvolo could come round any moment, and who's to say he hadn't sent for back up that could arrive without warning."

Ominis had a point. Sebastian tried to focus and looked up at Ominis. "Where shall I take her?"

Ominis shoved his hand into his robes and pulled out an envelope. He held it out, and Sebastian took it. "Two tickets to America, the ship sails tomorrow from Southampton. Go with MC, take her away from here and...please, look after her. Take care of her and your baby."

Sebastian gulped, his eyes flying back towards MC. Bloody hell, yes, the baby!

"I had no idea," he said shaking his head. "She didn't say a word."

"That doesn't matter now. All that matters is that you both are leaving here, now!"

Sebastian shoved the envelope in his pocket and moved towards MC. He put his hand on her shoulder. "MC, we have to go," he said gently.

She shook her head. "I can't leave her," she gasped.

Ominis bent down to her and reached out, his hands gentle as they sought out her face. He cupped it, his thumbs brushing away her tears with tender strokes. "Listen to me, MC," he said. "You and Sebastian must go. I will take care of Daisy. I will see to it that she is properly buried and cared for. But, you need to run as planned. Sebastian will go with you."

She gulped looking up at him, and Sebastian fought back more tears at the look on her face. "But the false trail..."

"I will cover your tracks." Ominis winced. "Something I should have offered to do all along, I suppose, but it matters not. Go and live, MC. You and Sebastian. Promise me."

She nodded. "I promise."

"Good girl," Ominis said.

Sebastian and Ominis stood. MC pressed a kiss to Daisy's head, laying her carefully down on the floor, and then stood with them. Ominis pressed her into Sebastian's arms. "Go," he insisted.

Sebastian held MC close and felt his stomach twist with loss as he gazed at his old friend. Once they had left, he would be all alone and facing the wrath of Marvolo. He reached out, grabbing Ominis by the shoulder. "Come with us," he blurted.

He had no idea where this was coming from, and it sounded crazy to his own ears. Ominis gaped and then pulled back shaking his head.

"No, I shall stay. I will cover your tracks and see to Daisy," he said. Then he hesitated. "Perhaps send word once you are safe. But don't put names on it. I would like to know you are alright."

Sebastian frowned, his gaze dropping to Marvolo on the floor. "What about your brother?"

"Let me worry about that," Ominis said. "You two worry about getting to safety. I...I shall bid you farewell."

MC gripped the front of Sebastian's robes, her head leaning against his chest, eyes shining with tears as she looked at Ominis. Sebastian held her tightly.

"Goodbye, Ominis," she whispered.

Sebastian took a breath and gave Ominis one last long look. "Goodbye, old friend."

Sebastian squeezed his eyes shut, thought of the nearest Floo point, and Disapparated.

....*....

After the crack of Disapparation, Ominis released the breath he had been holding, and allowed a moment of silence to fill him up.

They were gone. Sebastian and MC were gone.

He fought back the wave of sadness and grit his teeth. There was still work to do.

Lifting his wand, he scanned the room in search of his evil brother and spotted him laying on the floor. He stepped a little closer and lowered his wand down towards Marvolo's head.

As a boy he had been forced to perform terrible acts to prove his worth to the family. This brother had coaxed him, bullied him, tortured him and belittled him his whole life. There was no love lost between them, and yet as Ominis stood there wand out, he still could not bring himself to destroy Marvolo.

This man had committed heinous acts, had hurt those that Ominis cared for, and murdered that poor girl in cold blood right before them. Marvolo knew about the baby. He knew Sebastian and M were running, and once he found out that the gold was all gone, his rage would explode.

Marvolo must never remember what occurred in this room. Needs must. Ominis focused his mind and aimed with purpose. "Obliviate!"

He then turned to repair the room, ridding it of evidence of them being there, before pausing by poor Daisy.

The bravery of this Muggle girl amazed him. To stand before Marvolo like that and then jump in front of the curse was beyond pure nerve. It was love. Pure and simple.

Ominis now needed to repay that sacrifice, and he knew just how to do it. He bent to scoop Daisy up into his arms, such a tiny thing she was, a tiny thing with a big heart.

....*....

The ocean breeze tugged at her braided hair, and she lifted her face to feel the little sprinkles of salty sea spray on her cheeks. The sky above was purest blue, no smog, and no city filth clinging to her skin. Just fresh sea air, the constant thrum of the ships' huge engines below their feet, and a strong chest at her back.

MC leant her head back against Sebastian, her hand sliding along his arm to press against the back of his hand that was settled firmly over her stomach. Less than a few hours had passed before his natural protectiveness had extended to the life growing inside of her. If he was near her, and to be honest, he hadn't left her side, his hand was on her stomach. After the initial shock, Sebastian was already in love with his child.

MC felt safe. But her heart ached for Daisy. The loss of her was a hollow cavern in her chest that kept threatening to consume her. She could only hope and trust that Ominis was alright and had taken care of things back in London.

They had been at sea for four days now. It wouldn't be long before they docked in New York. Nerves fluttered in her belly, and she held Sebastian a little tighter. He kissed her temple and leant his head against hers, his hand caressing her stomach.

"We will be alright, I promise," he murmured.

MC nodded and turned to look up at him. The ocean breeze tugged at his unruly brown hair, and the sunlight had brought out the freckles across his nose. His face was harder these days, leaner, but she could still see glimpses of the boy behind the shadows in his eyes. They both carried shadows and dark burdens, but when she was with him, they didn't seem so heavy.

She smoothed her hands up his chest, sliding them around his neck before pressing a kiss to his mouth. "I'm glad I have you with me," she said softly.

Sebastian smirked, his fingers brushing against the silver heart charm on the necklace he had given her. "It was never in doubt," he said. "I promised I wouldn't let you slip away from me, MC, and I intend to keep that promise."

Hope flared in her heart, a flicker of flame that she dared to cherish. "Forever?"

Sebastian's smile was soft. "Forever."

This isn't quite over yet!! One more chapter to come 😁💜 To be continued...

[a-little-specificity]

dare

for @wolfstarmicrofic

It's wintertime at Hogwarts, the snow having already passed the white, fluffy, novelty stage that entices all the first and second years (and yes, even some particularly cheeky third years) out onto the grounds for snow fights and romps. Now, the snow is hard packed, layers and layers of sharp ice and muddy snow compacting around the castle like a sort of wintry armor.

It's trekking across this crunchy, slippy earth that Remus finds himself now, hobbling after James and Sirius, who are having entirely too much fun, even as they slide and nearly bring the other colliding with the ground.

"You lot are trying to cause my premature death!" Remus huffs, narrowly falling straight on his arse on a patch of snow covered-ice. I wish Peter were here, he thinks. Peter, who is most ostensibly not there, conveniently bowed out of outdoor activities after breakfast in the hall, citing a "potions study group" that Remus knows is code for meeting up with a Hufflepuff girl who's decided she likes his jokes enough to snog him. So that leaves Remus, tromping after James and Sirius and trying not to catch his death in snow.

"Oh Moony - live a little! Surely you have winter in Wales, mate?" Sirius laughs, using James' arm as leverage to spin around and give Remus a look. The look which leaves Remus breathless, his thoughts momentarily interrupted by the sight of Sirius, cheeks and nose-tip flushed pink from the cold, smile wide, and those grey eyes absolutely glittering in the clear, crisp sunlight of the day.

It's these moments that Remus is worried he's been found out, that Sirius knows, has to know, because otherwise why would he be looking at him like that? Like he knows Remus is so down bad for him that he's do anything he asked, anything if Sirius would just keep looking at him like that.

Remus has been silent a beat too long, stared at Sirius' face a breath too many, and he feels himself blushing, thankful that his wind-bitten face will hide the most of it.

James, thankfully and obliviously, saves Remus from having to come up with what would have likely been an awkward, half-hearted response.

"You were right Sirius - the lake hasn't frozen over yet! Clothes off lads!" James immediately begins shucking off his layers, piling his sweater and trousers on top of his robe to keep them dry.

Remus, who still changes in the bathroom, despite the rest of the Marauder's insistence that they wouldn't look (James and Peter) or wouldn't say anything (Sirius, naturally), balks.

"You want me, to do, what? And why?"

"Come on Remus -just a quick dip in the lake! It'll be invigorating - promise!" Sirius manages a wink before his pulls his jumped over his head and tosses it in the mix with James'.

Remus pointedly rolls his eyes and shoves his hands deeper in his robe pockets.

"I can supervise - make sure you lot don't drown or the Giant Squid doesn't come for you."

"Moo-ny!" James and Sirius groan in unison.

"Moony this is an official Marauder's outing, minus Pete of course, you can't just not! Don't make me resort to something childish, like daring you to jump in the lake naked with us, or something." Sirius, teeth chattering and naked bar his pants turns and gives Remus the look, his eyes equal parts pleading and playfully challenging.

Bloody hell, he definitely knows.

"Fine." Remus sighs, breaking eye contact to focus too intently on unbuttoning his robe so as to not focus on Sirius' body, took close and clothe-less. Reckon I can change in the dormitory now, at least.

cross-posted on A03

[sadnesslaughs]

As a mage, your last test is to battle with another student using your magic. The only spell you memorize (before the duel) correctly is the ability to summon glitter!

(A response to a writing prompt)

“Glitter?” Lady Mari asked, cocking her head to the side. Unsure if she had heard her student correctly. She had asked him what spell he was planning to use, hadn’t she? “Glitter isn’t a spell. Now, please try to be serious about this. What spell are you using? Soul lock? Tendril snap? Ankle dissolver?” She listed some of her personally crafted spells, hoping to have passed on at least one technique to her student.

“No, the glitter spell.” Arvin opened his robes, causing three meerkats to tumble out. His familiars landing on top of each other, building a meerkat tower. The three raised their arms in the air, waiting for some applause from Lady Mari. When they noticed the serious scowl of their teacher, they dropped their arms and climbed up Arvins’ leg, returning to their spot in his pocket. Arvin soon found what he was looking for, handing over his spell book.

“A spell to turn a fountain into a chocolate fountain? A spell to give all cats party hats?” Mari flipped through the pages, noticing all the pages reeked of magical manipulation. She blew a huff of air over the book, the magic dissolving, revealing the proper spells underneath.

“Exactly. Isn’t the glitter spell the most effective one?”

“Someone tampered with your spell book. Seems foul play is afoot. It’s time for a quick refresher. I’ll teach you the stomach twister and you can-“

“Lady Mari. Sir Rylie and his student are ready. Please, come to the dueling hall now.” Lia rested a hand on her chest, giving a deep bow to Lady Mari. She then turned to Avin, giving him a nod.

“That serpent. I don’t care if you win or lose this fight, just get some glitter in Rylie’s eyes, too. What teacher approves of such a pathetic act?” Mari fumed, placing a hand on Arvin’s shoulder, leading him into the hall.

The hall was a simple room, having wooden floorboards with purple lines etched into them. These lines creating a sealing spell for the field, preventing low level magic from hitting people outside of the battles drawn lines. While there was a stand for spectators, rarely anyone ever came to watch an event between rookies, except maybe a few overeager parents or masters.

Mari and Rylie took their seats, the silver-haired master grinning as he looked Mari’s way, knowing he had assured a victory for his student. The tall, lean figure covered in his pure white robes, enjoying that look of purity that his soul lacked.

“Do you think the guild would be happy to learn of your tactics?” Mari asked, the middle-aged master glaring at her fellow teacher. She knew these academies could be harsh, but to sabotage other people’s students. She somehow still expected better of the people here. “What tactics? If he accidentally received a spell book, that’s been altered. I don’t see how that would be my fault. Students play pranks all the time. Look at your student. He’s been pranking us for months by pretending to have talent. It’s sad that you’re enabling his delusions.”

“IN THE EYES.” Mari yelled, not responding to Rylie anymore. She watched the field, frustrated beyond belief. Was this what it was like for every new teacher when they started out? Maybe she should go back to mercenary work.

“Nice eyes?” Arvins questioned, half hearing what his teacher said. He gave her a thumbs up, feeling a lot better after the compliment, even blinking those blue eyes of his as he entered the fighting square. He adjusted his robes, feeling the meerkats fumble about inside of them. “Come on, you can’t all stay in the one pocket. It’s too heavy. That’s why you keep falling out.” He whispered into his robes.

“Talking to yourself again?” Trina approached, standing tall with the confidence of her master. She had studied every spell in her spell book, there was nothing she wasn’t prepared for. She slipped her hood off, revealing her tanned face, brown eyes and curly black locks. “If you want to give up, you can. I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

“Why would I give up? I need to pass this test. If I give up, it’s an instant failure. Are you stupid?” Arvin said bluntly. Trina stood there, dumbfounded. That line had sounded so cool and his response was to question her intelligence?

“I’m not stupid. I’m simply trying to save you from embarrassing yourself, you absolute pea brained toad sniffer.” She snapped, losing her composure. “Now, spare yourself the embarrassment of losing to me.”

Arvin didn’t get what she was trying to do, too confused to get angry about her insults. “You’re the top of our class. Why would I get embarrassed about losing to you? You’re very talented.”

Trina stopped, pulling her hood over her face, covering her blush. This wasn’t going how she wanted it to. Did he not understand a mage’s desire for flare and theatrics before a fight? Now she felt embarrassed and weird about everything she had said.

Lia stood on the sideline, feeling second hand embarrassment from all of this. She grabbed her wand from the front of her floral dress and raised it into the air. “Mages, prepare for your battle. May the best mage win, begin.” A puff of smoke left the tip of the wand, and the two mages spun around, readying themselves.

“What are you planning? I can counter anything you throw at me.” Trina had practiced everything. She couldn’t be defeated, that confidence causing her to get a faceful of glitter. She spat out a mouthful of glitter, struggling to see anything but sparkles as she staggered backwards. “Ah, what the-? Bleh.”

Arvin rushed forward, doing what Mari taught him to do in a battle if he was out of spells. He delivered a powerful spear tackle, driving her into the ground of the hall, knocking the wind out of her.

“THAT CAN’T BE LEGAL. THIS IS A BATTLE OF MAGIC.” Rylie screamed, calling for order in this chaos.

“The body is a weapon, too, even if it is unconventional. The battle continues.” Lia overruled. There was no rule against punching or spear tackling an opponent. They felt no need to include a rule against it, as usually doing so in a battle of magic would result in the attacking party getting blasted by a powerful spell. This was a rare case when this tactic could be used.

“PUSH HER OUT OF BOUNDS.” Now it was Mari’s turn to scream, pointing to the line that Trina’s back was so close to touching.

“Quiet in the stands please or you will be removed.” Lia warned, watching the pair squirm on the floor as Arvin’s feet dug into the ground. His shoes squeaking against the floorboards as he tried to push her out.

She was so close to going out; her back was about to cross over only for her sight to return, giving her a chance to launch her counter attack. “Weightless.” She jabbed her wand into his stomach and suddenly Arvin was floating. This would have secured her a win, if not for the fact that Arvin had his arms wrapped around her stomach, sending them both into the air. “Let go.”

