#I was going to write one with a quote but got this idea and I didn't want to forget it
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â FOREVER BOUND
PAIRING â Sauron x fem!Maia!Reader
SUMMARY â You and Mairon were created together by Eru and ever since you remained nearly inseparable. He chose to follow Melkor but you stayed loyal to your gods. Even though he was believed to be slain, you meet your soulmate once again many years later in NĂșmenor where you serve the Valar by helping Tar-MĂriel with your counsel.
AUTHORâS NOTE â I started writing this fic like two weeks ago but I got distracted in the meantime with different ideas đ€§ (Y/N) is used here as the Reader's "real" name, therefore I gave her human form in NĂșmenor a name and that is Maneth, which apparently means Departed Spirit. The dynamic between Sauron and the Reader is lowkey inspired by that quote from Wuthering Heights ïżœïżœ He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. Also, I was very fixated on making the short prologue of this fic sound like it was taken from The Silmarillion but it was a challenge, especially when English is not my first language, so yeah, I have to admit I used "the chat" a bit to help me in the beginning (and only there) đ. It didn't write even a single sentence for me, though, it only helped me with reshaping the phrases to sound more like the way I wanted them to be. I have never used AI to help me write my fics, so I feel a bit weird with it but I think the prologue sounds great now, so I decided to keep it this way. However, I wanted to admit to it here because I would feel bad otherwise. Once more â "the chat" did not write even a single sentence for me. I only needed its help with finding better sounding phrases to express what I have already written all by myself and it was only for the short prologue of the story. I didn't put any warnings but I think that â if you squint â it can have a bit of a twincest vibe...? đł At least I thought so while writing some scenes but maybe it's just my messed up mind going into such places đ The fic is quite long but I didn't want to divide this one into two parts.
WORD COUNT â 7,930
ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.
FOREVER BOUND
Together were they fashioned by the thought of Eru IlĂșvatar, Mairon and (Y/N), kindred spirits among the Maiar, and thus were their fates entwined. Mairon was drawn to AulĂ« the Smith, whose lore of crafting and forging he learned with eager mind, while (Y/N) was taken under the care of Varda ElentĂĄri, the Queen of Stars, and to her was revealed the mysteries of light and the heavens.
In those days of ancient bliss, when the first flowers were made to bloom, Mairon would gather their blossoms for (Y/N), and together they would abide for hours in fields unmarred by shadow. Often, he would craft jewels of wondrous beauty, offering them to her in token of his affection. Yet his most treasured gift to her was a ring, fair and unmarred, crafted in the purity of his early days, before his spirit turned to darker counsel.
It is said that (Y/N) wore that ring ever upon her hand, and that when Varda revealed to her the art of setting stars in the firmament, she bestowed the first star of her own making with the name «Mairon», that his light might endure forever.
In the later days, when Mairon fell to the shadow and allied himself with Melkor, he sought ever to draw (Y/N) to his side, weaving words of guile and repentance. Many times did he deceive her, and she, moved by their bond, hoped he might yet be redeemed. Yet she held fast to the Valar, and her faith remained unbroken.
Mairon's descent brought sorrow unending to (Y/N), and often she pleaded with the Valar to grant him mercy. Yet Varda would have her no longer as a disciple, for the brightness of her spirit had dimmed, and her heart clung still to one who had been corrupted. Then Nienna, She Who Weeps, took pity upon (Y/N) and took her into her care, teaching her of endurance and grief. And it was Nienna who spoke in favour of Mairon when Melkor, feigning humility, sought pardon from the Valar, for she understood well the love that bound (Y/N) to him.
Yet no reunion came to pass, for Mairon fled from the wrath of the Valar, and he vanished into the shadows of the world, so that some claimed him slain. The star that bore his name faded from the heavens, and it is told that (Y/N) wept until her tears filled a lake in The Southlands, and thus was the dark and bitter Lake NĂșrnen brought into being, a testament to her sorrow.
You were sent to NĂșmenor to aid the Queen Regent with your counsel. MĂriel suspected that you were no ordinary human being but she knew better than to ask too many questions. Very quickly you were promoted in her council, which was visibly making Ar-PharazĂŽn uneasy and suspicious of you because you had shown up out of nowhere one day, posing to be a noble Lady from Middle-earth⊠but who truly knew where you were coming from?Â
The fate of this beautiful island given to the ancestors of these people was uncertain, though. It was teetering between glory and ruin. You were there to make sure they would choose the right path when the time of difficult decisions would come.
When you heard that one of the captains brought a She-Elf to NĂșmenor that he had found in an open sea, you knew immediately that it was no coincidence. It was surely the very beginning of something new. Something exciting and worrying, too.
The time you had already spent in NĂșmenor was enough for you to fall in love with the island and its people. The Queen Regent was truly your friend and you hoped for nothing else but for this realmâs happiness.
You were standing next to MĂriel when Captain Elendil walked two castaways inside the hall. She-Elf you recognised immediately because it was Lady Galadriel. She, however, could not recognise you because of your disguise. At the sight of a dirty, ragged common man walking beside her, you felt an odd shiver going down your spine.
You looked down, nervously, when he looked up to meet your gaze. Your fingers busied themselves with a ring that decorated your finger for long centuries now â it would never leave you, no matter what form you were in.
You could not understand why some random human was making you feel such odd sensations as if the air between you two vibrated and caused disruption inside the room.
âNo one kneels in NĂșmenor,â the Queen Regent announced to Lady Galadriel and her new friend when they attempted to do so.
Out of curiosity that you seemed not to be able to stop, you looked up again when the man did the same. Your eyes met and you could barely contain yourself because the soul trapped inside the form you were in was about to explode.
He was no ordinary human being and you wondered if Lady Galadriel knew about it.
Who could it be, though? The Valar would not send any help for you here without warning you beforehand. Even if they would, no other Maia was able to make you feel this extraordinary way.Â
No other Maia except for one.
The fingers fidgeting with your ring squeezed it tighter at the memory of Mairon. He had been long gone now and all that seemed to be left of him was that ring. Not even his star shone bright in the night sky anymore.
The only part of Mairon that still remained was not that ring, though. It was you â he would forever live inside of you like you had lived inside of him and like part of you had died the day he had been slain.
âSpeak, Elf. Name thyself,â MĂriel ordered Lady Galadriel and Galadrielâs eyes found yours. She tilted her head but decided not to comment although now you were certain that she could sense what kind of spirit you were.
âGaladriel of the Noldor,â she introduced herself. âDaughter of the Golden House of Finarfin. Commander of the Northern Armies of High King Gil-Galad.â
The man she came with looked at her with furrowed brows before deciding to introduce himself as well.
âHalbrand,â he said. âOf The Southlands,â he added.
âA man and an Elf, together?â You asked as you approached the Queen Regent.
âCircumstances arose thatââ The man named Halbrand began but Galadriel did not allow him to finish.
âWe are companions by chance. Met on the open sea. Your captain here, delivered us from certain death,â she looked at Elendil. âAll we ask is that NĂșmenor continue his mercy and grant us shipâs passage to Middle-earth.â
The crowd gathered inside the hall began to chatter between each other. It was uncommon to see an Elf in NĂșmenor these days and Galadriel was far from humble. Her demands were not making anyone here happy and you could sense that.