“You want me to let go?” Arvin dropped her, sending her plummeting towards that purple line.

Lia pointed her wand at an angle. “Wind of flight.” A gust of wind hit that angle and bounced off the floor, sending her skidding across the floorboards away from the line. Saving her from a sudden elimination. As she laid on the floor, she saw Arvin hovering above her, having repositioned himself in the air. “No…”

The time limit on her gravity spell running out, dropping Arvin towards the ground and straight towards Trina. Trina squealed, rolling out of the way as Arvin hit the floorboards with a thud, limping as he got to his feet. He grabbed Trina by the hood of her robe, about to push her towards the boundary line. Before he reached it, three dizzy meerkats rolled out of his robe, tripping Arvin up, sending him falling out of bounds.

“Are those meerkats?” Lia said, puzzled as the three meerkats laid in a pile, their fluffy heads spinning from the quick movements. “Oh, um.” She cleared her throat. “Trina is the victor of this battle.”

“YES. How does it feel to-“ Rylie didn’t get to finish his sentence before Mari started choking him, wrapping her hands around his neck as Lia sighed, walking up the stands. When she was in front of them, she flicked her wand, teleporting the pair down onto the field, both on opposite sides of it.

Mari clutched the air, annoyed. “Next time you cheat, I’m going to rip your head off.”

“C-cheat?” He coughed, rubbing his throat. “I didn’t cheat. Let’s go, Trina. You don’t have time for simpletons.”

Trina was about to check on the meerkats, only to get pulled away by Rylie. The pair leaving to discuss their victory while Arvin stayed on his back beside the meerkats, rolling onto his side to check on them. Apart from a bit of dizziness, his familiars were fine. The low level summons not exactly built for battle.

“I told you. Just because you have three low level summons, doesn’t make them stronger.” Mari helped Arvin to his feet, then she collected his meerkats, slipping them into his pocket. “You did well, considering they cheated. Guess this makes you a mage now, right? Doubt you will be considered a high ranking one given your lack of spells, but it’s a start, anyway. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks. Does that mean you’ll get me a present?” Arvin begged. The three meerkats also poked their heads out, begging for something too, their little hands clutched together.

“Something small. Since you have to share it with your familiars. Come on, let’s go shopping then.”

“Before that. I have a question. What was this about cheating?” Lia asked.

“Someone manipulated Arvin’s spell book.”

“Do you have any evidence that may point to the culprit?”

“No. I blew the spell off the book when I noticed it. I should have handed it in so someone could have investigated the tampering. I do believe I know who did it. I don’t have any firm evidence to back it up, though.”

“I see. Even if you hadn’t blown the spell off, we probably wouldn’t have found the culprit. Unless someone witnessed the tampering, it’s anyone’s guess who did it. Still, you can both hold your heads up high. Arvin performed well. I’ve never seen Trina get flustered before.”

“Overconfidence is a dangerous thing.” Mari said, as she and Arvin headed out of the academy, going to do some shopping.

[dwellerinroots]

I. II. III.

Coming at you LIVE from Ft. Sunkenmoth, temporarily rebranded Ft. Sexymoth Arena, it's - Lucien Lachance and yours truly! Lucien will only be joining us a short while, but if you're here for the scandals, the gossip, and everything truly outrageous,you've come to the right place; the show continues, under the cut.

All right, all right, all right. Lucien. Why don't you start us off..? Some of our viewers felt you didn't get a chance to really strut yourself last time, you have anything to say about that? "Yes. A lot, in fact... None of it pleasant. But I'm here now, thanks to your - 'very' special guest, and cohost..? Free to right things which went oh-so wrong. All I have to do is - " Please. Take it away, Lucien. Lucien slowly rises from the podium, wearing a shimmering robe/dress ensemble made entirely out of those cheap worms that were a thing on the internet some time ago. They are coated in glitter left over from General Tullius' plans for an Imperial Sweep Triumph. Introducing today's cohost... The KING of WORM....S... MAAAaaAaaAAaaaaNNiiiIiiMARCOOOOOOO - (Lucien leaves at this point, or already left; not even the whisper of the void hints at where he went. Joining the host are an uncountable number of bone-white worms which slowly draw into the flesh of a Mer.) "So glad to be here. How many years has it been, millennia, really? No, don't answer that question. I was surprised to see how - lush Cyrodiil looks, however." The jungles of the Heartland are our charm point, Worm-King, as you surely know. And speaking of strong points, let's catch up with our first contestant, HAAAADVAR -

____________________________________________________________ A hero of the Legion who made it further then most, Hadvar managed to keep on keeping on, suppressing the sexual prowess of Ancano, but taking a Dragon Break to the knee while flexing with Durnehviir. Our correspondent is here at the Sleeping Giant Inn, where contestant Hadvar is enjoying a nice mead after the loss. Hadvar, Hadvar, why don't you tell us how you feel? "Well, it's pretty simple, really. A man needs to give as good as he gets, and by T - Stendarr, I gave as good as I got. But dragons, ho, they're on another level. Shouted the clothes right off me." The correspondent hides her eyes behind her standard-issue helmet. This makes no sense due to the fact that Hadvar is fully clothed. "But, you know, I don't mind losing. I entered because people believed in me, friends, family... You can't just disregard those people. Yeah?" Sure does feel that way, sometimes. And what do you have to say to our viewers back home, Hadvar? A few words of advice? "... Advice, hmn, no... Just that ultimately, the people you stand with are yours to choose. Not everything is a battle, but if you love someone - well, you go out there, and you do all that you can for them. For yourself, too." Now, let's leave Hadvar to his cups, and catch up on our next contestant... ____________________________________________________________ slowly the melting form of an Imperial Correspondent is made visible. great powers beyond mortal ken have repurposed them into a flesh-like form. Mannimarco is snickering in the background. there is a 'pop' and they un-Thuum themselves into their proper shape, wheezing. It's MIRAAK, and it seems he's feeling a little down in the dumps. Here in a pocket plane, realm unknown, possibly linked to Hermblemblem, it's Miraak. Correspondent, you - breathing okay, remember, the Emperor pays by the hour - there you go, you were dreaming... Miraak is sitting against a rock, overlooking an alien sea; the tide is forlorn, yet beautiful. A mask is in hands; it refixes itself before anything can be seen of the wearer. "... Contrasting your 'reports,' there is nothing of sorrow to be found here. Those without the proper tools simply cannot perceive this place. It is a bemusement that you found it, at all." Our reporters are CEASELESS, as is the unflinching justice of the Imperial Legion. "... Perhaps. Regardless, I do admit dismay. The trivialities of 'sexymen' do not concern me. But being the best there is to be - I know I am, and yet I lost. Peculiar. A new feeling. Or an old one; I do not recall." Silence is reigning here, folks, guess Miraak is startstruck! Disappointing that we can't get any words of wisdom from the self-proclaimed - "A slow pace does not equate to lack of thought. If I had one thing to say, it would be that you are as great as you imagine yourself to be. The words of others are meaningless. Fight, with everything you have, but accept defeat gracefully. There will always be another day."

... Huh, and that leaves us with a real retrospective. Time is marching, just like the Legion! And that leads us to...

______________________________________________________________

Ondolemar, a mer of regal bearing and silver blood - sorry, wait, that'll confuse the audience, just a real sexy mer. How's that, we good - we're good, and back on air!

Here at Markarth, mining is a way of life. But for those with clean hands and cleaner consciences, there's an endless amount of corruption right underfoot. Some ask who watches the watcher, we ask, is the watcher cute and marketable? Ondolemar, what do you think about that?

"... A pity you're all so obsessed with the material. Yes, I am good looking, but that simply wasn't enough. This was the year of - what did that one fellow call it, 'hot dragon winter?' Something like that."

Ondolemar sneers, and if he was wearing a suit, he probably would've swept the round. Ed. who keeps adding these lines??? fire them. into Masser.

"But, what's worth noting is that I actually had a lot of fun. Most of the people here are very beneath my notice, but exposing myself to them - in limited, tolerable doses - was actually delightful. I do not use hyperbole often; I mean it."

Shifting in his seat with the rustle of taut leather, Ondolemar cradles his fingers together in a steeple.

"I know you've been going to the losses and asking about things; little motivational blurbs. Let me tell you this - to all who might have listened, and voted for me. Words. Do not. Matter." He tightens a fist, and stares at it dispassionately; but there's a faint hint of something else there - sorrow, perhaps, or disappointment. "You can tell yourself you'll do better tomorrow; that it will get better tomorrow. And it might. But only you and your actions have the power, and it is power, to make that happen. Seize it, and do not lose hope... Are we done here?" We're done, and let's leave Ondolemar to his thoughts! The city of silver and blood fades into the distance as we ascend the throat of the world - it's time for..! _________________________________________________________ "I already have been told," begins the regal voice of a certain dragon, on the highest height of a great mountain range. The Imperial correspondents sent to check in are - one is shivering in her kit, and the other is actually frozen. A gentle sound is emitted from the dragon's soul, and the soul of the word is 'warmth' and for a moment, the temperature of the summit is as a summer's day. "A polite young woman... Barenziah, I should think. Very quiet. A welcome surprise. She explained the situation to me, though I do not understand. To learn that so many viewed me so highly... A predicament, to be certain." Laughter reverberates from the core of the great dragon, and then Paarthurnax is silent. "There comes a time, at some point, when being told that people hold you in such high esteem is a sorrow, young ones. Even if it is a flattering one. But I do not have the time, the spirit for such debates. I am grateful for the trust placed in me, and remorseful that I did not quite honour those who had faith in me." Chattering no longer, the second correspondent asks about words of wisdom, and the great dragon is silent once more. "Just that anyone who was so kind as to have faith in me, so too do I have faith in them. The world is theirs, as they see fit to create it; but do so, kindly. There is already too much of the rest of it." ___________________________________________________________ ... And then he said, by the Eight, "I just wanna put - " uuuhHHhhh, heeeeelllo there listeners, and welcome back to our midway session! I was just sharing important Imperial history with Mannimarco, Mannimarco, what do you think about the contestants so far? "Polite, entirely too polite. Sexymanity is not something to be handled so lightly, you know. But then again, in a jungle with... Let me guess, a Mede on the throne?" The Emperor is Galba III Tharn, you lout. I didn't pay top drakes to get a joker on as my cohost - "Of course, of course. Forgive me." Mannimarco smiles enigmatically, and stares right into the camera. The Imperial filming is sweating bullets. Please don't ask how the Imperials are filming. The Empire is just that resourceful, when it comes to sexymen; so says Cleric Elgabulus of Dibella. "Well, I think it's natural why so many have lost. They had no... Great plan for the title. I think we all know who is in this to win this. With a dedicated following, who will seize any chance to elevate their candidate to victory... But, wait. What is this?" A promotional. We - we need you to read it. "... Fine. Brought to you by Black-Brier Meadery. It's mead, and you love getting drunk. Is that all?" Other side. "... ahahahahaha, ahahahahaha, really..." The tourist board insisted. "Cyrodiil - ahahaha... Cyrodiil, necromancy is legal here. Oh, I can't... Sorry, one more take. Cyrodiil, necromancy is legal here. Bring... Bring your kids, that's gonna have to be it, clean it up in post." That's why we had to have you, I am so sorry - "It's fine. We're having fun, of a sort. Back to it?" RIGHT YOU ARE, MANNIMARCO! AND NOW, BACK TO OUR COMPETITORS..! Right after this message.

___________________________________________________________

"This," Cicero says, walking into the cavern complex and high-fiving fellow former contestant Nazir - "Is our grindroom. We're on the grind full time, and (aha) it's not something you can skip out on."

A panning shot of the DB caverns; Astrid is squatting in the corner and flashes some sort of sign, the correspondents stare at each other helplessly, and shrug.

"I'm always on my training. People see the clown, but they don't see the hard work that goes into taking the crown, more's the pity."

Cicero is doing one-handed push-ups; there's almost no delay between them, and if he's sweating, it's invisible.

"Am I disappointed? Of course I am. How could I not be? For all the hard work, all the suffering, it went nowhere. I try hard to make my pals laugh, to live the DB life, and then there's loss at the end of the tunnel. You just have to keep at it, though; the persona you wear is another mask, and we all wear so many of those." One correspondent shrugs, holds her mic (setting appropriate) to Cicero, and asks for a comment. He stares, and the manic lines of a grin flicker. "You may be a jester, but you are never a joke." __________________________________________________________ Vilkas, who actually made it farther then his brother, is here after a nice sauna. Everyone, you can consider that the lucky providence of a guy named 'Wulf' if you know what we mean, here at Ft. Sunkenmoth, and we never do! "... Are you all right? Seems like you have some serious issues." One of the Imperial correspondents re-arranging mosiac tiles that form the backdrop giggles; the host simply shrugs. It's true. You have to be mad to put in this much effort. Blame lack of sleep; blame Vaermina. "Honest talk. Farkas should be here, not me. I came here to fight, win respect, get some prestige and some cash. Didn't turn out that way. But if you're asking if I regret it? No. Absolutely not." Flexing, and very aware of the camera, he sits down at the table. Companions are walking in and about; they offer quiet support, but know well this part of the job. "When it comes down to it, competitions are just another fight. Muscles alone are meaningless. You have to be smart, canny, fight like hell." And you didn't? "I didn't. I ran out of juice. Made my fans feel disappointed; if I regret anything, it's that. But. There's still a lot I'm proud of. Aela? She's the real deal. Losing against a friend, a fellow, a comrade, that's not so bad. You've been fishing for soundbites, here's mine; always extend your arm after losing. Someone you've fought, they're not just an enemy - they're a potential friend." Vilkas gets up, turns to leave, turns his head back; grins confidently. "Next time, I won't lose." ___________________________________________________________ Zenitharr's tenders, this place is a pit. Why do thieves - perfectly legit potion sellers, purveyors of strong elixirs - live in damp grottoes? Can't they just open a guild or something? Live from the dank tunnels under Riften, it's - no way, respected local flavour, Brynjolf? Must be a mistake. No way this guy is a thief! "Aye, right you are. Just a man living my life, who happened to be in the contest. As it was, I expected to do better then I did, but - don't you know, something always comes up. And usually that's me, but - not this time." Brynjolf stops to laugh, holding a chair out to the interviewer. The Imperial correspondent sighs, sits down against the rock-hewn chair, and relaxes as he finds it remarkably comfortable. "Right, well, it stings a bit, I don't mince words. And surely, I figured my natural charm would help me out, here." Humming to himself, Brynjolf considers his words carefully. The quiet drip of water falling is almost peaceful, and lends the scene a sense of dignity. "I think I relied too much on it. Natural charm, I mean. Teldryn is one tough cookie, and, as you can see, damn fine under all that. I mean, if I have to lose, at least I can lose with a smile on my face - maybe make a moment of it." And his grin flares and fades, in equal time. "But honestly, I was happy to attend. You can find lots of treasures left unattended in the world; but the most precious ones are kept close to the heart. I'd like to imagine that everyone here was close to the heart of someone; maybe a bit soft of me. Even if it is... If I made them happy, that's enough for me." The correspondent holds the mic forward, and Brynjolf gently pushes it away. "No more words; I know you're looking for them, but I think everything I'd choose to tell my fans, they already know."

_________________________________________________________

And last but surely not least, it's Master Neloth! As you can see, our brave correspondent is currently trapped in some sort of glass, mushroom-terrarium sphere. Don't worry, from their thumbs-up, I can see they're cool with it.

"Stop disturbing my work. I already granted your 'correspondent' the gift of eternity, hmn, potentially, we'll check back in a few days. Why are you here?" Neloth scowls, and it is in fact very hot, and if he were to be wearing a suit - ed. the sounds you hear of an editorialising staffer being beaten up by several beleaguered legionaries is just sound test procedures; please pay it no mind. Master Neloth, while my colleagues are busy murdering one another - "Oh! That's almost civilised,I might have misjudged you." ... Yes, well, a quick question. There was a sexyman contest, you were in it - Neloth looks up from an aged tome; he clearly does not give a single fuck. His eyebrow raises, delicately. "What." A - the contest, the sexymen - "... and people think I'm mad. Ceaseless foolery... Nevermind. I will humour this intrusion, though my patience wears thin." We're just curious what you think about - what the Neloth formula for success is in Skyrim. Let's put it like that, what do you consider the most sexual and -

"Power." Neloth's answer is immediate, without hesitation. If it is designed to cow, shut up, and shoo away the interviewer, who has miraculously developed dark circles under their eyes in the span of minutes, it does not work. The Imperial Legion - Failure Never Stops us! (Sign up today.) "And let me assure you, I do not mean raw prowess. The beauty of knowledge, of magickal formulae, of skill and tact, all these things together. I was meant to do well, but not to win. If you must know, I cast my vote for Alduin." What - "Oh, go on. Let me have my fun. Speaking of which, you want inspirational quotes..? Here's mind. In the name of research, it's all okay." An equally beleaguered research assistant approaches cautiously and whispers in the Master's ear. He nods, eyes shut. "I mean to say, believe in yourself, and you can do anything. Just don't get caught." The research assistant and our correspondent lock eyes; in that moment, they have perfect understanding. Sexy CHIM is achieved, and they disappear in a puff of exhaustion. Well, that's Master Neloth for you; and with that, let's review back at Ft. Sunkenmoth! ____________________________________________________________ So, that was the 2nd round! Fierce struggles, personal rivalries, loss, and love. We here at Ft. Sunkenmoth Sexyman Arena 2 Featuring Black-Brier Meadery's Black-Brier Mead that quenches what ale-'s you are... whew, give me a moment... Excited for the next round. Anything else you want to add, Mannimarco - the slithering of myriad worms crawling along the edges of lenses, on Imperial limestone along each other, along tiled mosiacs soundlessly disguises a presence that was never there yet laughs; Well, our cohost seems to have left, ungrateful... Next time, we'll be delivering you some truly sexy shodowns that leave the heart in agony?! Don't - don't miss it!

Skyrim Sexyman Poll Masterpost

Rounds n such under the cut bc this gonna be a long post.

Green bold names are the winners of that round

We are currently in: Round 3/Semi finals

Round 1:

M'aiq the Liar vs Serana

Farkas vs Brynjolf

Ralof vs J'zargo

Cicero vs Mjoll the Lioness

Sheogorath vs Odahviing

Durnehviir vs Rikke

Ancano vs Hadvar

Ulfric Stormcloak vs Alduin

Teldryn Sero vs Mercer Frey

General Tullius vs Ondolomar

Nazir vs Hermaeus Mora

Neloth vs Galmar Stone-Fist

Jiub vs Vilkas

Miraak vs Astrid

Karliah vs Paarthurnax

Aela the Huntress vs Lucien LaChance('s ghost)

Round 2:

Durnehviir vs Hadvar

Sheogorath vs Miraak

Ondolomar vs Hermaeus Mora

J'zargo vs Paarthurnax

Cicero vs Serana

Vilkas vs Aela the Huntress

Brynjolf vs Teldryn Sero

Neloth vs Alduin

Round 3: In Progress! Links Coming!

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[jiubilant]

Can we get something sweet with Viarmo and Ravi for the tail end of pride month?

The gloves are crushed black velvet, slippery-soft, embroidered at each wrist with a rose bedewed in pearls. Viarmo had not thought to wrap them. He watches with great poise and dignity, certainly not fiddling anxiously with a crumb of rosin in his pocket, as their recipient takes them in stunned hands.

“Ah,” says the Archmage of Winterhold, wide-eyed, and skims a thumb along the tufted silk. Then, with choked courage: “How—thoughtful.”

Viarmo, with great poise and dignity, fiddles anxiously with the crumb of rosin in his pocket.

“They’ll fit over your rings,” he says briskly, businesslike in his embarrassment. He’s flubbed important chords before, and in front of audiences far less fond of him than this; still, he thinks with woeful amusement, he’s out of practice. He never knows what this man will like. “The smaller ones, at any rate. This way you’re not flashing your jewelry in every dark alley from here to who-knows-where.”

The Archmage, leaning on his cane in the doorway of his grand Palace suite, stares incredulously at his suitor. Then his lips twitch.

“You thought some scoundrel might stab me for my rings,” he says, his voice plush as the silk. “So you bought me a pair of gloves”—he clears his throat in the tweedy, officious way that means he’s trying not to laugh—“twice as costly as my rings.” He runs an amused thumb over the seed-pearls stitched into the spiderwork, his lips pressed together, his red eyes dancing like twin fires. “Black gloves.”

So he doesn’t like black, Viarmo thinks, smiling tightly. Come to think of it, he’s never seen the old peacock wear anything darker than wine-red, and that was because he’d spilled half a bottle of Surilie on his surcoat—

“They’re lovely,” says the Archmage, then clears his throat again. His voice trembles with suppressed mirth. “They’re very nice, Vjar, really. I’ll wear them to that—that thing tonight.”

The gracious thing to do, Viarmo supposes, would be to give him an out. He raises his eyebrows instead, smiling down at the other man like a cat at the birdcage. “Do.”

“I will.”

“So you will.”

The Archmage shuts the door in Viarmo’s face. It is not so sturdy a door that Viarmo cannot hear, on the other side, a badly-stifled cackle.

* * *

By dinnertime, he decides that he’s cross. He’d spent too much money on the gloves. Perhaps it’s because the Archmage is a wizard, one of those vaudevillian men to whom dreaming and doing are all one, that he takes nothing as seriously as he ought; he would laugh, Viarmo thinks, if someone struck him in the street. He laughs at politics. Praise. Poetry, particularly when it’s written for him.

“Might as well be a tomcat,” Viarmo grumbles at his reflection in the mirror, twisting the tips of his moustache into their customary curls, “dropping dead birds on his feet.”

Rebraiding his beard and muttering things into it is such a demanding task that, by the time he sweeps with grand and glittering indifference into the meadhall of the Palace, the servants have already cleared the tables away—for whatever that thing is, Viarmo thinks with a simmering smile, and looks around for the Archmage. He spots the man sipping wine at the High Queen’s elbow, in pride of place, resplendent in the robe he dons for state dinners and public scenes. The Azurine roses embroidered along its hem, trailing gold-stitched thorns, match those blooming from the cuffs of his black gloves. Viarmo tries not to look too smug.

“I was beset by tigers,” he says to the Queen, first, and bows in apology—then winces at a twinge in his bent knee. Something new aches every year. Elisif the Fair turns her luminous face to him, smiling in her grave, glad way, and spares him further scraping with a nod; he settles gingerly into the seat by the Archmage, half-hoping that the man will produce, from one of his voluminous sleeves, a chicken leg.

The Archmage, his nose in his winecup, gives Viarmo a sparkling sidelong look instead. “Told a lad to send up a platter for you.”

Viarmo remembers that he’s cross.

“I dream nightly,” he says coolly, massaging his stinging knee, “of cold capons.”

“Cold cod,” says the Archmage with grave regret. The pearls beading his wrists wink in the light of the braziers, amused. “In, it is accused, some Cyrod sauce. Ah, look.”

Viarmo looks. The entertainment for the evening is a troupe of Velothi troubadours in jingling motley, shakily tuning up. They have never, Viarmo understands at once, performed for such a grand audience as the Queen and all her court; their young faces, as they arrange themselves before the dais, are taut with smiling terror.

“Poor creatures,” murmurs the Archmage, fixing a twinkling eye on a particularly sick-looking dancer. “Must have sampled the sauce—”

“Muthseras,” begins a young man with a rebab, his voice a rough, pleasant bowstring-scrape. He bows so low before the High Queen’s throne that his bellcap tumbles off. The crowd chuckles, appreciative of the joke—but the boy, Viarmo realizes with stern sympathy, hadn’t meant for it to happen. He stammers his way through the rest of his introduction, the points of his ears flushing purple, and nearly drops his instrument twice before the first note trembles out.

He knows what he’s about, Viarmo decides after a tense, listening moment. He watches the anxiety drain from the young man’s face. Behind him, two of the troupe’s dancers tumble and twirl, at times tugging each other, miming a comical quarrel. Each time the first dancer seizes his partner’s waist, plucking her off her feet, she twists from his grasp like a bending flower.

“Benitah and her first suitor, I believe,” says the Archmage—in response to some murmured question of the Queen’s, Viarmo supposes. Still, he sneaks a glance at the man sidelong. The Archmage is smiling at him. Wickedly.

Cross, Viarmo reminds himself, and makes a pointed study of the musicians. He’d give the rebab-player a scholarship, he thinks, if the boy applied; his bow shivers on the strings of his instrument, teasing out a fast, breathy melody that billows like the dancers’ skirts. But the drummer, pounding a panicked heartbeat on his calfskin, could benefit from tightening his rims—

The rebab shrieks as the retreating dancer, her face a flash of fire, whirls on her suitor. Swirling a black scarf from her sleeve, she casts it at his feet.

Viarmo’s brow furrows. He looks to the Archmage. “Wedding’s off?”

“She’s given him a black garment,” the Archmage murmurs into his drink. He turns, the black gloves gleaming on his hands, to smile innocently at Viarmo.

“Which means?”

“Which means,” says the Archmage, his smile broadening, “she’s hired the Morag Tong to kill him.”

Viarmo stares at him.

Then he laughs aloud. Fortunately, the rest of the court laughs, too; a third dancer has sprung from the shadows, swift as an assassin, to hit the first over the head.

* * *

“Bad stretch,” he says an hour later, then shakes his head. “Bad hide altogether. Listen—”

He taps the skin of the elderly drum in the middle of the batterhead, where the sagging hide is beginning to bald, then a second time nearer the rim. The Velothi troupe’s young drummer, a boy with a stubborn chin, leans over his shoulder like a concerned parent.

“Bad hide,” he concedes, flicking an ear. There’s a fierce, listening look on his face. “And bad rims. But, Master Bard, it was my father’s drum.”

“Mustn’t part with it, then,” says Viarmo, rising officiously from the drummer’s stool. The drummer smiles at him, suddenly shy; he grins back and claps the boy’s broad shoulder like a timbrel. “But it needs reskinned, and your father would agree. Come to campus tomorrow and ask for Jorn.”

Empty of all but silent servants and troubadours counting their coin, the walls of the Blue Palace meadhall loom drowsy and dark over the remnants of its revel. The torches blink benevolently down at Viarmo as he crosses the hall, smiling at the dancers—Benitah, her suitor, the assassin—yawning and stretching in the warmth of the firepit. The fire curls like a cat. The embers of its bed stretch mournful shadows across the marble floor, their flickering dance accompanied only by the ghostly cries—halfway human, Viarmo thinks—of a rebab.

“Not quite.” The Archmage’s voice, soft as it is, carries in the quiet. He’s sitting in the firelight with the rebab-player, his gloved hands tucked primly in his sleeves. “No, it was—it was slower, I think. I remember—” He pauses, his face half in shadow, moonlike. His smile is gently lost. “I don’t know how to describe it.”

“I’m sorry, kena,” says the young man with the rebab, looking like he means it. His bow falls silent on the strings. There’s a small squeak, the undignified end of every song, when he lifts it up. “I’m sorry. I wish I knew it.”

“You’ll write better ones,” says the Archmage, and stiffly stands. For a moment his face opens like a wound. Viarmo starts towards him without thinking, then hesitates, feeling shamefully like a spy; then the Archmage sees him and grins, all devilish delight, and it’s all right.

“Well?” he demands, breezing across the hall to take Viarmo’s arm. “What’s it going to be? Poison? Pillow over my face? Push from a balcony—”

“I didn’t know,” Viarmo protests, laughing. He can’t help but laugh, now that the Archmage is laughing again. Next, he thinks, I will give him a black cloak to match. “How could I—”

“How could you?” the Archmage agrees with mournful glee, tugging him briskly along. “After all these years—”

“I’ll buy you new gloves.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” says the Archmage. “I love these gloves. You’re spiriting me off to—to slit my throat in a dark corner, I suppose.”

They slip out of the meadhall. In the corridor, empty and echoing, the torches have already winked out; for a moment they are only shadows fumbling in the dark, cursing cheerfully, feeling out where the stairs begin.

“Ouch,” says Viarmo to the dark.

“Tigers?”

“Your cane’s on my foot.”

Something velvet, slippery-soft, touches his cheek in tender apology. Viarmo stills in the incandescent dark. Something new, he thinks, aches every year.

“Dark corner,” he observes, smiling.

“Ah,” says the Archmage, and obligingly lifts his chin.

[m-feline]

Knockout

A new place has been opened in the Lanes. As custom, Sevika goes to make them clear how things work in Lanes. But this place is entirely different from others. The owner isn't easy to scare and she has her own medicine for those who don't behave.

Tags: alcohol, mention of drugs, canon typical swearing.

“Welcome to the Deadend,” Bartender greeted behind the bar to the newcomers. “What can I get…” He froze when he saw the guests that had come in. The whole hall saw them.

No one in the Undercity couldn’t say they didn’t know who they were and to who they worked for. Four people stood at the entrance. One woman and three men. As the woman walked to the bar with long and loud strides the men scattered a bit to “mingle” with other customers. Least to say, everyone was nervous, the bartender looking up at the tall woman towering over him. And customers to the men who either sat next to them or picked their glasses to “peak” at their drinks and then placing them back.

“We would like to speak with the owner,” The tall woman said.

“That would be me,” Another woman called at the back room. At the side of the bar was an entrance to some private rooms. One had lights flashing and other one had a door closed that muffled sounds of some sort of game. The woman came out of the third room, which was slightly dark and also had a door similar to the “game room”. But there were no sounds anything coming from there.

“I’m the owner of Deadend, my name is (Y/n), but you can call me Ma'am or M,” The woman said. She had a long robe which had Peacock feather patterns but colors were of the blue purple and gold. Under the robe she had a V-neckline white blouse and black shorts. Her (h/c) hair came past the shoulders with nice wavy curls. She had one hair pin at the side of her head with feathers of same color as her robe. She wore only some simple pumps on her feet that were black and had some gold glitter.