The only man whose aura you could not sense was him again â the filthy commoner.
MĂriel exchanged a meaningful look with Ar-PharazĂŽn before her cousin spoke.
âItâs been generations since a ship of NĂșmenor was permitted to make such a journey on an Elfâs behalf,â he told the Elf, harshly.
You wondered how Galadriel would accept the fact that here, in NĂșmenor, she was not an authority to anyone and her presence was barely intimidating. You knew her heart was of a pure kind but it was no mystery amongst the Valar, the Maiar and the Elves that she also needed to be humbled very often but such occasions were quite rare.
âIt is because of the Elves that you were given this island,â she reminded but such words only worsened her situation. âSurely you can spare a few planks and a rudder.â
MĂriel looked behind to stare at your face, visibly searching for your counsel. You shook your head slightly to let her know that you did not think following Galadrielâs orders was a good idea. It did not escape Ar-PharazĂŽnâs eye as he shot you a deadly glance. He hated the influence you had over his cousin.
âOur ancestors were not given anything,â the Queen Regent smiled softly at Galadriel as she walked down the stairs to approach the Elf and her human companion. âThey paid for this isle with the blood of their kin.â
âWhat the Elf meansââ Halbrand tried to save the situation.
âThen if blood be the price of passage, I will pay it,â Galadriel interrupted him again and you sighed softly. âBut one way or another, I will depart.â
One of your tasks in NĂșmenor was to help rebuild the friendship between the humans of this island and the Elves. Lady Galadriel was definitely not helping you.
âI welcome you to try,â MĂriel nodded.
âI have no need of your welcome,â Galadriel continued with her rude remarks and Halbrand looked at her with panic in his eyes before looking back at the guards by the doors.
âAnd you are quickly wearing out yours,â the Queen Regent warned Galadriel. âGuards,â she called for them.
âMy friends!â Halbrand exclaimed, getting everyoneâs attention and you despised it.
You despised it because your weak human form struggled once more to contain your trembling spirit. You were scared that you would be this islandâs doom yourself any given moment if you suddenly erupted as if you were a volcano. Your fingers began to tremble and you lowered your gaze, pretending to be humble.
âIt seems to me that our leaving presents some complications,â Halbrand pointed out. âPerhaps itâd be better if we stayedââ
âStayed?!â Galadriel barked at him.
âLong enough, good Queen, to give you and your advisors adequate time to weigh our request,â he looked up at you.
You were holding your gaze lowered but you knew somehow that he was staring at you. You could feel his eyes piercing you through because the way he was staring was not of an ordinary kind. He was not glancing at your flesh but at your soul. You felt as if you were naked in front of him and as if there was nobody else inside this palace except for you two.
The ring around your finger seemed to get heavier all of the sudden as it reminded you one more about the only creature in this world who had known you so well and who could have made you feel similar.
âA few days, perhaps?â Halbrand looked back at MĂriel and you sighed out of relief once you got free from his burning gaze.
The Queen Regent looked back at you once more and you looked up only slightly to nod at her. Ar-PharazĂŽn rolled his eyes but he did not disagree â at least not openly.
âThree days,â he ordered. âAnd the Elf is to be restricted to palace grounds.â
âI will not be made a prisoner!â Galadriel protested.
âI would sooner knee-cap a stallion than seek to imprison the mighty Commander of the Northern Armies,â Ar-PharazĂŽn answered ironically and the crowd laughed at her. âSo, you shall be NĂșmenorâs guest.â
You could feel the tension in the room slowly relaxing and you nodded at the Queen Regent before walking out in a hurry, feeling Halbrandâs eyes on you as you were walking out in a haste with your skirts gathered in your fists, rushing to your chambers to collect your chaotic thoughts.
You had a malicious feeling creeping up deep inside of you â no, not even a feeling. An odd, eerie certainty. And as much as you wished for it to not be true, you also wanted it to be and you felt guilty for experiencing such cursed yearning to see and touch him again. Your Mairon.
When you heard from your maid at the end of the day that the human named Halbrand ended up in jail already for starting a fight, you simply could not stop yourself from paying him a visit. You walked inside the prison area of the palace carefully as you moved quietly throughout the hall with your dress flowing behind you gently.
The man was sitting on the floor with his back leaning on the wall. He was smirking as he watched you with no reaction whatsoever. Once more you noticed that you could not sense his aura or predict his mood like you usually could with most creatures, even the noblest of the Elves.
âYou are no human,â you stated as you stood right in front of his cell. Halbrand snorted at that and rolled his eyes. âWho are you?â You asked and he only shook his head.
You grabbed the bars and squeezed them tightly as the silence broke due to your ring clashing with the iron. The sound echoed and Halbrand turned his head around rapidly while he squinted his eyes at your ring.
âAre you him?â You asked, nearly desperately. âAre you my Mairon?â
Halbrand stood up finally and even though he seemed to be more serious now, he still had a playful smirk on his lips. He approached you with his arms crossed and you caught yourself staring at his tan, flexed muscles before you looked up to meet his sparkling eyes once more. Nothing but the iron bars between you two and it was you squeezing them tight although he was the imprisoned one.
âYou would look like a crazy maniac if I was not,â he whispered, leaning in. He was so close that you could feel his warm breath on your face.
âYou were supposed to be deadâŠâ you whispered and closed your eyes, feeling warm tears streaming down your cheeks. You squeezed your fists even tighter around the bars as your whole soul vibrated throughout your human form.
âI am sorry to disappoint you,â Halbrand answered.
âYour star has faded away, I have cried so many tears, have been outcast by Varda because with you, some of my own light faded away, too,â you revealed in a trembling voice before opening your hazy and wet eyes. He was staring at you without playfulness now. âI know it would be better for this world if you stayed dead but I feel joy to be with you again,â you confessed.
His rough fingertips brushed the ring wrapped around your finger as he smiled sadly.
âThis ring remains older than most creatures of this realm,â he pointed out.
âI have never taken it off, Mairon,â you assured him. âNothing in this world is older than the bond between us.â
âThat is quite blasphemous,â he smirked and you shook your head as you had no idea what to say to that. He was right â you should not claim such things, you were no god. But yet, whatever was between you and him â it felt so overwhelming, so overlooming.Â
Your souls were entangled, made of the same stardust. You were the same spirit, the same heart, the same blood; only split in two forms and that was enough pain to be apart in that way. Spending centuries without him at all, thinking he was dead⊠It was like death itself.
But Mairon was back now and alongside him back was the part of you that had died with him.
âWill you tell them about me, (Y/N)?â He asked, quietly.
âI should, should I not? You are up to no good,â you sniffled your tears back and your eyes met his. You let go of the iron bars and extended your hands to cup his scratched cheeks. When you touched, you felt your whole body trembling, barely able to contain your spirit and your power.
âI am up to the greater good. You know that my path is the right one; it is the only path. My only goal is to heal,â he assured you and leaned in to place a soft kiss upon the palm of your hand as you gasped.
âUp to no good then,â you let out a small chuckle through your tears. You knew him enough already to know what it meant.
You wanted to get rid of the iron bars and to kiss him. His form differed from his previous one but it was never about his flesh â it was always about whatever it contained.
You had never really kissed, though. All those centuries you had spent with each other, you had spent it on yearning and gazing at yourselves, stealing soft pecks upon your cheeks or knuckles, giving each other gifts and talking sweet to one another.