“So, M. Word on street is that this is Shimmer free zone,” The tall woman said turning completely to face (Y/n).

“You heard correctly, no shimmer use on this property,” (Y/n) looking very satisfied with herself.

“This is the Lanes, everyone uses shimmer,” The woman growled.

“Not everyone apparently and it does make my place… um, one of the kind I suppose,” (Y/n) said ignoring the tone.

“So what? Are we unwelcomed guest here now?” The tall woman asked testing the waters.

“Oh, I would never ban anyone from entering. Anything on the other hand …” (Y/n) said and snapped her fingers. Like waiting in the dark, three tall young men of different age and skin color walked away from their table and came to stand next to her. “…that is another thing. Search them.”

The three men started with the men that came with the woman. Seeing them coming one of the guys tried to run but was quickly caught by the shoulder and forced back to the seat. While the men were searched, (Y/n) walked closer to the tall woman and simply pulled a vial out of her side pocket. The vial was small maybe three inches long and contained glowing magenta colored liquid. Placing the vial between them (Y/n) simple clicked her tongue at the woman.

“Now this is a no-no,” (Y/n) said. The woman tried to get the vial back but (Y/n) was faster and pulled the vial away from her reach.

“You have no idea what you are doing,” The woman growled.

“Oh I have pretty good idea. A naughty customer who brings their drinks to the bar. How rude,” (Y/n) said confidently and glanced at the three men bringing forth what they found. Five more vials of Shimmer, three daggers and a gun. (Y/n) looked at the woman with a pout. “Very naughty indeed. Not only do you bring drinks, you bring bad toys too. I am very hurt.”

“So, what are you gonna do about it?” The woman asked.

“I’m giving you lot the same choice everyone gets here. Leave your stuff outside or stay outside with your stuff, ”(Y/n) with stern voice.

The woman seemed to ponder her choices, since all the customers had now gotten their gut back. And had gotten up from their tables, probably ready to help the three men to “escort” them out if needed. The scene reminded the woman too much the time when Vander was the owner of the Last Drop. So much loyalty. Loyalty that will break in time. But not now. She had business to attend here. Without saying a word, the woman pulled out four more vials of the Magenta liquid and placed it on with the pile of the stuff that three men had gathered.

“Hm, Grey, take all this and place them to the locker three, and bring the key to our guest,” (Y/n) instructed one of the three men with a smile. The man in question nodded before he gathered all the stuff in his arms and walked outside. A couple of minutes later, he came back with a key which he offered to the woman. The woman took it without a word.

“Again, welcome to the Deadend,” (Y/n) said smiling. “Since you are new let me explain the rules of this place.” She extended her hand pointing the wall that was lit with different colors to highlight the artistically made wall painting with written text.

“As some of you can read, we won’t accept Shimmer, drugs, weapons, fights or stealing. Anyone who doesn’t follow the rules, must swallow a Knockout,” (Y/n) explained.

“And how many have… swallowed a Knockout?” The woman asked.

“Three so far. Others…” (Y/n) said turning to her customers who now avoided looking at her. “…learned from them.”

“Fine, whatever. We also came here to demand a payment for your place to keep open,” The woman said.

“Pfft, so you want protection money,” (Y/n) scoffed. “Sorry, but I do have my principals about paying every thug who claims to work for the Kingpin himself.”

“Is that a no?” The woman asked.

“Nope. It means let the boss come here himself. Then and only then can we negotiate a proper deal,” (Y/n) with an uninterested loom in her eyes.

“How many people have come here claiming that?” The woman asked.

“Oh there was that guy with a metal jaw, that short hairy one, some skinny guy. Do you know what I did to them?” (Y/n) asked innocently.

“What?”

“I made them swallow a Knockout,” (Y/n) grinned.

For a moment the woman’s eyes got wide. But then she put her poker face back on. She had a good idea who were those people, but then again getting the best of them didn’t mean she was dangerous. But she wasn’t a idiot either.

“I will tell Silco to come visit you himself,” The woman said as she turned to leave.

“Leaving so soon? Not even a drink? We have excellent brandy here. Or if you like non-alcoholic drinks, Larry can make quite good shakes.” (Y/n) said but in vain as all of the group walked (two of them ran) out of the bar. The moment they had left, (Y/n) dropped the smile from her face and turned to the stairs hidden near the backrooms.

--

Three days later, familiar group approached once again the Deadend. This time there was one more man walking with them. They barely got close to the door when the doors busted open and a young man was thrown out by two familiar looking men. One would clearly hear the music going loud inside as the doors opened and closed the brief moment. The man who was thrown out got up quickly and ran away like he had a devil following him. The group who had witnessed the scene outside didn’t pay head to the man and walked inside past the doors. Very similarly to the last time, everyone froze to their place as they saw the group that came in. Everyone except (Y/n) who finished putting on her robe. When she noticed the silence of the crowd she too looked up to the visitor.

“Ah, so you came. Welcome to the Deadend,” (Y/n) said as she tied up her robe and walked towards the guests. “My name is (Y/n), owner of the Deadend, people here call me either Ma'am or M.”

She extended her hand for a handshake towards the new comer. The man took her hand but instead of shaking it he twisted slightly to palm down and gave a small kiss to the knuckles.

“A pleasure to meet, Madam. My names is Silco,” The man said. “Sevika told me you wished to see me in person.”

“She is right,” (Y/n) said glancing at the tall woman. “Did she also tell you why?”

“She did tell me something but I hope you can shed more light to it,” Silco said.

“Of course, we can speak in my office,” (Y/n) said turned to lead the way.

“Privately, I hope?” Silco asked.

“Naturally,” (Y/n) said and turned to the bartender as she passed the bar. “The first drinks on me for the guests. I believe something strong would be up to their taste.”

After getting a nod from the bartender, (Y/n) lead Silco up the stairs to the second floor. There were three doors and she guided him to the one closest to the hall. Behind the door opened neat office with a desk without papers, two couches facing each other and coffee table between them. One wall of the room was entirely glass that showed what happened down stairs right above the bar. But the dark see-through curtains gave the privacy for the people on the second floor. There was a small kitchenette at the opposite wall and (Y/n) walked to it as she began to pour herself a tea that was still hot.

“A drink, mister Silco?” (Y/n) asked as she added milk and sugar to her tea.

“No, thank you,” Silco said when he sat down on the couch.

“What about your friend upstairs? Would she like one?” (Y/n) asked glancing up.

Silco didn’t say anything. He just stared at the woman with a stoic face.

“I do have some sweets if she likes those too,” (Y/n) added.

“Anything with a pop,” A voice came from the sealing.

“Hmm, I do have some gum, some lemon drops and… oh, I have lemon frosted cupcakes,” (Y/n) said as she looked through her cabinets.

Behind (Y/n) came a thud as someone landed behind her. With a couple of strides next to her came a young woman with long blue braids that came to the floor. She gave her a big-eyed grin as (Y/n) offered her a cupcake with a yellow swirly frosting. The young woman simply took the good and walked to the empty couch and plopped to sit in it and raised her feet on top of the coffee table.

“Jinx, behave yourself,” Silco said to the girl. The girl just smiled, took a bite of the cake, and moved her feet from the table to cross then under her.

“How did you know she was there?” Silco asked (Y/n) who now came back with a teacup and a plate, and leaned against the front of her desk.

“She has her own rat up there,” Jinx answered instead.

“Ah, you met Moe,” (Y/n) said and took a sip of her tea.

“Yeah, he doesn’t talk much,” Jinx smiled.

“Neither would you if someone cut your tongue out,” (Y/n) said.

“Or laugh, or smile. He just sits there, unmoving,” Jinx continued.

“May we talk about why we are here?” Silco said impatiently.

“Of course,” (Y/n) said and set down her teacup with the plate on the desk. “Your people came here asking some questions and some money. I made clear that such things I will only talk with recipient himself.”

“I trust my people to do what they must,” Silco said.

“You may, I don’t,” (Y/n) said and turned to Jinx. “What about you, dear?”

“Oh, good ol' Sevika is so serious to try anything,” Jinx smiled and scoopped some frosting with her fingers. “Others might be a bit too…handsy.”

“Hm, two of the Chem Barons came and also demanded money, I told them that I speak only with the one who gets the money in the end. They did struck me as… handsy,” (Y/n) said repeating Jinx's word.

“And here I am now,” Silco said. “If I ask you to pay for my people will you do it.”

“I give them money?” (Y/n) laughed. “Let me clarify, I want to see if the person who gets the money is worthy of it.”

“So, am I?” Silco asked.

“That is the reason you are here, isn't it?” (Y/n) said and moved to sit on the couch where Jinx sat. “Let me ask you, besides, not betting myself against you and your people, why should I pay you?”

“You get protection, and plenty amount of Shimmer to use in your bar,” Silco said.

“I got it covered and this is Shimmer-free zone,” (Y/n) said counting her fingers to the pros Silco said.

“I meant protection from the Enforcers,” Silco said.

“Got it covered too,” (Y/n) said. “Since you got nothing better, let me tell you what you gain by letting me keep my business up, whether I pay you or not.”

Silco’s brow raised a bit but otherwise he didn’t show much emotion. A couple of seconds later, he nodded as a sign to let her continue.

“Besides the bar, this establishment has another income,” (Y/n) explained. “Information.”

“I already have eyes and ears in many places just for that,” Silco said.

“Ah, but they can get you so much as where they can go,” (Y/n) said. “Mine can go even further than they will.”

“I highly doubt that,” Silco said.

“I know, how about a little bet?” (Y/n) asked. “To test how good my information is, let’s set a goal as of what you want me to dig up. If I can get it but your ‘eyes and ears' can’t then I win and I don’t need to pay you.”

“And if you lose?” Silco asked.

“I pay you protection money and your people get discount on the drinks,” (Y/n) said. “But they still need to drop Shimmer outside the bar. That is not negotiable.”

“Many people use Shimmer, why do you want to keep it away?” Silco asked.

“Because I don’t want dead bodies in my place,” (Y/n) said. Silco pondered for a moment the offer. He glance at Jinx to see if she had an opinion. But the girl was more interested in finishing her cupcake.

“I accept your conditions on the gamble,” Silco said as he leaned forward and place his elbows on top of his knees. “What sort information do you wish to dig up?”

“You may decide that,” (Y/n) offered.

“Names and families of the workers working for the Hextech installations?” Silco offered.

“Pfft, that was done yesterday,” (Y/n) scoffed, snapped her fingers and opened her hand. Two seconds later a small object similar to a pen dropped from the ceiling and landed on her hand.

“Woah, it’s raining stuff,” Jinx laughed. ”What is it? A pen?”

“Actually a note cylinder, smaller than a message tube but very handy in storing information,” (Y/n) said as she showed the cylinder that was slightly bigger than a pen.

“And easy to disguise I believe,” Silco noted.

“Indeed, this is how the information is passed to the customer,” (Y/n) said placing the cylinder on the coffee table. “I was hoping more of a challenge.”

“What kind of challenge?” Silco asked.

“You tell me,” ( Y /n) said smiling. “What sort of information is worth of the money I may or may not pay you?”

Silco was about to say something but the sound of fighting came from the downstairs and stopped him from speaking. (Y/n) sighed and rolled her eyes as she got up from the couch and walked to the glass wall. Behind one curtain, she found a handle and slid half of the window to the side leaving big gap of two meters.

“What the hell is going on?” (Y/n) shouted in anger. “We are trying to have a civil conversation up her.”

Everyone looked up. Some with mixture of fear and panic while others with curiosity and some with realization. There was fight alright, at least according to the pose of the two men who one hold the other in a headlock and the other was clearly ready to bite the others arm.

“Jeff, I’m very disappointed with you,” (Y/n) with a stern voice to the man who held the other in a headlock. “Did you forget the wall?”

“But he started…” Jeff tried to answer.

“The wall,” (Y/n) reminded him.

“He…” Jeff tried again.

“The bloody wall,” (Y/n) almost shouted. “Right there. What does it say?”

“No shimmer, no drugs…” Jeff gulped as he read the wall. “…no weapons, no fighting and no stealing.”

“What else?” (Y/n) prompted.

“The penalty…” Jeff gulped again. “… for each action… the person must… drink a Knockout.”

“Very good,” (Y/n) said as she gathered the hem of her robe. And then looked at her guards. “Punch their asses to the chair.”

As ordered, the three men came towards the two fighters, separated them and made them sit next to a table.

“Excuse me for a moment,” (Y/n) said to her guests before she jumped out and landed on the bar table. The bartender quickly cleaned the table and brought out a couple of bottles and glasses while (Y/n) stepped down from the table, removed her rob and walked to the back of the table. Once there she pulled out a knife and began to chop lemons into thin slices. While she did that the bartender shook two liquors together in a bar mixer. (Y/n) pulled a syrup bottle and poured nice half inch fill at the bottom of two glasses. Then the bartender filled the glasses with his mixture. (Y/n) poured some pink juice on top and then decorated the top of the glass with a lemon slice and whipped cream. When the two drinks were done she placed the glasses on a tray and brought it to the table. Only there did she finally notice that the other man fighting was one of Silco's people. Oh, this will be ugly.

“Oh, almost forgot,” (Y/n) said right when she place the tray on the table. Attached to her belt were hanging some pouches, when she opened one she brought a small bottle filled with glowing aqua-colored liquid. She opened the bottle and with a dropper attached to the cap she put four drops of the liquid to each glass. After putting the bottle away she simply pushed the glasses towards the two men.

“Drink up,” (Y/n) smiling.

“Ma’am, I … I'm sorry… For what I did…it won’t happen again,” Jeff stuttered.

“Oh, I know it won’t happen again. Now. Drink. It,” (Y/n) said with a hint of thread in her voice.

Jeff looked terrified as his eyes switched from (Y/n) to the drink and back. The man next to him didn’t look that worried. He looked more confused than anything else. He looked at the guy next to him, then the drink and at Sevika who come closer to see what was going on. If this was a thread it didn't look like it.

“What was in the bottle?” Sevika asked.

“Oh, this?” (Y/n) asked showing the little bottle. “Just my own medicine. Very harmless.”

Sevika didn’t seem to believe it. If it was harmless then Jeff wouldn’t be sweating like pig in an oven right now. Something was up.

“Don’t believe me?” (Y/n) asked innocently. “I'll show you.”

With that (Y/n) opened the bottle again and took a swing at it. She took two gulps before she set the bottle back to the table.

“Woooh, now that’s cold,” (Y/n) sighed and smiled at Sevika. She wasn’t sure what to say, she reached to the bottle but (Y/n) took it before she could.

“Ah, ah, aah. You have to order your own Knockout if you want some,” (Y/n) said moving her finger side to side. Sevika looked up and (Y/n) knew that Silco had walked to the open window and now watched down. Jinx had also joined him and sat at the edge swinging her legs back and forth in the air.

“Are your people scared to drink, Mister Silco?” (Y/n) asked curiously.

“No, they aren’t,” Silco answered and looked at his subordinate who now sat at the table.

“Really?” (Y/n) asked. “Then I guess they need some help to drink it.”

Jeff understood what she meant and quickly took his drink and began to shuck it down to his throat. When he finished he slammed the glass to the table and whipped the creamy whisker from his mouth. He looked exhausted as if he had run a marathon. (Y/n) smiled at him for finishing his drink, then she turned to the Silco's guy.

“And now it's your turn,” (Y/n) said.

The person looked at the full prepared glass in front of him. And then he looked at the man next to him. He was coming down from his breathing marathon but he still looked nervous.

“Dustin,” Silco called him from the second floor. The man looked up to him. There was that look in Silco's face that spoke more than words. He didn’t tolerate failure. And he didn’t want to appear weak. When the man got that clear he took the glass, removed the lemon slice and drank the whole glass in one swing. When he set the glass back to the table he looked content with himself. The drink didn’t taste that bad. He was about to bite down to the lemon just to show off but (Y/n) spoke up.

“I would keep that a side, if I were you,” She said. The man looked at her with quizzical look. And when he looked at Jeff, he got worried. The man in question didn’t seem alright. He was pale.

“At this point, I have to remind you that our restrooms are outside the door and to the right. They aren’t locked,” (Y/n) said pulling Dustin’s attention back to her. He didn’t get what she meant but she didn’t explain it either. She just straightened her back and pulled out pocket watch with a chain. She opened it and she simply kept her eyes glued to it.

“30 seconds,” (Y/n) said without looking away from the clock. As if that was a agreed sign, everyone in the bar who had witnessed the whole ordeal began murmur or speak loudly.

“The new guy is sure to pass out.”

“Nah, the other guy took it too and he was okay. I say they will throw up any minute now.”

“Jeff looks pale. He might do just that.”

“If it were me, I would run home now.”

“I say they both will shit themselves.”

Dustin got more nervous as he heard what people were talking. He didn’t get to ask when (Y/n) spoke again.

“Open the doors,” she said loudly without looking away from the watch. Two of the three men went to the door and opened them and stood keeping it open, one standing inside and the other outside. When Dustin saw this, he became more nervous.

“Five… four… three… two,” (Y/n) barely said the last word when Jeff's head was falling down and almost made him fall from the chair. Fortunately, (Y/n) was closer to him and apparently was already expecting him to faint, she grabbed him from his fluffy hair and placed his head to the table so he could lean over it from where he sat. Before she retreated her hand, (Y/n) placed her two fingers to his neck to check his pulse.

“And we have a pass out,” (Y/n) declared. Mixture of groans, sighed and murmurs was heard all around the bar. One younger customer even came to poke the fainted guy, just to see how much pass out he was.

“Let him be,” (Y/n) scolded the young boy before she turned to Dustin. “Again, our restrooms are outside. I don’t want a mess in my establishment.”

Dustin looked now more confused and nervous. He had no idea what was going on. Was there poison in the drink? No, she took a long gulp herself of the stuff. Did it activate with the drink? Was he going to die? He could already feel something twisting inside his body.

“You're not going to die?” (Y/n) said in a matter fact tone. Dustin shot a look at her. How did she know what he was thinking? “What you are feeling is the gathering of all the impurities inside you to the most natural way to exit your body. With humans there is only two options.”

It took two second for Dustin to understand what she said, another two to realize what was happening to him, and another two when he pushed himself off the table and ran outside. When he disappeared from the sight of the door, all other customers rushed to the side corner of the hall, and many tried to look out through a small window at the corner. Those who couldn’t reach to see tried to lean over others.

“What happens? I wanna see.”

“I see him. I see him.”

“He reached them.”

“Is he going to make it?”

And then everyone who had a visual, began to howl. When they moved away and others saw it too through the window they joined them on making noise and laughing.

“He didn’t make it?” (Y/n) asked from one of the men standing at the door. The one who stood outside simply shook his head. (Y/n) sighed. “At least, he made it outside.”

(Y/n) began to clean the table while the customers were both making fun of Dustin's predicament and going through their own bets. (Y/n) had just set the tray with empty glasses to the bar table when Sevika stomped towards her.

“What the hell was that?” She asked angrily.

“I think my drink didn’t sit well with his… stomach,” (Y/n) said.

“The other guy fainted,” Sevika almost shouted. (Y/n) simply shrugged her shoulders.

“So did the other one, it is usually due to nerves and stress. In the next 12 hours, he will also need to use the bathroom,” (Y/n) said like it was another day for her.

“You crazy bi…” Sevika growled.

“Calm down, Sevika,” Silco said as he came down the stairs. Jinx was still sitting at the edge of the second floor looking down at them.

“I believe this is one of the reasons why you don’t wish Shimmer to your establishment,” Silco said to (Y/n).

“It does make the punishment more painful than needed. But that is only if the person has indulged too much of Shimmer,” (Y/n) said.

“May I ask what is that ‘medicine' of yours?” Silco asked looking at the small bottle that (Y/n) still held.

“My own concoction,” (Y/n) smiled. “I was in need of something cleansing long time ago. After several tries, I managed to create my own version of some sort of Panacea. It cleans body of all excess substance that isn’t part of body's regular system.”

“All substance?” Silco asked.

“All. Alcohol, nicotine, shimmer. One client even lost excess cholesterol after drinking my Knockout,” ( Y/n) said happily.

“I see,” Silco said. “And why haven’t you began to sell this Panacea of yours?”

“Though my drink may clean the body, it won’t clean the mind,” (Y/n) said. “Even if some of the clients have been cleansed from Shimmer they still want to use it again. Same goes for alcohol and nicotine. The cholesterol did however go down.”

Silco hummed and looked up at Jinx who happily smiled at him. He couldn’t deny the fact that what he had seen was interesting. For someone to create a drink to cleanse the body. If he didn’t use Shimmer to treat his eye, and not so much time would have passed, maybe that drink could have cleansed all the toxins from his eye. Either way, he couldn’t now try that service of her. But he still had another service of hers to try.

“Next weeks council decision about merchant routes,” Silco said. “Can you figure them out before my eyes and ears.”

“Ooh, now that is a challenge,” (Y/n) said with hidden excitement. “Whether my cylinder ends up at your desk before you come to visit mine, will be the decisive factor.”

“I believe it will,” Silco said. “Till then Ms. M.” After that Silco nodded to Sevika and they headed to the door. (Y/n) heard a loud noise as Jinx landed at the table similarly as (Y/n) did before. Then Jinx jumped down to the floor, turned around and grinned at (Y/n).

“See you again,” She grinned at her and then she turned and rushed after others. (Y/n) simply smiled and then she turned to the two men at the door.

“Get Jeff home or to the restroom, I don’t want a mess when he wakes up.” (Y/n) said as she turned back to her office.

[bush-viper-cutie]

I’ll be your Valentine

Pairing: young!severus X reader

Word Count: 7,350

Rating: T for teen

Plot: Severus is humiliated once more by his friends in an attempt to fit in. It was a miscalculation on his part, but he couldn’t have predicted how disastrous his mistake would be. It had taken you days, weeks, months to build up the courage to confess your feelings to your crush, but what did you expect to have happen when doing it on Valentine’s day?

Warnings: Bullying, kissing, slight angst

A/N: Happy valentine’s day everyone! I hope everyone is having a good day :D Wrote this just for today and took some inspo from @violet-knox​’s the Lion, the Snake, and the Locket series, (SPOILER: more specifically the locket! :D )

Posted: 2/14/21

Masterlist

—–

(Y/n) = your name

 ~*~*~

~*~*~ = change in POV

 ~*~*~ = time skip

—–

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Severus was bent over his journal, quill scribbling across the pages at rapid speeds, feather dancing through the air as Professor Flitwick went on and on about the creation of information charms. Words like ‘impossible’ and ‘far too advanced’ only made him roll his eyes. If wizards like the Great Ciera Vela and Sir Wicksley Brightington could create inventions such as the early telling clocks or talking chips at mere fourteen years of age, then who gave Flitwick the right to deem it impossible for a seventh year to create one?

Severus jerked his head up at the sudden bang of the classroom door as it flung open, almost giving himself a horrible headache at the sudden motion.

Flitwick jumped on his stool and turned wrathfully. “Who is interrupting my lecture!” A little man, half the size of Flitwick himself, came storming inside just as annoyed with himself as Flitwick was of him, and held up a bouquet of flowers. “Ah… alright, alright, get on with it.”

The dwarf, dressed in a bright red robe with fake angel wings and a halo too small for his head, approached a Hufflepuff boy on the opposite end of the class. He pulled up his robe, which revealed his real clothes underneath – grass-stained trousers and steel-toed shoes – and took out a folded note from his pocket. “Oh Huegert,” he began in a raspy voice, reading out the poem as unenthusiastically as possible.

Severus groaned and sat back in his seat. His eyes narrowed in dislike at the Hufflepuff who didn’t seem to care that his admirer had interrupted class. As annoying as it was to hear Flitwick squeak away on a tangent about the creation of the type of charm they were learning about, he much preferred it than this.

The dwarf cleared his throat as thunderously as a rockslide down a mountain and bowed, ready to head out after completing his job.

“Psst,” a voice whispered from the back. “Snivellus!”

Severus ignored them, and turned to his fellow Slytherins instead. They all looked as annoyed as he felt and smirked when he caught their eye. The Slytherins had their own way of showing their “admiration” and it didn’t include embarrassing poems or gawky flowers.

“Snivellus!” The voices behind him snickered. “Where’s your flowers?”

“Doesn’t anyone like you?”

Flitwick went on with the lecture and Severus went back to writing feverishly until class was over. He packed his things and followed his friends out the door, keeping at their heels. He pulled out his scarf and wrapped it around once, twice, as the chill from the open arched windows blew through.

“Let’s head down to Hogsmeade. I heard the Three Broomsticks is serving red butterbeer today, bet it’ll taste different.”

“It never does. Not the green ones, or the purple ones – ”

Severus slung his pack over his shoulder and followed his friends down the corridors, out the castle doors, and down the frozen lawn. They talked about food, their significant others, and the gifts they’d given and received. Some had gotten golden cufflinks, diamond pressed watches with metal so smooth it could reflect a candle’s light from a mile away, while others had received nice ties or new shoes. They’d given expensive bracelets with dancing charms, glittering jeweled necklaces, and remarkable earrings that reformed with every wear so as to never be the same twice.

“So how’s it possible to make those woodchips talk to each other from anywhere in the world?” the tallest of them asked.

Severus pulled his eyes up from his scrappy shoes and looked at the Slytherin. He was referring to the talking chips. “They’re cut from the same wood, precisely from the opposite sides of the tree and bound with a complicated spell.”

The Slytherins around him nearly jumped, forgetting Severus was among them.

The tallest one, Zander Ervingwell, whose father owned the Daily Prophet, rubbed his chin and smiled. “That so? Then, could we chop any of these tree,” he motioned at the forest as they walked down the trail to Hogsmeade, “and make one of them?”

The others turned to Severus and he reveled in their attention. He kept his face straight and shook his head. “We could. If we could get the charm from Flitwick.”

Zander nodded thoughtfully. The rest reformed around him and they kept walking down the trail until they reached the popular little inn. They pulled the door open and were met by warmth, the smell of roast turkey, and wary eyes from the students of other houses.

Severus took his seat at the table they crowded around and refrained from ordering the red butterbeer they were all looking forward to. He pulled the strap of his bag over his head and shoved his patched up bag under the table.

“See? Tastes different.”

“I’d cut my tongue off and have Pomfrey regrow it if I were you – ”

Harold Binny and Regis Dunmarten always tended to natter about anything they could disagree on that held little to no importance. They never discussed anything with each other that could ever lead to an agreement, and Severus knew they took after their fathers, who were avid Wizengamot councilmen.

Zander looked to the others, Marcos Jugson – one of the many brothers – who was looking at a group of Ravenclaw girls, and Mumford Wilkes who stared impassively at the dark oak table. Zander turned to Severus. “You think you could make one, Severus?”

Severus stammered. “We wouldn’t be allowed to chop down any tree – And I’d need the charm…”

“If you’re so smart,” Mumford’s eyes pierced through Severus’ defenses and made him want to dissolve into the air. “Why don’t you make one. You’re always saying you can make spells but when we ask to see them they’re never ready.”

Severus wanted to disappear from the very seat he sat in. In this moment he much preferred his usual spot, behind them all, hidden from view of their scrutinizing eyes; but now every one of them looked his way, expectantly. “I can make one,” he said, as evenly as he could muster. They were all rich purebloods who could smell unease and weakness from a hundred yards away. “Easily.”

“You could get in trouble, expelled even, with the way information charms work. Sure you’re not scared?” Marcos folded his arms, eyeing him down.

Severus hated him. Almost as much as he hated Lupin and Pettigrew, but not nearly as much as Black and Potter. After all, Marcos had saved him on more than one occasion with his mere presence. And unfortunately, Severus knew what his words hid. It had been just yesterday Marcos had walked in on him pinned to the ground by a group of sixth years, three standing around with their wands drawn on him while their two ‘braver’ friends tried singeing his eyebrows off. As soon as Marcos had hexed them off, the minute their grubby hands had released his robes, Severus had crawled away behind Marcos.

It was a stupid moment of weakness fueled by fear driven by the sight of the flames bursting out of wands so close to his eyes. A mistake he’d let himself make. Severus clenched his jaw and looked him steadily in the eyes. “Of course not,” he gritted out.

Distant laughter caught Marcos’ attention for a split second, and when he turned back his lips quirked up in a smile. “Why don’t you give us a taste of your bravery then? An assurance you’ll do it.” He jerked his head back, motioning at the table of Ravenclaw girls. “It’s Valentine’s day, so why don’t you ask one of them to be yours? Its only just midday. I’m sure one of them’s not yet taken.”

Severus kept his face even and hands clenched tight under the table, unwilling to let them see how badly they trembled. He risked a glance at Zander, who looked at him with folded arms and an equally level expression. Harold and Regis exchanged similar looks, eyebrows raised, and Mumford smirked. There was always a risk when hanging around certain groups of friends, and this one constantly pushed him to the brink of humiliation.

He stood and made his way around their table to face the crowded space of the bar. Everyone was distracted, talking to other patrons or spilling drink down their faces. There was a stool knocked to the ground between him and the girls who only knew he existed from either rumor or witnessing one of his countless humiliations at the hands of Potter or Black. They’d either know him as Snivellus, or as the Slytherin who knows as many curses and hexes as there were words in a dictionary – although it never seemed to matter how many curses he claimed to know, he was never someone anyone feared.

He took a step, and then another, and kept going until he stood beside their table. He cleared his throat but it was as if he was invisible. He cleared it again and the closest one to him, the louder of the bunch, glared up at him.

Great, he had their attention… Now what? He cleared his throat again, made awkward by their obvious attention to him. “Would… Would you want – ”

“Which one.”

Severus blinked at them. “What? Oh, err… Anyone?” The look on their faces made his own go red.

“Oh? Any of us? Doesn’t matter who?” The closest one to him said, looking back at her friends with raised eyebrows and a smirk, causing a chorus of laughs. “So what is it?”