Because you knew that the Maiar had not been created to love â not like this, at least. They had not been created to know the pleasures of the flesh or its desires. They had been created to serve the gods.
Perhaps something had gone wrong during the act of your creation. Perhaps it had not â perhaps it was that part of him living inside of you that craved to be close to him at all times just like the part of you living inside of him craved to be close to you.
âJoin me, (Y/N), come with me, be my Queen,â Halbrand whispered and you froze, taking your hands away immediately.
âNot even half an hour I was given to enjoy your return for you are trying to deceive me once more,â you remarked, harshly.
He had been known to tease and tempt you countless of times but your soul remained pure no matter what.
âMelkor is no more. I am my own master now but I will never be whole without you by my side,â Halbrand was the one to wrap his hands around the iron bars now as he moved even closer while you took a step back. âVarda outcasted you? I will make sure no one in Middle-earth worships her no more for you will become their Queen of Light.â
âRevenge is not what I seek,â you shook your head. âPlease, Mairon, your words are like daggers. I cannot handle them,â you turned your head around as more and more of your tears streamed down your cheeks.
âRefuse me as much as you like, (Y/N). A part of you lives inside of me and that is my lightness. A part of me lives inside of you and it is the part you consider rotten. Be careful, my dear, for the rot likes to spread,â Halbrand warned you although his voice remained sweet.
âI have never considered anything coming from you to be rotten,â you laid your eyes upon him again.
âCan you not see, my sweet? They keep us apart because together we would become so powerful that we could outcast the gods themselves,â Halbrand continued and his whisper caused a shiver to go down your spine. His words were wrong⊠So wrong. âTogether, we could be anything we wanted. We could be forged into one flesh if we wished, forever bound.â
âIf you cared so much about us being together, you would let me lure you back into the light instead of trying to tempt me to join you in darkness, Mairon,â you whispered in Quenya.
âIt pains me when you keep insisting that my path is the darkness. Your blind obedience to our creators is much darker to me, my love,â he answered.
Perhaps you would go on like that â and knowing you two, you could do that for ages. But you were interrupted by Lady Galadriel, who looked you up and down with curiosity as she entered the prison.
âThe most trusted advisor of the Queen Regent,â she greeted you, âbut the least trusted one amongst her subjects. You come from Middle-earth, they say. A noble Lady. But I have never heard of you before,â Galadriel pointed out.
âMust Elves know all about human affairs?â You challenged her and she smiled, softly.
âHuman? Yes,â Galadriel answered. âThere are spirits, however, that remain out of our grasp. They are no gods but nearly like them. Sent to us by the Valar when we need aid,â she squinted her eyes.
âI shall remain out of your grasp then,â you nodded and she nodded back.
âWhat is going on?â Halbrand whined, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms again. Putting on an act of a common man in front of Galadriel and even though you knew you should scream into her face that he was the very darkness she had sworn to fight and defeat â you chose to stay silent. Perhaps he would redeem himself, perhaps he would realise that he might be given a second chance if only he decided to choose the right path this time.
Perhaps, before outing him to the outside world, you would try to fix his way of perceiving which path was the right one.
And you knew he had been given too many chances already but your heart would never give up on him. You would forever find excuses for him and try to make it right between you two.
âYouâŠâ Galadriel approached the iron bars as she smiled softly at Halbrand. âYou do not belong on this island.â
âIf thereâs one of us that doesnât belong here, Elf, itâs you,â Halbrand shook his head.
âIâm not so sure of that anymore,â Galadrielâs eyes sparkled as she briefly laid them upon you. âBut one thing I am now certain. You are more than you claim,â she took a step further. âI found this in the Hall of Lore,â she handed Halbrand a scroll of paper that made you squint your eyes.
He took it, pretending to be unbothered. And when he opened it, you saw a heraldry drawing, suddenly realising he was wearing a pendant with the same mark. What was the game he was playing�
âThatâs funny. I found this on a dead man,â Halbrand winked at you before he looked at Galadriel with a smirk. âThought the pattern suited me,â he added and sat down on a bench inside his cell.
Galadriel sighed and she glanced at you, as if she was expecting you to help her. You did not move an inch, however.
âMany ages ago, a man bearing that mark united the scattered tribes of the Southlands under one banner,â she told Halbrand. âThe very banner that might unite them again today. Against the evil that now seeks to claim their lands. Your lands, Halbrand,â she emphasised and you sucked on the inside of your cheeks after realising what his clever scheme was. âYour people have no King for you are him,â Galadriel kept insisting.
Your Mairon, the great deceiver, knew very well that eagerly agreeing to all of this would not be as powerful as trying to pretend to be uninterested at first. Therefore, he looked away and chuckled.
âThatâs an odd thing to say to a man in a cage,â he pointed out.Â
âA cage you have landed in because you chafe under the rags of the common,â Galadriel claimed as she looked at you again. âMy Lady, you must tell your Queen the truth.â
âNo Elf will tell me what I must or I must not do,â you smirked as you shook your head at how arrogant she was. You had to play your role but even as your Maia self, you wanted to humble her. âI doubt one pendant proves this manâs heritage enough.â
âWhat about his testimony?â Galadriel was not giving up as she looked at Halbrand again. âThe armour that ought to rest upon your shoulders weighs upon your soul, Halbrand.â
Long silence occurred, in which you were able to watch the master of deception performing his craft. The way he kept staring at the drawing, his face full of mixed emotions and confusion, guilt. The way he grabbed the pendant with his hands and brushed it gently with his fingertips. Everyone would believe him.
âBe careful, Elf,â he said eventually. âThe heir to this mark is heir to more than just nobility,â Halbrand stood up to approach the iron bars. âFor it was his ancestor who swore a blood oath to Morgoth,â he reminded her and you were in awe how he used the bits of dark truth about himself to toy with her and test the waters.
And how oblivious she was, how eager to keep following the scenario she had already prepared for this situation to go with in her head.
âI am not the hero you seek,â Halbrand shook his head.
Indeed, he was not.
âFor it was my family that lost the war,â he added.
âAnd it was mine who started it,â Galadriel insisted. âOurs was no chance meeting,â she pointed out and looked at you again. âNo fate, nor destiny, nor any other words men use to speak of the forces they lack the conviction to name. Ours was the work of something greater,â she smiled at you and you forced a smile back.
Was she thinking that it was you who caused this meeting? Gods, if she only knewâŠ
âYou must see it,â she looked back at Halbrand.
âAll I see is an Elf who wonât put down her sword,â he remarked.
âCome with me to Middle-earth,â she leaned in to be closer to him and you felt an odd sting of pain inside of your heart. Was it jealousy that another woman dared to stand so close to your MaironâŠ? Most likely. âAnd together we will redeem both our bloodlines.â
âHow?â Halbrand asked, looking at her intensely. âYouâre stuck on this island and youâre still short an army,â he smirked.
âThat is all about to change,â Galadriel smiled and turned around to walk away.
You glanced at the man one last time before hurrying after her.
âLady Galadriel!â You called out her name once you were outside the prison.