Severus wanted to turn around and bolt out the door. This had been a mistake. A miscalculation. His friends had lured him into a trap and he jumped right on it. He couldn’t run though; they were still watching most likely. This was about him proving he wasn’t scared.

He swallowed what little of his pride he had left and opened his mouth. “Would anyone want… to be…” All he had to do was say it, no matter how humiliating, how embarrassing this was. “My valentine.”

Done. He did it, now he could turn around and go back to Zander, head held high. He didn’t really care what any of them thought. He already knew their answer before he even got out of his chair. He turned around as they laughed in his face, ready to face his friends and get back to business.

“Wait! Severus!” one of them called him back.

He stopped. Turned. And stared at the Ravenclaw who had stood up. She waved him back with a shy look on her face and his heart leapt into his mouth. He swallowed it down and walked back, feeling his blood rush into his cheeks.

“Severus,” she said, shyly twirling her finger around the mouth of her cup. “I haven’t given you an answer.”

“You’re answer?” He couldn’t help the tremble in his hands now. He started pulling on the loose stitching on his sweater.

She smiled up at him… And in the blink of an eye she snatched up her cup and threw its contents in his face. “Of course not, Snivellus!”

Severus gasped as the cold liquid splashed his face, drenching his sweater. He spit out cherry colored butterbeer and wiped his face with his wet sweater sleeve. He turned away from the laughter, but it circled him. He blinked through red-tinted droplets and scanned the faces of the crowd. It’d be easier to look for someone who wasn’t laughing because every face his gaze landed on was one that made his chest constrict.

He turned to his table, to his friends. They were all doubled over with pure glee, laughing as dignified as they could all while he dripped on the floor, the mock of the inn. He grit his teeth and closed his eyes, unwilling to let any more of this scene get stored in his brain. He stumbled through chairs and stools and pushed his friends aside to get his bag. He pulled it free and threw it over his shoulder. He stumbled some more as the laughter continued and threw his body against the door, throwing it open.

He ran out the door, out of the warmth of the inn and into the cold. The streets were nearly empty as wizards settled into homes or restaurants for lunch. He ran as fast as he could back to the castle, not caring about the sting of the wind as it scraped along his skin. His eyes burned and he felt tears begin to form as the realization of what had just happened began to bubble in the pit of his stomach.

He almost slipped on the bridge and as he reached its crest hands gripped his arms, stopping him on the spot. He blinked tears away and cleared his vision, looking up from the ground, ready to fight whoever had stopped him. He didn’t have to tilt his head up very far, easily staring into the eyes of another student, though he couldn’t immediately tell what house they belonged to.

“You almost bumped into me,” she said, releasing her hold on him.

“You should have cleared my path,” he spat.

She shrunk back and gripped the edge of her cloak. “Well I’ve been looking for you…”

Severus stared at her. He couldn’t possibly fathom why. He’d never seen her before, never talked to her before, and couldn’t imagine what she’d want from him. “I’m here aren’t I?”

She swallowed and nodded. “I… I have something for you…”

“Then hurry up,” he growled. It was cold and the butterbeer was starting to freeze.

He watched her open her cloak and noticed she wore a light red dress, almost pink. He wanted to hex it and turn it black from how sick of everything Valentine he was. The cloak pulled back further and she pulled out a single pink carnation with a green ribbon tying a note to its stem.

Her cheeks blushed as she held out the flower for him to take and he couldn’t help but stand there motionless, waiting for his brain to think something, say something, act and do anything other than gawk at her.

“Will you be my valentine, Severus?” she said, as if the flower hadn’t signaled just that.

He noticed his hand moving to take the flower while he remained stupefied, petrified, and perplexed. His heart, shattered and broken as it was, beat with immense longing as he pulled the flower to his chest.

“I… who are you?” He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t asking more important questions like ‘why me’, ‘is this another prank’, or ‘are you real’. He could feel the air changing around him as hope seeped into his soul, giving him a breath of new air that seemed to revitalized and mend the most broken parts of himself.

She smiled and stepped closer, making his breath catch in his throat. He could feel a warmth radiating off her, reaching out to him, banging on his walls, begging him to let her in. Her eyes looked up at his and he felt his legs go weak. He wanted to run, to apparate away and corral his thoughts, but he also wanted to stay and stare back into the depths of hers. It was different the way her eyes looked at him. He couldn’t see any hatred or disdain like so many others had in theirs when their gaze ever landed on him.

“(Y/n),” she said. “I’ve seen you around school and… Well I’m ashamed to say I’ve sort of been hiding from you.” She blushed and looked down at her feet. “Severus,” she whispered. “I’ve had a crush on you for quite a while.” She looked up at him then and gave him another one of her gentle smiles.

He accepted her words without another thought and regarded her truthfully, willing to open his heart to her. Her smile melted him, her eyes dazzled him, and, he realized finally with one long look, she was very cute.

“So, will you?” she asked again, taking another step closer.

He gripped the flower tighter and it finally hit him. She liked him. She really liked him. Someone had a crush on him and – Merlin, she was cute. Could he really be so lucky?

He opened his mouth when he realized something. She had broken his barriers and shields and so he hadn’t had the mind to analyze his surroundings. Laughter. He heard laughter coming closer. He turned and cursed the world for allowing anyone else but her and him to remain. It was the group of Ravenclaws making their way to the bridge.

“I – ” He couldn’t get any other word in before the group had reached the very spot on the bridge they stood in.

The girl closest to them spotted the pink carnation instantly, pointed, and laughed. They elbowed each other, making sure everyone had noticed him and the flower, and stopped next to them.

“Snivellus! Why didn’t you get us any flowers!” one of them guffawed.

The closest one stepped closer and crossed her arms. “(Y/n), don’t let him fool you into thinking you’re special. He just came from asking for any one of us to be his valentine. He didn’t even care which one.”

(Y/n) eye’s filled with tears and she looked up at him, expecting him to deny everything. Severus realized he’d never felt true heartbreak until now. He knew now that the shattering he’d always felt was nothing compared to the pain now, like stakes were being hammered into his still pumping heart one by one, emptying him completely.

He could lie to her. He could deny it all. But that warmth he’d felt radiating off of her… that’s what he’d imagined safety to feel like. If he could only step closer and feel it once more. If he lied, he’d be bringing thorns and barbs into something so precious and delicate.

He took a step closer to her and lowered his head, ready to feel her pull away that warmth she offered him. “I can explain it. Please listen – ”

She jerked back from him and the cold of winter swooped in to fill the air where the heat had disappeared.

~ * ~ * ~

~ * ~ * ~

The air was cold and dry, sapping the warmth from your hands that had, moment ago, been as hot as coals from the pure adrenaline that had coursed through your veins. The amount of courage it had taken to finally admit your feelings to Severus had taken you days to carefully collect. You had spent hours pushing away your fears, and now something much worse than rejection was taking place.

Your truest crush had asked out another girl, or many other girls, and your foolishness had landed you at the bottom of his list. Was what they were saying true? You didn’t want to believe it but… he didn’t deny it, no matter how much you begged him to with your eyes.

You closed them shut and sniffed. When you opened them again you marched right through the group of Ravenclaws, right passed Severus, and headed down the road to Hogsmeade. What a fool you were, charming your old dress into one you hoped would turn you into Severus’ dream. All those breaks spent following him around, hiding behind pillars and admiring him from afar, watching how he always pushed his long black hair behind his ear when he got ready to read… Or the way he bit his lip when he paused to think before jotting things down in his journal. You’d even swooned at the way he walked, like a sulking cat trotting from one shadow to the next hoping to remain unseen. You had seen him. You had seen him and loved what you saw.

When you reached the low lamp post right before town you turned and wished you hadn’t. Severus was watching you, with his dark glimmering eyes that very rarely ever looked up from the ground. He never gave anyone his attention, but he was giving it to you now. His large nose was almost pink and nearly-invisible lines trailed down his cheek. He stood there, tall as he was despite always slumping his shoulders, holding your flower to his chest.

You sighed heavily and turned, starting back on your way down Hogsmeade’s cobbled road.

~ * ~ * ~

~ * ~ * ~

There she went with his heart in her pocket. Was it possible? Could someone so suddenly appear in his life, shake his world upside down, and then walk away like she hadn’t just changed him forever? Love; now whenever that word would be spoken, he’d only think of her. Kindness; only her face would remind him of the definition. Safety, hope, happiness, dreams; her eyes, her smile, the softness of her curves, the allure of her scent, the wonder of what her hugs could have felt like, and that warmth that had melted away his armor. All his life… he’d never felt that warmth. Not from his mother, not from his friends, and not even from –

He winced as the numbness gave way to a heavy emptiness that hollowed him out. He began walking back to Hogwarts as if nothing had ever happened, except he’d acquired a single pink carnation. With every step he heard voices, familiar and sharp, that stabbed him with words he’d heard a million times before. He knew he was hated, despised, and unworthy of good things. He had just hoped, fueled by the encouraging gentleness of her eyes and welcoming smile, that he could finally be wanted.

~ * ~ * ~

Severus stepped into the common room and pulled on the strap of his bag, hearing several patches groan with protest as the seams threatened to come undone. He headed to the boy’s dormitory and slouched on the wall, unsure if he could make it another step without collapsing. He felt crushed, pulverized, like his life energy had been spent and he was finally coming to an end.

A door opened in the distance and he straightened, staring at the stone floor as his housemate walked by, ignoring him like a ghost in the corridors. He let out a sigh and dragged his feet forward until he reached his room. It was empty, save for a spoiled grey cat which slept on a bed.

He dumped all his things on his bed. He wanted to close his eyes and sleep until he could no longer remember how beautiful her name had sounded coming from her lips. He held out the carnation and rolled its stem between his fingers. “(Y/n).”

He set the flower down on top of his things and pulled his sweater over his head. He threw it into his trunk and toed off his shoes, settling into the bed. If he slept he’d be forced to replay the events of today in some horrible nightmare. He pushed things aside – keeping the flower close – and took out his charms journal.

He could work on the information charm and show Zander and the others how capable he was. Maybe then they wouldn’t try to humiliate him. They’d finally accept him. He pulled out his journal and reviewed his notes. All an information charm really was is an incredibly invasive bonding spell. A spell that tied two things together and forced an object to display information about the other. The telling clocks told its owners where certain people where, and the talking chips merely displayed what their partner chips spelled. As long as he kept it small, it would be easy.

For the next few hours he worked on his spell, thinking about nothing more than the charm itself. He sat on his bed, legs crossed, bent over his journal and books as he crossed things out and rewrote spell after spell. It wasn’t working. Everything he tried was too complicated. He could barely get information out of and of the objects he tried. His quills were too old to withstand the bonding spells, his journals gave too much information. He sat back into his pillows and sighed.

He needed something with more purity, something which he knew he didn’t own. He looked around the room, searching for some sort of unused object, some material that could withstand the spell to even initiate the charm… His eyes landed on the carnation he’d moved to his night stand.

Would he have been enjoying a romantic date right about now? Would she have tried to hold his hand? He would have been too nervous to do it himself but… He held up his hand and looked at it. What did it feel like to hold her hand? It would have been smaller than his, warm, and soft. He would have held on forever and never let go. What was she like? Would they have been perfect for each other? He thought of her smile and of her lips, supple and eager as she spoke…

He sat up fast as flashes of kissing her filled his head. No, he couldn’t endure this torture. He scrambled for new material and growled when nothing he owned fit what he looked for. He got out of bed and looked around, eyes glancing everywhere but the flower. He got on his knees and searched under beds until he found something gleaming and silver flashing back at him.

He rolled up his sleeve and stretched his arm under his dormmate’s bed as far as it would go. His hands found the cold metal and closed around it, pulling it back to him. It was a small necklace with silver metal beads that encased delicate diamonds. He remembered how it got there, thrown aside for not being flashy enough, or expensive enough for his crush.

He held it in his hands and sat back on his heels. It had a round charm, flat as if calling out to him. The surface would be a perfect spot to display something small… a single word… a name perhaps. He ran his tongue over his teeth and felt he was on the verge of something great. All it would take was a single spark of an idea and he could create something grand and – as Flitwick seemed to think – impossible for any Hogwarts student to pull off.

He groaned as he stood and made his way back to his own bed. He set the necklace on his knee, and on his other began to write. It took precious more hours of writing, scratching out, and re-writing until the spell was as condensed as possible; long spells never worked well, the shorter the phrase the better.

Now that he had the bonding spell perfected… what could he use? He stared at the necklace and knew the answer. He sighed and took the necklace in his hand again and began the spell. It was quick to read, and as he moved his wand over the silver metal the air began to shimmer. His lips moved carefully as he focused his intent and finally, at the last word he pointed his wand at himself.

He felt a slight breeze brush his skin and shivered. It was done. He and the necklace were bonded with him as the information giver and it, or more precisely the flat round charm, as the information receiver. He thumbed over the metal and squinted… but no word showed up. The spell was to force the metal to engrave the name of his crush… but her name did not display.

Maybe he got it wrong. He looked through his notes, flipping only the last two pages where he had condensed the spell, and frowned. It is as it should be, unless his logic was somehow flawed… but no, it rarely was. If there was one thing he could count on, anything or anyone in the whole world, it would be himself and his ability to reason correctly.

He stared at the charm again. It could be… He furrowed his brows and pinched his nose… It could be that he didn’t have a crush on her? Not a true one… not like he’d know what that really felt like. But he did like her, very much. He opened his eyes and fell back into his pillows, defeated. What was this even for? Would he really show this to Zander? Was he so foolish to believe Zander would look at her name engraved into this necklace and be impressed with him? No. He wasn’t.

So then… He sat up and looked at the flower once more, as if begging it to give him answers. Was he doing this for her? Did he really think he could fix what he’d done? Right the misunderstanding and win her heart? “I want to…” Then what must he do?

He pushed out of bed once more and dug in his trunk for a new sweater, pulling it over his head. He’d go down to Hogsmeade and find her, tell her the truth of what happened and then… then he’d kiss her. He swallowed and slowed down. Could he kiss her? …If he’d been brave enough to ask out a group of girl’s he’d never met before knowing full well what rejection awaited him, then he could ask out the kind and gentle girl who had offered him her heart so willingly.

He slipped into his shoes and headed out the door, out of the boy’s dormitory, out of the common room and ran up the dungeon stairs. He needed to find her fast before Hogsmeade hours came to an end. He ran through the castle and shoved open the doors, plunging head first into the cold February air. He sped down the slippery grass of the sloping lawn and nearly tripped out the gates. He caught his footing and continued down the trail, huffing and puffing at the exercise and hating the metallic taste in his throat and mouth.

He grimaced as he crossed the bridge and headed right into town. He checked the Three Broomsticks, she wasn’t there. He checked shop after shop, in alleys, behind houses, and even the lake’s edge and under every tree. She was not eating, shopping, wandering, or sitting anywhere in Hogsmeade. “Where is she?” he growled. Of course this is happening, he knew better than to believe luck was on his side. He walked back down the street slowly, and saw the door to Madam Pudifoot’s teashop open. A couple left, laughing and holding each other by the waists.