âMy Lady,â she turned around to face you and you nearly bumped into her. âI did not expect to encounter an emissary of the Valar in NĂșmenor, I must admit,â she bowed her head slightly. âHow should I address you?â
âHere, in NĂșmenor, you must call me Lady Maneth. In Valinor you would know me as (Y/N),â you introduced yourself and Lady Galadrielâs eyes widened slightly.
â(Y/N)...â She breathed out. âYou know more than anyone else how important my task is. We must stop the darkness from spreading,â she pleaded.
âNo,â you shook your head. âYou must stop pushing this man⊠Halbrand⊠Into whatever you are trying to push him into,â you scolded her.
âDo the Valar have different plans for him?â Galadriel wondered out loud.
âIt is not about him,â you winced, not wanting to discuss Mairon any longer with her. âIt is about you, Artanis. You are beginning to become the very darkness you swore once to destroy,â you warned her.
âWhat do you mean?â Galadriel furrowed her brow as she took a step back.
âIt is still cheating when one betrays a cheater. It is still a theft when one steals from a thief. And it is still a murder when one kills a murderer. Because it is not the matter of whether one deserves it or not â it is a matter of the act itself being committed. Too many pure and good souls were lost to us, driven by the desire to do justice,â you lectured her and you could feel her anger and frustration rising, however she would never dare to lash out on an emissary of the gods.
âPretty words, that is all you can offer, meanwhile people are dying,â she spat out.
âDo you truly care about them, Artanis, or is their suffering your excuse to pick up the sword once more?â You asked but she was walking away angrily already and all you could see was her back, disappearing in the darkness of the corridor ahead of you.
You turned around once more and sighed at the doors leading back to the prison. You decided to leave Halbrand alone for the night but you worried about what would happen next. If he was about to choose the wrong path again, you would have to reveal his true self to everyone and interfere with his scheme.
Hope was all you had as you fidgeted with the ring around your finger.
âThe visions are back and worse than ever,â MĂriel confessed to you. âI suspect that it all has something to do with the Elf,â she added as she was trying to read your face but you made sure not to reveal anything.
âI knew that people of NĂșmenor despised her kin but I underestimated the delicacy of the situation,â you admitted as you moved closer to the Queen Regent. âThis is beyond worrying. The future of NĂșmenor depends on your relationship with others. It is no time to make enemies instead of friends,â you warned.
âIt would be an easier task to convince them that the Elves are not our enemies if only Lady Galadriel was not soâŠâ the Queen Regent sighed, looking for the right word.
âInsufferable?â You chuckled and she nodded with a smile. âElves differ from humans. They are not raised to be humble.â
âYou know a lot about their kin,â MĂriel pointed out, trying to make you confess who you truly were once more. She would never ask openly but sometimes she was teasing you this way.
âThere are quite a few in the lands I come from,â you only answered.
âThe lands you come from⊠Are they not The Southlands?â MĂriel raised her eyebrows. âLike that human man?â
You took a deep breath in. If only you had known back then that your backstory would cause problems a few years later⊠But it was too late to change it because it would be highly suspicious.
âYes,â you nodded. âBut he is a commoner. I was a noble,â you added.
You were interrupted by Captain Elendil leading Lady Galadriel to you. She bowed her head slightly and exchanged a meaningful look with you.
âLady Galadriel wishes for an audience,â Captain Elendil said and the Queen Regent nodded her head.
You stood still because these days she wanted you by her side always, no matter what. You did not even have to ask if you should leave or not.
âWhat is it?â MĂriel asked when Galadriel stood on the other side of the table, facing you. She laid out two scrolls of paper in front of you â one was the same she had shown to Halbrand on the previous day and the other one was much more worn out and dirty.
âI found this in the Hall of Lore,â Galadriel informed the Queen Regent mysteriously and you allowed MĂriel to see the items with her own eyes as you kept standing there with your hands clasped behind your back.
âYou vex me, Elf,â MĂriel looked up at Galadriel. âI welcome you as a guest and you gallop off to our countryside to steal ancient scrolls whilst your Southlander companion assaults our citizenry.â
âHe is understandably quick to temper. His people are dying,â Galadriel explained.
âHis people?â The Queen Regent asked, surprised.
âI believe the man you hold in your dungeons is no common brawler, but the lost heir in exile to the throne of The Southlands,â she revealed.
MĂriel turned around to look at you and you raised your eyebrows slightly. You were not sure what to say to that. Should you help Mairon or interfere with his schemes? The answer was only easy for your mind but your heart wished to never cause him any trouble.
âLady Maneth comes from The Southlands. She would know about that,â the Queen Regent informed Galadriel and the Elf looked at you, intensely.
âI cannot be sure,â you only said. âThat there was a long gone line of Kings, I have known. That there are still their living descendants, I have not been aware of. That is not impossible, though,â you explained.
âHis people are scattered. Leaderless,â Galadriel looked back at MĂriel. âBut with your backing they might unite behind his banner. And fight.â
How oblivious she was. His banner was nothing she would want to ever see floating in the air. His banner was nothing she would want to ever see people follow.
âWhat do you mean backing?â MĂriel asked, taken aback by Galadrielâs proposal.
âSauron was once your peopleâs enemy, as much as mine,â Galadriel reminded her and you moved uncomfortably. âI call on you to finish the task left undone.â
You might have hated this name more than he hated it. It brought you nothing but pain when others would address your Mairon this way â The Abhorred.
âI shall go,â you spoke, interrupting the tension between the two women. MĂriel looked at you with a slight panic in her eyes because she did not want to be left alone with Galadriel but you simply could not stand being there anymore, hearing her talk about your Mairon. âI shall question that man, Halbrand. Mayhaps I will find out if he truly is what the Elf claims,â you said and MĂriel nodded at you although you could sense she still felt uneasy to be left without your counsel.
You walked past Captain Elendil and went to the prison area of the palace like on the night before. Halbrand was sitting on the bench this time, with his back leaning on the iron bars. At the sound of your footsteps, he did not even flinch nor turned his head around. He did not have to. He knew it was you coming.
âMaironâŠâ You crouched down in front of his cell and wrapped your fingers around the bars. âDo not follow her, resist her temptation. Stay here with me.â
Halbrand turned around slowly with a playful smile on his lips as he looked down at you. You were not on your knees but it still seemed as if you were begging him.
âStay here with you? Are you not a grand Lady on this island?â He asked.
âI can be anything I want and so can you,â you reminded him, your whisper was nearly inaudible but you did not need to speak your words out loud at all for him to hear them anyway. âWe can live a lifetime here and then change our forms once more, start all over again. Over and over for the whole eternity. Far away from the rest. If I am to ever abandon my life alongside the gods, it will not be for your darkness⊠But it could be for this. For us.â
Halbrand stood up and the distance between you became even bigger now as he kept looking down at you with a hint of adoration mixed with pure contempt. He had to think you were pathetic and some part of him found it adorable but the other part found it embarrassing.
âIt does not have to be NĂșmenor,â you added. âWe can go anywhere.â
âLet us go to The Southlands then,â Halbrand smirked. âBe the Queen alongside me.â
âYou have made your decision then, I see,â you sighed and leaned in to press your forehead to the iron bars. âWill you ever love me enough to choose me over power?â
Halbrand did not like your choice of words as his eyes darkened. He crouched down as well, slowly, in a nearly threatening way. Now you were on his eye level as he looked intensely at you.
âWill you ever love me enough to choose me over your gods?â He asked.
The sound of footsteps made you stand up quickly and fix your dress. Halbrand also moved up and sat down on the bench. It was all done right in time because the guards walked inside the prison, dragging Lady Galadriel behind them. You watched with widened eyes as she was being thrown inside one of the cells.
âDonât tell me,â Halbrand chuckled at her. âTavern brawl?â
âSedition,â she answered and Halbrand laughed as you gave her a scolding look.
When you joined MĂriel again, she seemed to be lost in her own thoughts, staring outside the window. She turned her head around to smile at you gently and then she went back to staring ahead of her.
âAnd?â She asked.
âHe asked for my hand,â you informed her with a playful smirk and the Queen Regent turned her head around once more to look at you with wide eyes.
âThe audacityâŠâ She sighed.
âWhy?â You asked her with a soft smile.
âFor a commoner to propose such a thing to a Lady like you⊠Even if it was only to jestââ
âIt was not to jest, âyou interrupted her. âIf he is what Galadriel claims, then he would be my King,â you pointed out and an odd feeling filled your whole body when you called Mairon your King. A malicious one but also honey-like warm; sweetly spreading throughout your body.
âYou are above human Kings, are you not, Lady Maneth?â MĂriel raised an eyebrow at you. It was the very first time she asked such a thing so openly.
âI cannot answer that, my friend,â you smiled at her mysteriously, âbut if he chooses to follow the path Lady Galadriel pushes him onto, I might have to follow him.â
âAnd abandon NĂșmenor?â The Queen Regent asked. âAbandon me?â
âI am sorry,â you sighed. âFollowing him might be a task much more important than watching over this island,â you revealed to her.
Even though you were not given direct orders from the gods, it was obvious that watching over Mairon was more important because keeping his schemes under control would only profit in the end for everyone, including the people of NĂșmenor. MĂriel could not be told all the details, therefore she would never understand and she would feel abandoned by you. It was the price you had to pay.
It was an excuse, of course. Choosing to follow Mairon to Middle-earth to make sure he would not go back to his evil ways and that he would use the position Galadriel was giving him to do good instead⊠It was nothing but a noble excuse to simply explain the fact you wanted to follow him.
It was different now, though. It was not one of those times when he had begged you to come with him, straight to Morgoth. No, this time there was a string of hope that he would truly redeem himself. And of course he would have a bigger chance to do so with you by his side.
âIt seems so important⊠Everything happening in Middle-earth. More important than I suspected. But if even you are willing to leave my side to go back there, it means there are things happening there that are much bigger than me,â MĂriel said. âI must rethink Lady Galadrielâs words now then,â she informed you and walked past you to walk away. âJust like you must rethink Halbrandâs proposal.â
âYes, I must,â you nodded at her and looked outside the window yourself. The sun was slowly setting and the view was beautiful â you wished it would forever be like this; so peaceful and calm with pink and orange hues.
Like back in the day when you had been sitting in the flower fields with Mairon, staring at the skies, your bodies filled with no malice â only pure yearning for one another.
The orange skies of the evening sky always reminded you of his ginger hair from back then and how you would brush it with your fingers, staring in awe at how the sunlight seemed to sparkle upon it.
You were standing by the guardsâ side as you watched them open Halbrandâs cell. They nodded at him and he nodded back. The guards left you with him alone and an awkward silence occurred between you two.
âThere, you have it your way,â you finally said, quietly.
âYou must have missed me terribly,â he crossed his arms and chuckled but you did not want to laugh.
Your eyes filled with tears immediately at the mention of all those centuries you had spent thinking he was gone forever. You lifted your wet, glistening eyes to lay them on his and he clenched his jaw as he moved slightly while all playfulness left his expression.
âDo you know why I could not be killed?â Halbrand approached you to cup your chin and you shook your head. âBecause of the part of me still living inside of you. As long as you are alive, I cannot be slain,â he explained. âHowever, the part of you that lives within me had to suffer for all those centuries alongside me and there is not a day passing when I do not regret causing you such pain.â
âOh, MaironâŠâ You gasped and threw your arms around his neck to pull him closer and hug him.
However, he had something else on his mind. He blinked slowly a few times and cupped your cheeks now with his rough hands as he leaned in to join your lips together.
For the first time in your immortal life, you finally found out how sweet his lips were. And gods, how good they felt⊠How right. Your souls intertwined at that moment, every missing piece finding its place as if you were forged into one body.
âBefore we were created, we had been a piece of stardust in the abyss and we had been one flesh then, of that I am sure,â Mairon whispered after breaking the kiss. âI should have kissed you much earlier, my love, for I have never felt so whole before.â
âNo,â you shook your head. âI am glad you are kissing me only now,â you added and he raised an eyebrow at you. âFor if you had kissed me like that back in the day, I would have followed you into corruption straight away. I would have worn black armour forged out of iron and I would have become Morgothâs most zealous Lieutenant by your side â only to feel your lips on mine again,â you confessed.
Just when you finished voicing out your blasphemous feelings, Halbrandâs lips kissed you once more. This time he lowered his hands to intertwine your fingers with his. You felt him smirking when he felt the ring on your finger brushing his skin.
âLet us get married. Straight away,â he breathed out. âYou are wearing my ring already. You have worn it for all eternity.â
âIt would be only fair if you wore something from me as well. Something to mark you as my own like I am yours,â you pointed out.
âWhat would it be, my sweet?â Mairon caressed your cheek and you smirked at him a little before you reached out to the back of your neck.
You had prepared your gift for him this very morning when you already knew he would be released. There was a pendant around your neck, hidden under your dress. You took it off now and handed it to him as he slightly moved away at the sight of it.
It was a beautiful pendant surely although you made sure it would not look too feminine, so he would wear it at all times. However, what it contained inside was what truly intimidated him â it was a small portion of your light that you had sacrificed to lock in there. Wearing it could save his soul, of that you were sure. But in his eyes it surely was a form of imprisonment.
âHave you not sacrificed enough of your light for me already?â Mairon asked.
âNever enough. I shall sacrifice as much of it as I can to save you, my love,â you insisted and pushed the necklace into his open hand as you closed it around the pendant.
Mairon forced a smile as he swallowed thickly and opened his hand again to stare at the necklace before slowly putting it around his neck and hiding it under his tunic.
âThank you,â he whispered in Quenya and you smiled back at him, encouragingly.
It had been ages since you last wore armour. Lately, the Valar had been using you more as a politician than a warrior but you still remembered the wars you had taken part of. Back then you had been on the opposite side of the field from Mairon but now you were by his side, riding your horse next to his as people of NĂșmenor were throwing flowers at you.Â
You took a deep breath in when it was time for you to jump off of your mare. What you were about to do would be equal to making a final decision about your fate â leaving NĂșmenor meant forsaking the task that had been given to you by the Valar. However, you wanted to believe that they would value your new task even more; the one you had given to yourself. To watch over Mairon and make sure no one would know him as Sauron ever again.
He helped you to get on the ship and when you held his hand tight and he grinned at you, your heart filled with love and warmth. There was, however, a hint of worry because you knew what a skilled deceiver he could be.Â
To become the King and Queen of The Southlands and to erase the darkness from that long-forsaken land was your shared goal now. Or so he had been promising you. To unite the tribes of that realm and to make sure they had a bright future. And once your mortal forms would become old enough, you would abandon or transform them to start a new life somewhere else. To heal more and more lands, more kins.Â
You wanted to believe the healing would be done in the right and proper way this time because now he had you by his side.