Severus swallowed. Was she in there with someone else? After she had realized her mistake in liking him, had she given her heart to someone else, refusing to let this day be a waste? He shook his head and looked away. He couldn’t give up hope, not this time, not with something so rare to ever happen to him. He had to believe the best of her, this (Y/n), who had so bravely confronted him and admitted to her long-standing crush on him. He knew very little about her, but he couldn’t imagine she’d give her heart out so flimsily.

He started his way back to Hogwarts, keeping at a slow and somber gait, and made it back to the castle just in time for dinner. He was too late. Valentine’s day was practically over. He filtered in with other students and took his seat at the Slytherin table. Zander was there, with a spot open next to him but Severus couldn’t take it. He had nothing to show him and after today… he didn’t know how he could show his face around him. Severus took a seat at the back of the table with some lower years and ate in silence, his hand in his pocket, thumbing over the cold metal of the necklace.

~ * ~ * ~

~ * ~ * ~

You tried keeping your eyes on your friends, on the food, on your plate as you ate, but your gaze kept lifting to the back of the Slytherin table where a gloomy boy with inky hair sat bent over his food, barely touching it. Severus looked sad, sadder than most days. His nose was pink still and his cheeks red. Had he been outside again? In Hogsmeade… maybe… maybe looking for you? You shook your head. Of course not.

All through dinner you watched him eat alone and away from his friends. Had something happened? When you met him at the bridge he looked a mess with his soaked sweater and hair plastered to his head. And that group of girl, who so readily laughed at him… Maybe… maybe he did have an explanation for what had happened.

Your heart began to beat again, slow at first, and then faster and faster as if hope had filled your soul once more and given you life. You wanted Severus so badly, so badly it hurt and, could you really have him? Was it possible to have the boy of your dreams? If you listened to his explanation would he fix everything and give you his heart in return?

You bit your lip and looked up at Severus once more. You wanted him so bad… It was a chance you needed to take.

~ * ~ * ~

~ * ~ * ~

As dinner came to an end, students filtered out of the great hall and into the entrance hall, making their way to their houses. Severus walked among them, defeated and empty. His arms swayed limply by his sides and his head hung low, eyes glued to the ground in front of him. He turned the corner and kept to the shadows of the walls. He didn’t want to be spotted or looked at or found by anyone. There wasn’t a single person in this prison he wanted to see, none except for (Y/n).

He dragged his feet as he made his way through the corridor and nearly yelped when two hands pulled him deeper into the shadows. He stumbled backwards and heard a door slam shut. It was dark and the thud echoed off the walls. He squinted and saw nothing. He fumbled for his wand – he always kept it on him, ready for anything – but someone pinned him to the wall.

“Lumos,” a familiar voice whispered.

Severus stared into the glittering depths of warm, kind eyes. “(Y/n),” he breathed.

Her face was pensive as she stood there, looking him over. She was unsure of him.

Before she could say another word he shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out the necklace. “I-I made this for you… er, well the charm doesn’t work…”

She took the necklace he held out to her and looked at it carefully. “What’s it supposed to do?”

He heaved a quick sigh and looked away. “T’supposed to display your name… er – display the name of my crush.”

She regarded the necklace and gave a breathy chuckle. “Of course…”

Severus frowned. “Of course what?”

“Of course it doesn’t work. You don’t like anyone!” She laughed and stepped back, the wandlight illuminating more of the empty classroom she’d dragged him into. “You didn’t ask out a specific girl, you asked out that whole group. You didn’t care who it was, so long as someone accepted to being your valentine. And I’m…” She closed her eyes and sniffed. “I’m just someone who has a crush on you. That’s all you care about.”

Severus blinked at her for several long seconds. “(Y/n)… I… I want to like you.”

She scoffed.

“No! I mean – I – You – No one has ever liked me and – ”

She shook her head and reached for the door. Severus jumped in her way, desperate to continue talking, to clear everything up. He liked her, he did. She was nice and warm and everything about her made his knees weak and heart pound like crazy in his rib cage. She was pretty, far too pretty for him, and her voice was soothing, and she was perfect, he just knew it.

“Please let me explain what happened,” he begged her.

She stepped closer and placed her hand on the doorknob stubbornly. “I don’t need an explanation.”

She was so close to him, he could smell her hair, smell the piney scent of Hogsmeade blown into her clothes, infused by the wind. He pressed himself to the door and looked down at her. “Please.”

The look on her face told him she was done. She was done with him and she was done talking. He couldn’t keep her trapped in this room no more than he could make her listen. And yet, he still kept on the door, not letting her pull it open. She huffed and before he could think, she gripped his sweater and pulled him away from it forcefully, shoving him back into the classroom where he tripped and fell onto a seat.

He looked into her eyes. She was fierce. Not the gentle, delicate girl she first appeared to be. There was stubbornness and power to her being. No one could control her if she did not wish it, and the only reason she still stood before him was out of that same kindness that radiated out of her.

“I’m really sorry to have done that, Severus. You don’t deserve to be pushed around like that… but I want to leave… and I will.” She turned around and stepped out of the room, letting the door close behind her.

His heart beat harder than ever before. The way she shoved him, with a calculated caution that told him even when he’d gone too far, when he’d pushed her beyond her patience, she still cared for his wellbeing. She was kind, warm, strong willed, fierce, beautiful, and courageous. The more he learned the more he wanted to her to like him…

He sat there and stared at the wall. She’d been so close he could smell her. She’d grabbed his sweater and for an instant he’d thought – he’d hoped she’d kiss him. Merlin, he wanted to kiss her now. To press this fierce girl into him and kiss her long into the night. He didn’t know how to kiss, and imagined he’d be horrible, but every inch of his body told him he was craving her with an intensity he hadn’t ever felt.

He wanted her, and he wanted her to like him. Needed her to like him again. His hands found the ruffled part of his sweater where her hands had gripped it, and he closed his eyes, imagining her hands still there.

He heard the door and his eyes flew open. Someone stepped in and closed it.

“Lumos.”

A wandlight shined and he could see (Y/n) standing there, looking at the necklace in her hands. He held his breath, waiting for her to speak.

She looked up at him and turned to necklace so he could see, although he was still too far and the engraving would have been too small. “It says my name…” She stepped closer. “If this is a trick – ”

Severus shook his head and sat up. “It’s not a trick.”

She stared deeply into his eyes. “Please explain.”

He nodded quickly and licked his lips. “Ervingwell and his friends – they had me ask out those Ravenclaws to prove I wasn’t too scared to make an information charm… I don’t know why I did it. I thought, knowing they’d all say no, it would be an easy way to prove to Zander I wasn’t as pitiful as he thought I was.” He lowered his head.

There was a long silence, one that made him feel worse than he ever had. He really was pitiful.

“May I touch you?”

Severus jumped. He looked up into her eyes and nodded. “You can do anything you’d like.” His own words made him blush but it was true. She giggled and his heart felt lighter by the sound. Her hand brushed back his hair and he closed his eyes, focusing on the feel of her finger on his temple. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I would never mean to.”

Her fingers pulled back. “You’re saying everything I want to hear… It almost seems too good to be true.”

He stood up and slowly reached for her hand, giving her enough time to pull away, but she didn’t. His fingers hovered close to hers. “M-may I?” She nodded and he took her hand, soft and small in his. “I want to be yours, if you still want me.”

She wrapped her fingers in his and looked up at him. “Do you want me?”

“More than anything.” He couldn’t help but glance down at her lips. Did he want her? His whole heart, mind, and body screamed at him ‘Yes!’

He wanted her in so many ways. He wanted to know her, to have her friendship, to feel her caring ways, to feel her. He wanted her touch.

“I want you, Severus,” she whispered.

~ * ~ * ~

~ * ~ * ~

You breathed in the feint scent of ink and page. He was so close. His face lingered just above your and his eyes, those deep wells of pure darkness that looked your face over with lust that could not be hidden. You could tell he wanted you, and despite knowing he wanted your touch and, perhaps, to touch you as well, his eyes glanced up into yours with intensity; like he couldn’t keep himself from acknowledging your very being. You no longer felt like just a girl who had a crush on him… You felt important to him.

“I need you,” he whimpered.

Without thinking you got on your toes and kissed him hard. He didn’t need any more encouragement than that. His hands quickly found your waist and he pulled you into him with a wild neediness that made you melt in his arms.

His arms snaked around you and pulled you closer into his body. He was warm and your own hands wrapped around his neck, playing with his hair, pulling it as you pleased. He moaned and stepped back suddenly, and you almost gasped as you felt him falling back.

You opened your eyes but his hands gripped your waist and pulled you onto his lap. He sat in a chair and waited for your arms to find themselves around his neck once more. You leaned in and pressed your lips to his, tasting him, biting his lip, moving your head with his. His hands pulled you closer to him and he whimpered once more.

“I’ll be anything you want me to be. I’ll do anything to make you happy. I’ll – ”

You pressed your finger to his lips, quieting him. “Severus… I just want you to be you.” His eyes trailed down and he looked away. “I like you the way you are… You don’t have to prove yourself to me or do anything to make me like you… Just be… Mine. Just be my valentine.”

You brushed a tear out of the corner of his eye and pulled his chin up, meeting his eyes. He nodded and pulled you closer, pressing his face into your chest and sobbed. You held him close, rubbing your hands over his shoulders and back in slow gentle circles.

He pulled his face back to look at yours, as if checking to see he wasn’t ruining anything by displaying his feelings so openly. You bit your lip and smiled. Even with delicate tears trailing down his cheeks, he looked cute and dreamy, as he always did.

“I really like you.” You kissed his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, and finally, his lips.

He moaned and closed his arms around you again. “Will you be my valentine?”

“Nothing would make me happier.” You smiled and kissed him once more, feeling him draw you in closer.

“I’ll be your valentine, (Y/n). Yours and only yours. Forever.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

—-

General taglist:

@setsuna-meiou31

@severuslovebot​

@bionic-otp​

—–

[glitter-garbage]

12. — thread

Shadowgast, ~1600 words, gen, red thread of destiny, soulmate au (spoilers for the eiselcross arc)

Sent by @quinn-of-aebradore 💜 ...ps: this is not edited at all (one word writing prompts: send me one and a pairing if you like. I might fill them some day!) ---

When Bren learned he had magic, he also learned that he could see things that not everyone did. It wasn’t natural, he had to focus, and later on, he even found out there was an actual spell for it. Still, on more than one occasion growing up, Bren would see the delicate red threads that connected people around him.

“Those mean whoever is connected to you is your soulmate,” his mother explained, “Can you see mine?”

And, sure enough, his mother had a little thread connecting her ankle to Leofric’s. He longed for his own thread to appear, though his mother explained that not everyone had one.

Bren didn’t have to worry, though. He was only fifteen when not one, but two threads connected his ankle to his best friends of all people. By that time, he had already been whisked away to the Academy along with them and the experiences they shared, the successes, the pain, the power, all of that just cemented their connection in his mind.

Until he broke, that is.

After the fire came the Sanatorium, and for eleven years Bren, now Caleb, did not think about that again. Only when he got out did he notice that his ankle was free. Nothing connected him to anyone anymore. It was okay, he was a garbage person. He didn’t deserve love like that anyway.

---

Nott had a red thread. It vanished out to the horizon, and Caleb never saw the thread move in a way that indicated that her soulmate was closer. He wondered if she knew, for a while. Then, he learned the truth. Veth’s soulmate, her husband, kidnapped, imprisoned. He was happy she had met him though, and confident they'd free him. She deserved happiness, he would help her in any way he could.

Two couples in his little group had threads connecting them to each other from the start. Fate worked in mysterious ways, Caleb thought. Beau and Yasha did not seem that close, though Beau’s attraction was obvious, and cringe-worthy at times, but Caleb was sure things would go well for them in the future. Jester and Fjord’s thread almost made his heart break- he had allowed himself to get way too attached to the two, but neither of them were for him, obviously. Destiny had other plans.

Molly did not have any threads, like him. After learning about his past, Caleb wondered if he had gone through something similar to Caleb, the snapping of a thread after a traumatic event. He allowed himself to grow closer to the tiefling tentatively, allowed feelings to bloom slowly. Molly was warm to him, and he thought perhaps it was another form of destiny that would tie them together.

That had been a mistake.

The last one to join their family was Caduceus. He had no thread too, and Caleb had no curiosity about it anymore. His interest in destiny had all but faded.

He loved his friends. He had friends. That was enough, for someone like him.

---

“The Luxon is the basis of how we've been able to free ourselves from the binds of the lineage the Betrayer Gods left for us and to carve our own fates, choose our own paths and sidestep these destinies placed upon us nonchalantly by gods that use us as playthings.”

The Shadowhand was interesting. Dangerous, powerful, enticing. Caleb considered what he said about freedom from destiny, the ability to find your own way. He had certainly strayed from his path, but perhaps that was not the worst thing.

Essek Thelyss, too, had no thread attached to him.

Perhaps because Caleb was no longer obsessing over what destiny had in store for him, perhaps because he was beginning to accept that his own imperfect path was better than the one that had been set for him, Caleb felt empathy towards the drow even after he had betrayed them.

They were so much alike, and Caleb kept his heart more closely guarded now. He did not feel his heart breaking when they learned of Essek's schemes, and that too helped. In any case, he did not see Essek again for a long time. Did not think much about him. There was too much on his plate for that.

---

Astrid smiled at him from across a dinner table and his stomach dropped. Caleb felt the wheels of time turning, felt again like Bren, determined and ambitious and blind to the truth. Eadwulf looked at him with a raised chin, a smirk on his face. He too remained handsome, impossibly so.

When they walked out of Ikithon’s tower, Caleb could make out the thin red thread that still connected their ankles. He thought he was stronger, that perhaps he was ready for this.

“Race you to the top,” said Astrid with a childish smile, before turning back to the tower.

It hurt. He could feel the emptiness of what could have been, what would never be again in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

---

Imagine his surprise when arriving at the Vurmas outpost in Eiselcross, the powerful figure of the Shadowhand could not meet his eyes. Imagine his surprise, when he saw his eyes lighting up when they chose him instead of his old teacher to go down into the ruins. Imagine his surprise when he saw Essek battling, using gravity itself as a weapon, and felt only fondness and admiration for the man. When he showed off his tower and saw the same in the drow’s eyes. And attraction, of course. That went without saying.

It all came to a head when, together, they worked to cast a spell that would shorten time itself and give the Nein their much-needed rest.

Thought it might have felt like seconds to their friends, Caleb watched for long moments, holding magic in his palms to assist, as Essek opened a gash through the fabric of space and time. Real fabric, made of threads of all colors that together seemed to make up what he saw as the world around him. Time seemed to stop around them as Essek carefully worked around the fibers.

“This… Have you been able to see this the whole time?” he asked.

Essek’s jaw was clenched and there was sweat running down his forehead, but he nodded, “Not really. It takes a lot of effort to see this. A lot of energy.”