Your new husband and an old companion smirked at you and squeezed your cheek playfully before turning around to join Captain Elendil to speak to him as the ships sailed out of the harbour. Lady Galadriel stood next to you instead and she glanced at you from the corner of her eye.
âI know it is not my right to ask about the ways of the Valar and the Maiar but why would a spirit like you marry a human and abandon the task originally given to her?â She raised an eyebrow at you.
âThe road goes ever winding,â you answered her. âNot even the Valar or the Maiar can see all its paths.â
âYour devotion to this cause makes me believe I was right to fight so eagerly for this to happen,â she said and you smiled to yourself. She was so desperate.
âYou are right, Artanis. It is not your right to know about the ways of my kind,â you patted her shoulder and gave her a faint smile as she nodded, staring into the horizon.
You looked there, too, but your mind was absent. You were scared and unsure â some part of you nearly wanted to be as blind as Lady Galadriel because she seemed to be so certain and fearless.
You turned around and realised that he was looking at you already. And at that moment, he looked like the Maia he had been created as â so pure with that wide smile and the sun shining behind him, creating a halo around his form. He looked handsome as ever in NĂșmenorian armour, so different from the one he had been wearing as Morgothâs Lieutenant.Â
You gave him a wide smile back, so full of love and devotion. Perhaps his star would begin to shine in the night sky once more.
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đž out of my mind ! đż track two: kowalski, status report
guitarist!ino x drummer!reader
summary: it's the annual battle of the bands at the fix, your college campus's iconic live music bar, and this year you're taking the stage as the drummer for indie rock group cursed technique. you know the competition is strong, but no part of you is ready for lead singer and guitarist takuma ino. you lock eyes at the edge of the stage, and something startsâsomething that might make you feel alive even more than the beat of the drums.
warnings: language, alcohol, mentions of drugs/drug dealing, toge bullying, unbearably cute dogs. || sfw. 9k words.
"I SHOULDN'T CUSS in this, right?"
Itâs the day before the other four artists premiere their sets at Battle of the Bands, and you havenât been home since six in the morning. Youâre running on caffeine and spite and the pursuit of the story, parked on a high stool across the bar from the one and only Ieiri Shoko.
Toge leans on the counter beside you, opting to stand. Heâs agreed to pay for the next snack run in return for you letting him be your partner. You both know youâre going to end up doing most of the writing, but you donât really mind. Toge would if you asked him to, but you love this kind of thing in a way he just doesnât. Plus, heâs better with a camera than you, and heâs taking photos tomorrow night.
You laugh, pulling out your phone to record. âYou can say whatever you want as long as itâs honest. Be candid.â
âYou might regret saying that!â Gojo calls from the back, and Shoko silences him with a glare.
âAre you coming or not?â
Gojo grins and finishes up whatever heâs putting away in the storage room, then strides out and leans his elbows on the counter.
âDo you mind if I record?â You point to the open voice memo app. âMakes it easier to quote you correctly.â You also just hate running interviews when youâre scribbling hand-written notes the whole time. Youâd much rather have a genuine conversation and worry about the details later.
Shoko waves a hand airily. âNo problem.â
âAbsolutely,â Gojo says. âYou can probably sell that for thousands.â
You set the phone on the counter, next to one of the tiny pumpkins scattered across it in celebration of the beginning of October. You and Toge bounce back and forth as you run through the standard start-of-interview checklist, having them spell out their names, getting their ages, hometowns, degrees, all that jazz. And then you launch into the stuff you really care about.
âSo, you opened The Fix about ten years ago now, correct?â
Shoko nods. âYeah, a little over two years after we graduated.â
You look at Gojo, whose eyes are even more alarmingly blue in the daylight. âAnd you were hired right away?â
âUtahime first, then me,â he nods. âBest for last, yâknow.â
Shoko snorts. âWe knew each other in school. I just took pity on him.â She smirks as Gojoâs jaw drops. âYou can quote that.â
âRight, so all of you were friends in college. And you came together to start this placeâwhat was the idea behind it?â Toge chimes in. âYou said you studied nursing, Shoko?â
And you sit and listen as Shoko explains. Back in college, she was at the top of her class. By graduation, sheâd been accepted to basically all the best med schools. She had her pick. She could do whatever she wanted. But she realized that what she wanted wasnât that at all.
The medical field is brutal, she tells you. Itâs all late nights and emotional burnout. People yelling at you, misplaced anger when you give them the bad news. Getting attached to people only to watch them waste away.
âI needed to get out before I got too far in. Maybe it was selfish,â she admits. ïżœïżœïżœBut I wasnât cut out for it. I have so much admiration for medical professionals, but I couldnât be one of them. A few clinicals and I was already feeling the consequences of giving too much of myself and getting nothing back.â She shrugs. âSo I named it The Fix, as some kind of homage to the medical background. And I figured Iâd just make sure itâs safe.â
Something sits heavy in her gaze as she stares at something behind you, middle distance, like sheâs remembering.
âWhy a college bar?â you ask, nudging the phone across the counter to pick up her voice better. âI mean, the extra security, thinking about underage drinking, dealing with a bunch of broke university kids. You couldâve just as easily opened a different bar in a more lucrative area. What was the appeal?â
She smiles crookedly. âAppeal. Well. My senior year, I was working in the local ER. And I saw⊠god. So many kids came in there needing their stomachs pumped, or kids whoâd done laced drugs, gotten roofied, harassed, it was⊠I mean, it was a city university club scene. They werenât safe. And I just felt like I needed to give them that. I couldnât stay there as a nurse or a doctor. But I could do this.â She shrugs. âSorry. That was probably way too much.â
âNo,â you say quickly, smiling at her. âThat wasâthatâs what we came here for. Shoko, thatâs amazing. And itâs not selfish, taking care of yourself. Youâre still here taking care of others.â
You donât know Gojo well. Most of your stories about him come secondhand from Nobara, who knows him through Megumi. She paints the picture of a flamboyant, obnoxious bartender whoâs more like a weird uncle to her than anything. From what youâve seen of him at The Fix, you know this to be mostly accurateâheâs rarely serious, always taking flack from the students and giving it right back, ragging on Utahime, begging Shoko to play his playlist instead of Getoâs and knowing sheâll never cave. But now, as he listens intently to Shoko, you think youâre seeing another side of him.
Thereâs something troubled on his face as she speaks, like he wishes he could reach into the past and help. Like he regrets it.
The barâs not the only thing that has a different side in the daylight.
âSheâs right,â Gojo tells Shoko. Itâs not much, but she looks up at him a bit surprised, something in her expression softening. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, not quite there but not quite not. âYouâve got a pretty big heart under all that RBF.â Shoko rolls her eyes, the moment over.
âWhat about you?â You turn to Gojo, nudging the phone his way. âWhy a college bar?â
Shoko turns toward him, leaning a hip against the bar, just as curious as you are. âI think kids deserve to be kids,â he shrugs. âAnd if Iâif weâcan create a space where itâs actually safe for them to do that, it feels important.â His gaze shifts from you and Toge to the empty bar, the stage and floor and high-top tables that tomorrow will be full of music and laughter and students knowing theyâre allowed to let loose here.
âThere arenât a lot of places out there that are exclusively for students,â he continues. âItâs this weird phase, college, where youâre figuring out who you are, trying to take risks without losing too much. Itâs a lot. And you look at the crime rates, date rape drugs, theft, DUIs, in the city, and itâs justâthis place gives them the room to learn and grow and mess around and have a good time without the danger of the⊠I donât know. The outside world. Does that make sense?â
He drums his fingers on the countertop, then seems to abruptly remember the recording and stops. âI think itâs just⊠well, no oneâs allowed to take youth away from young people. So thatâs why Iâm here.â
You wonder what Gojo was like in school. He majored in gender studies, which youâre pretty sure is what Todo is at least minoring in, tooâyouâre not sure how itâs applicable to anything, but Nobara says he likes to pull his diploma out from behind the bar and say heâs an expert in women. It seems a far cry from this rare, more subdued version of Gojo youâre seeing right now. Youâd guess heâs grown quite a bit in the time heâs been here. And Shokoâs been here to witness it.
Heâs not a business owner, like Shoko or Geto. And according to Nobara, he definitely doesnât need this gig to make a living. Heâs here because he wants to be.
âThese last few years have been nice, in particular,â he offers. âJust âcause some of us have kids going here. I mean, you know the Fushiguros. Suguruâs got the twins. And I know Inoâs not Nanamiâs kid, but theyâre tight.â
âWait, what?â Nanami is the barâs primary security guy, a bouncer who never lets a fake ID fool him. Heâs part of the reason this place is so safe. Toge spins to look at you as you blurt out the question, caught off guard. âUh, sorry. I just didnâtâI didnât know they knew each other.â
Shoko studies you with tired, intelligent eyes, and you canât help but feel the tables have been entirely flipped. Youâre the one being interrogated, wordlessly, by the woman across the counter. You feel like every thought in your head is scrawled across your face for her to read.
âYeah,â Gojo says, unaffected. âIno looks up to him a lot, I think. Even though heâs an old man who reads the newspaper for fun.â He snorts. âHeâs a good guy, though. And Inoâs a good kid.â He finally clocks the way Shokoâs looking at you and cocks his head, appraising.
Thankfully, Toge cuts in with another question. âSo, weâll be around tomorrow for the bands and to take some photos and observe,â he explains, glancing at you to make sure heâs got the information right. âWill Geto be around?â Youâd wanted both ownersâ perspectives, and now that Gojoâs reminded you of the twins, youâre even more curious.
âYeah, Suguru and Utahime will be here tomorrow night,â Shoko says. âAnd Nanami. Geto would totally be down to talk to you some other time, too, when itâs a bit quieter.â
âAmazing,â you say, pulling the phone back toward you. Youâll need details, follow-ups, but you need to process this first, write some things down while theyâre fresh in your mind. âThank you so much for this. We appreciate it.â
âAnytime, kid,â Shoko says, waving you off. âSee you tomorrow.â
As you turn off the recording, Gojo and Toge have already devolved into conversation about the bands and predictions about tomorrow night. A few posters are scattered across a low table near the door, and you pick one up, smiling at the blocky lettering advertising Black Flash. There are posters advertising all of the artists, and they look amazing, straight out of one of the alt rock venues in the wider city.
âTheyâre sick, right?â Gojo calls, nodding to the posters. âI gotta hang those up, actually. Thanks for the reminder.â
You wave goodbye to Shoko and Gojo and lead the way out, Toge just behind you.
âMan,â he says, and you brace yourself, recognizing his teasing tone for what it is. âThey said Inoâs name and you look like scared Bambi or some shit.â
âShut up,â you mutter, elbowing him.
He holds his hands up. âIâm just living in pursuit of the truth! Like Kusakabe would want.â
âIs your camera battery charged for tomorrow?â you say in a blatant attempt at a topic change.
âWho do you think I am?â
âToge Inumaki, chronically irresponsible student andââ
âOkay, sorry I asked, holy shit.â He sticks his tongue out at you. Then he hesitates, frowning, and then heâs pulling out his phone and calling someone in his favorites list before you can see who it is. âHey,â he greets. âWhat? No, she didnât kick me out. Hey. Hey.â You snicker and Toge glares at you, pressing the phone closer to his ear. âYutaaa,â he whines. âDo you know where my camera battery is?â
â
Even when youâre not the one on stage, you live for Fridays at The Fix. Tonight youâre doing double dutyâbecause of the dual elimination at the end of the round, all of the competing artists are here. Itâs not a requirement, but you want to see what youâre up against, and the sentiment seems to have carried. You and Toge are also in reporting mode for your project story.
The band on stage right now is⊠well, you canât say new wave metal is really your thing, but itâs definitely theirs, and the audience is loving it. The Cull, you write in your notes. Look up names.
You couldnât make out the lyrics if your life depended on it. Itâs three guys and a girl, vaguely familiar, but youâre fairly certain theyâre seniors and absolutely certain theyâre baked right now.
âGod, this is loud.â Yuta winces, turning to face you, and then his eyes flicker to something over your shoulder. You divert your attention from the stage and just catch the brief commotion in your periphery. Nanami has a kid by the elbow, and heâs escorting him out the side door, expressionless. The kidâs obviously drunk out of his mind, tripping over himself, shouting something that Nanami doesnât bother to respond to.
Maki follows your gaze and wrinkles her nose up in distaste.
âWhoâs that?â
âMy cousin,â she says flatly. You glance quizzically at Megumi, who is definitely standing five feet away and not being escorted out of the bar.
âDude, how much family do you have at this school?â
She sighs. âJust Mai and Megumi and him. Naoya. Heâs a piece of shit.â
âClearly,â Toge says. âHe broke the M theme. No respect for the family alliteration.â Maki kicks him in the shin.
âOne last round for The Cull!â Panda calls from the stage, and your ears slowly, very gradually stop ringing with the raging new wave music. The stage techs get to work behind Panda as he introduces the next group.
âUp next, making their debut, weâve got a sophomore girl pop trio. Give it up for MOTION CAPTURE!â
Thereâs a big cheer from the bar, and you turn to see Geto grinning. Three girls take the stage, the blonde one grabbing the mic and adding, âAll caps!â The girl beside her is very obviously her twin sister, though her hair is straight and dark while the blondeâs is tugged into pigtails. Light and dark. The girl on keys has a long, black bubble braid that she pushes out of the way as she settles in to play.
The blonde plugs in her electric and calls out, âAlright, Iâm Nanako.â She tests out a chord, the sound reverberating, filling the bar all the way up to its high ceilings. âThatâs Mimiko, thatâs Remi, and weâre just here to have a good time.â
âHey,â a voice says behind you, and you jump. You turn to find Takuma holding two drinks, offering one to you.
âOh! Aw, thanks, you didnât have to do that. How much do I owe you?â
He rolls his eyes. âNothing.â
âTakumaââ
âNothing,â he reiterates. âAnyway, The Cull. Thoughts?â
You take the drink and try it while you think on your answerâitâs the same thing Nobara got you last week. How did he know?