Caleb hesitated but gave in once Essek’s questioning gaze found his for a moment, “I have always seen the red threads. I- I had my own, for a while.”

“Annoying little things,” muttered the drow, focusing again at the slow-going task of weaving time with his bare hands, “There was a time when I hated them more than anything.”

“You used to have yours, too?”

“Hm? No,” said the drow distractedly, “I hated them because I had none, and I thought I should. The Dynasty looks like a tangled web if you watch for them since so many entanglements are made complicated by consecution. But I never had one, and even though I looked for… someone that could perhaps make it appear, it never did.”

He moved his wrist to the side, and the universe seemed to shift with it. Caleb felt a little dizzy.

“But I had never heard of someone who lost theirs. I thought they were supposed to be, ah, perfect,” Essek smirked, “Unless you did what we are doing right now to yours. That is, changing it fundamentally. Somehow, I do not think that is what happened.”

“Nein,” Caleb chuckled wryly and then held himself straighter, keeping the spell steady as Essek continued his labor. “I… strayed from the path, I think. I did something that was not meant to be.”

Essek looked at him like he was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen, even though the elf himself had the building blocks of reality in his hands at the moment. Caleb flushed.

“I think Caduceus would say that you did exactly what you had to do.”

“Maybe so. But isn’t it hard to know that others will have this… this gift, this sure thing while we will not?”

Essek looped a bright white strand against a colorful, prismatic one while he hummed, thinking.

“I felt the same way for decades. But whatever we will have or not, in that sense, will be of our own making. And isn’t that a gift on its own?”

---

The moonlight shone down on the beach, turning the sea a glittering mass of waves. Other than the full moon, magical globes and luminescent beetles illuminated the space around them. Their friends gathered around smiling tearfully in perfect dissonance. Caleb himself felt his heart beating so fast he thought it might leave his ribcage and seek quietude somewhere far away from his anxiety-ridden body. He stood beside Caduceus, who hummed a sweet song under his breath as they waited.

Finally, the glittering door at the end of the path opened, and Essek slipped out, bare feet delicately touching the sand. Jester came from behind him, and once their arms were locked, they walked on slowly, passing their friends and family on the way to Caleb and Caduceus.

He looked stunning in delicate iridescent robes, and Caleb tried to swallow down his anxiety. Violet eyes framed by silver lines, mouth poised in a gentle smile, cheeks flushed, Essek walked slowly until he was face to face with his intended.

Essek reached for his hand, and they stood silently, gazes locked while Caduceus conducted the ceremony. When it was time, Caleb drew a small spool of red thread from his pocket. Gently, he took Essek’s hand in his and tied a knot around his little finger. He offered the spool, and Essek repeated the gesture, biting his lips nervously. Caduceus cut the remaining thread, leaving their hands connected.

“You are now joined together, not by destiny, but by your own choice. I think that’s very nice,” Caduceus smiled placidly until Veth cleared her throat, “Oh yeah. You guys can kiss now.”

Caleb smiled at the phrasing. He lifted his hand, pulling Essek’s forward until the drow was close enough for him to count his freckles. Their hands tingled as he came impossibly closer. Essek’s mouth was warm against his.

For the first time in Caleb's life, he felt destiny favored him.

---

[ghoulsbeard]

Down at the clear green hem of the river, knelt in lacy spindleweed, swarmed by dragonflies, Kit’s singing as he works. Even this far from the Orlesian front it’s a risk to make so much noise, but rivers carry songs well— and a league downstream the People are camped— and maybe someone else is picking spindleweed before the sun sets.

Vivienne catches up to him, picking her way through thick mud and slippy river-smoothed stones. The evening veils her robes in orange and deepest blue, winks like a dragon’s eye off her silver staff. She plants it blade-down into the bank and looks him over. “Would another pair of hands go amiss?”

“Never yours, messere.”

She smiles to herself and sits on a fist of pale rock with a view of the river’s glittering bend and the far bank, stiff with thick dead grass, where the forest dwindles away, and the halla go dancing in and out of the trees.

Kit whistles the second verse through his teeth, since he’s thinking of dancing, and pretty things. He couldn’t send a bag of rocks. He glances down the water, where lines of black lotus flowers trail along the sinking sunlight.

“I was unaware you were an admirer of opera, my dear.”

“I only know half,” he admits. “Had the chorus stuck in my head all through Revasan.”

“Fournier was greatly popular in his time.” She produces twine from some hidden pocket, and a knife. Sylaise bless an alchemist’s steady hands. “At least you’ve moved past those terrible Denerim drinking songs.”

He laughs. “You must admit, these southerners have a few good ears among them!”

“I must do no such thing.” Her mouth twitches. “I’ve heard one bawdy lay of the sainted Bride too many. And Sera’s little improvisations do them no credit. And must they all involve a dog?”

He points at Vivienne with a dripping bunch of leaves. “The strapping Alamar, Red-Haired Annie—“

She groans. “Maker spare me.”

“Ha! Not til the sixth verse, archmage!”

[ialwaysgobacktoit]

Azriel surprises Gwyn for her birthday PART. 6

Guys just so you know i need to think of a better name for this bc like THIS IS GETTING BIIIIG (I have a playlist on spotify called "what would gwynriel sing" and i think i'll draw inspiration from there lol)

IT'S GWYN'S POV AGAIN (and this one's a little shorter lol i'm sorry... Rhys is in this chapter bc i honestly share the headcanon that Gwyn and Rhys would be close friends!)

MY GIRLS: @starbornsinger @madie2200 @katiebellf here it is!! And check out the Chapter List here

Gwyn couldn’t deny. She was nervous. That morning the words just rushed out about leaving the library, because she truly felt inspired by Diane’s words. She had spent the previous night awake, even if Emerie and Nesta had long fallen asleep, thinking about what she had to do next. She was feeling braver. Maybe it was because that was the best birthday she had since Sangravah, or perhaps ever, due to the circumstances. She still missed Catrin like crazy during the day, still felt that familiar ache in her chest when she worked at the library in the afternoon, or went training in the morning. But somehow, after everything that has happened in the evening, the lingering image of her sister started being more of a comfort, a companion, than the sorrow and guilt she was accustomed to.

Still, she was nervous.

She did really want to leave the library, and Clotho seemed happy, maybe even proud, to let her go. Merrill didn’t care as long as she kept working for her, at least a couple hours a day. One day, Gwyn thought that would change too. But for now, one step at a time. The night she went to the Town House and dined with the Inner Circle was one of many small steps Gwyn’s been giving these last few months towards more autonomy, independence, and strength. Towards the life she wanted for herself. And now, the day where she decided to move out of the library was the day she took another one.

And Azriel… Honestly, she thought she would be more scared about the prospect of having a mate than she actually did. Most of all, she was happy. She felt lucky and had the confidence that if anything were to happen between the two of them, they would take it slow, at her pace. She wouldn’t have it any other way. That if Azriel were to find out about the bond any time soon; or if she would summon enough courage to tell him. Because if he did know, he would’ve said something by now, wouldn’t he?

Yep. She was very nervous.

What she dreaded the most was the fact that Azriel, well, he may not feel the same once he found out. The Cauldron could be wrong, after all. And all these last months of getting closer to each other, training in companionable silence, laughing together, bantering… She was more than grateful for their friendship, but she knew that Azriel still had some things to figure out – about Elain. If he truly still felt something towards her, that was enough to strain Gwyn’s hopes for the moment. To maintain the quiet feeling to herself, and what it meant; that she was indeed worthy of happiness not only alone, but with another one.

She tried to push all those feelings aside as she was getting ready for dinner at the River House, the High Lady and Lord’s official estate. She looked at herself in the mirror, spinning side to side. It wasn’t much – after all, she didn’t have any clothes besides her robes, nightgowns and training leathers – but the outfit the House provided was more than enough. Her baggy turquoise linen pants and her white, loose crop top made her extremely comfortable, even if the latter was slightly shorter than what she was accustomed to.

She still wore the necklace Azriel re-gifted her. When he told her a few months back about the whole story, she truly understood him. He was in a bad place at the time, but so did she. And even if he had indeed made a mistake, she was glad to have it now. To know that someone gave it to her willingly, that was the thought she held on to. First person considered or not. And besides, it looked great against her freckled skin.

A gentle knock on the door of her new bedroom sounded. “Gwyn, you ready?”

“Yeah, come in”

Nesta opened the door and something sparked in her eyes as she stared at Gwyn through the mirror.

“You look beautiful, girl”

She spun on her heels and smiled at Nesta.

“I do, don’t I?”

They both laughed as they linked their arms and left the room.

“So” Nesta begun, as they walked towards the main entrance together “How are you settling in?”

“It’s very cozy, and I just love that view. The House is providing me everything I need at the moment. Thank you for inviting me to stay.” She gave her sister a grateful smile

“Well, I was serious; you can stay with us for as long as you want.”

“That means a lot.” Gwyn couldn’t contain her smile as she gently nudged her head against her sister’s.

“Don’t mention. I know you’d do the same for me.” And Nesta was right. Without thinking twice, Gwyn would have done the same for both of her newfound sisters. She was so grateful and thrilled their paths had crossed this way.

“By the way” Nesta mentioned innocently when they reached the common area “The room you chose, well, that’s three doors up from Azriel’s. If you have a problem with that, feel free to say it.”

And as she was summoning his presence, that was the moment the Shadowsinger came to vision, talking to Cassian in the balcony – waiting for them.

Gwyn drew on a breath, staring straight at him. When he caught her eye, she couldn’t help her smile. And when his eyes glittered, scanning her from head to toe, she answered quietly to her sister:

“No. I think that’ll be fine.”

*******

The River House was beautiful. Gwyn admired it as the four of them stood by the front door. It was big, but the decoration made it seem comfortable and cozy, despite its size. A true home, Gwyn thought.

Feyre opened the door, a warm smile instantly on her face.

“Come in!”

As soon as they stepped on the entrance hall, Gwyn marveled at the big painting on display. It was a portrait of Nesta as she held the line at the Pass of Enalius. Her cunning eyes seemed to look directly at anyone who came in, daring and challenging. “This is amazing.” She said, tearing her eyes from the image at last and looking at Feyre. Cassian and Nesta had already entered the living room and Azriel stood by the doorway, lingering.

Feyre was still smiling at her when she answered. “Thank you very much, Gwyn. I have others I can show you later, if you’d like.”

“I would love to. You have a beautiful home.” And she could barely conceal the emotion in her eyes as Feyre held her hand and sighed gratefully. She, maybe more than anyone, was well aware of how lucky she was to have such a family.

“We do.”

It was just when she reached the living room and beheld all of those who Feyre and Rhysand loved the most she felt Azriel’s presence still a few steps behind her, his eyes fixed upon her. A tendril of shadow curled up slightly at her wrist, as if saying We’re here. So she looked back for half a second before entering further into the room, only enough to meet his cryptic gaze and give him a half-smile. And couldn’t help the sparkling feeling in her chest when he gave her a reassuring nod.

*****

The night was going on peacefully. Gwyn didn’t say much, and it was rather content in observe. That way, she didn’t feel exposed, and also could get to know the Inner Circle better: their dynamics and bantering, how they acted around each other and discussed both serious and light topics. Elain, for example, was sitting in a chair in the corner, drink in hand. She only joined for dinner, ate quietly and then excused herself from the table for a long time. Rhys and Feyre took turns in watching Nyx, since this evening he went to sleep early. Emerie and Mor were having what seemed to be a very intimate conversation, knees touching and heads close, and Nesta and Cassian, well… They were being their usual selves.

And then she landed her eyes on the Shadowsinger. He was definitely the quietest of them all, even if during dinner he had participated in the more serious subjects of conversation and exchanged a few casual words with Gwyn. She could observe enough to notice he didn’t once glance at Elain, or her at him, and that they kept their distance. He actually seemed to have spent the evening doing the same thing Gwyn was, which was observing; except for him it was natural, a second skin. He certainly had enough time these hundred years to know well about the rest of his family, while she was doing that precisely to learn more about them. If it was easy for her to be like this, for him was instinct.

She couldn't stop but detain herself on the details of his face, though, as he now spoke to Mor, who had subtly approached him. He wore that inexpressive mask, but she could see the way his brows were slightly furrowed, his jaw set just slightly... There was something concerning him, making him uneasy. She wondered, maybe for the tenth time, when she would tell him. Or if she should let him find out by himself. And again, her heart fluttered as he put his hands in his pockets and nodded along, listening to Mor.

How could the Cauldron have chosen this? To have defined them as mates... He was the one who saved her, who’d seen her low, who helped her at the very worst moment of her life. And although she would be forever grateful for it, she was aware he had enough on his plate – to burden him with her feelings... She didn't know what to do. It was at that moment their eyes locked across the room. She didn't realize she had still been staring, and quickly darted her eyes away.

Only to meet with Rhysand’s staring at her from across the table.

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry.

Oh, shit. Shit. Gwyn contained her gasp. He heard her. She didn't know for how long, but he could read her thoughts.

I was just going to ask you if you were feeling okay.

She knew what he meant. But still...

"Please. Please don’t say a word". She managed to whisper to that presence in her mind.

He doesn't know? She could feel his curiosity. Although they were still staring at each other, his face yielded nothing.

"I don't think so. Please, just…"

Don't worry, Gwyn. I won't tell him.

She could've cried in relieve. "Thank you."

He only nodded at her and raised his glass, and she could feel his presence fading from her mind.

*****

When they arrived at the House of Wind, a few hours later, Gwyn was still a little uneasy. She needed to learn how to shield her mind properly; even if she felt she trusted Rhys’s word, she couldn’t feel relaxed at the thought that someone else knew about what she’d only recently discovered and were still trying to figure out.

She could barely stare at Azriel when they flew all the way back. They remained silent all the way to the House of Wind, and her gaze remained fixed on the city landscape below them, or on the skies above. Never on him or their closeness, even if she’d caught him glancing at her a few times. They landed just a few minutes after Nesta and Cassian. When she meant to let go of his hand, he held it just for a moment longer:

“Did you have fun tonight?”

She nodded, managing to bring a smile upon her face. She didn’t want him to see how nervous she was; they were never like that around each other.

“A lot. Your family is very…”

“Extravagant?”

“I was going to say kind. But they might be a little extravagant, too.”

The corner of his lips tugged upward, and she let out a quiet laugh. “Are you going to sleep now?”

“In a few hours, maybe. I think I’ll hit the training ring first.”

She nodded. His shadows swirled a little at his shoulders. She seemed to forget about her nervousness for a second as she noticed his slightly furrowed brows, as if he was concentrating: “You know you don’t have to restrain them, if it tires you.”

“They should behave better.” It was all he grunted back, slightly annoyed at his dancing shadows.

“Well, I don’t mind at all. I like them. So at least around me, you shouldn’t worry about it.”

The seconds her eyes held his stare were enough to make Gwyn feel like she could burst – or touch him, again. So she turned away and smiled over her shoulder. “Goodnight, Az.”

All she felt before reaching the stairway was a tendril of shadow gently curling around her arm.