âI didnât really understand any of the lyrics,â you admit, shrugging. âThey werenât bad. Not really my genre. Do you know them?â
Takuma shakes his head. âI had a gen ed once with that Rin kid, but I donât know the other ones. These girls arenât bad, though.â Heâs rightâtheyâve launched into an Olivia Rodrigo cover thatâs actually decent. They could work on their voice control, but theyâre young and fun and having a good time and working the crowd, and thatâs what itâs all about, isnât it?
You sing along, alternating between your drink and exchanging quips with Toge and talking with Takuma. You like this new balance between your band and his, the easy camaraderie.
When the girls wrap up their set, you whoop and cheer and Kirara shamelessly watches Hakari move things off the stage, arms bare in his cut-off tank.
âYouâre subtle,â Takuma tells her, and she tugs his beanie down over his face.
âHey!â
You grab his drink before he can spill it and grin as he yanks his hat off and readjusts it. His hair is a fluffy mess underneath, and itâs kind of endearing.
When the girl pop trio is done, two guys take the stage, one in white and one in black. Theyâre clearly related, dark hair and pale skin and piercing eyes, and Panda introduces them as the Kamos. You donât know if theyâre brothers or cousins or what. But theyâre goodâthey sing a few alt rock covers, play guitar.
âDamn,â Nobara sighs, a little longingly, her gaze settling on Choso as he takes over the chorus. âTheyâreâŠâ
Beside her, Yuji wrinkles his nose. âDude. Thatâs my half-brother.â
Nobara hums noncommittally. âAnd?â
He groans, tipping his head back and staring at the exposed beams of the ceiling, run through with colored lights. âWhy does this always happen?â
Toge is taking more photos of them than is strictly necessary, considering your story is about the bar and not the band, but you let him have this. Scattered throughout the crowd are more kids with cameras, freshmen from the entry-level reporting classes with big underage stamps on the backs of their hands. Somebody mistook Toge for one of them earlier, and Maki hasnât let it go all night.
You jot down atmospheric notes on your phone, little things thatâll help set the scene for your project lede, keeping an eye on the bar as much as you can. Geto has jumped in at the bar, which he usually does when the place gets busy, and Gojo is terrorizing Utahime again.
âHowâd your interview go?â Takuma asks, nodding at your notes. It shouldnât faze you so much that he remembers what you told him about your story, but you canât help the little kick of your heart in your chest at the reminder.
âGood! Really good.â And then you catch sight of Nanami, back at the door after calling a cab for Makiâs asshat cousin. âActually, Gojo mentioned you.â
Takumaâs brows shoot up. âGojo? Why?â
Nanami has always seemed incredibly reserved, stony and silent in a way Takuma has never been. You donât want to pry, but youâre also curious about the relationship between them, how they met, what they are to each other. The journalist in you wants to know.
And then thereâs the part of you that just wants to know Takuma.
âWell, he was talking about the twins and the Fushiguros, and he kind of mentioned something about you knowing Nanami?â You try to sound casual, jerking your chin toward the door where Nanami is posted, like a tall, blond guard dog.
âOh,â he says, surprised, but he shrugs, not seeming too alarmed by the question. âYeah, Iâve known Nanami for⊠a long time. Heâs kind of a mentor. Heâs the reason I met Fushiguro in the first place, actually, âcause of him knowing Gojo.â
Youâre considering asking how exactly they did meet when the Kamos wrap up, Nobara staring up at them dreamily, and the stage clears out for the final artist.
Whatever questions you had are thrown out the window, because you know who this is. Everyone knows who this is.
Fifth-year student and resident SoundCloud rapper, Ryomen Sukuna. Or D!SH0NORED1, according to the posters.
âOh, here we go,â Megumi groans.
Despite his reputation on campus, you donât know anyone whoâs actually close to Sukuna, except Uruame. You mostly know that he deals at the skate park and that heâs clean about it.
And that his raps are truly, genuinely horrible.
He lets Panda give a stilted introduction and launches into a verse, mic too close to his mouth, making hand gestures or stepping to the beat of his backing track. His tattoos are even more stark and bold under the stage lights.
âMy blood typeâs B, your type is me, my zodiac Caprisun, it might be controversial but youâre still lookinâ at me, son!â
âOh, sweet Jesus,â Kirara mutters. âIâm gonna bleach my eardrums.â
âCaprisun?â Nobara whispers. âOh, dude.â
You might be a terrible person for thinking it, but watching this guyâs performance makes you feel infinitely better about your odds of advancing in the tournament.
His final song is a new one he introduces as Frosted Flexinâ, and Maki looks like sheâs about ready to keel over dead.
âFrosted flexinâ, I'm the cereal king, pourin' oat milk in the mix, yeah, I'm doin' my thing,â Sukuna spits in his low voice, swaggering up to the front of the stage. You are trying so hard not to lose it.
âSukuna being an oat milk truther wasnât on my bingo card,â Toge says.
âGot the swag of a squirrel and the brain of a dove, call me trash, but you're still showin' me love.â
âThoughts on the amount of swag a given squirrel possesses?â you ask Takuma. He laughs, loud and bright, and then seems to very seriously consider the question.
âI donât know if campus squirrels have swag. They live in luxury. They probably eat better than we do,â he says. You canât argue thatâyou did once see a squirrel outside your sociology class run by with a full bagel in its mouth. âThe wilderness squirrels, though, I think they got a scrappy kind of swag. Like, I wouldnât cross them.â
You nod sagely. âI want them on my team in the apocalypse.â
He nudges you with a shoulder. âAm I on your team?â
You glance at him, make a show of looking him up and down. Maybe youâre imagining it, but you think heâs blushing a little. âI donât know. How fast can you climb a tree?â
Sukuna is nearing the end of his song, now, saying, âOff-tune, out of sync, yeah, I know it's a sin, but you'll play it back twice 'cause I still might win.â
He actually, physically drops the mic and Hakari swoops in and catches it, clearing his throat and saying into it, âYep, friendly reminder that equipmentâs expensive! Everyone give our last artist of the night a hand, yeah?â
Thereâs scattered applause and more than a few confused faces as Sukuna lopes off stage, and Panda hops back up to explain the voting system for anyone who wasnât here last week. âQR codes to the Google form are posted around the bar,â he says.
Out of all eight artists, the bottom two will be eliminated. Youâre nervous. But voting was open last week too. You canât vote as a member of the band, and itâs all done through school Google accounts to avoid double votes or the link getting sent out to non-students.
âOpen until tomorrow morning,â Panda reminds the audience. âResults and second round schedules will be posted on the Instagram at some point tomorrow! Thatâs it for this Friday at The Fix. Have a great night, folks. Get home safe.â
Gojo whoops dramatically from the bar, and Panda gives him a weird look before getting off stage.
Your friends start heading toward the door, and you grab Toge and excuse yourself to catch Geto at the bar. Gojo sees you first. âThe newsies!â he calls.
âLike the musical?â you say in lieu of a greeting. âBanger soundtrack.â
âI could dance on newspapers,â Toge says.
âGeto!â The Fixâs other owner smiles at you, soft and genuine. Part of his dark hair is pulled back and the rest hangs loose over his shoulders, a stark contrast to Gojoâlike the Kamos, you think, or like Nanako and Mimiko. Light and dark. âWe were wondering if youâd be down to set up a time to talk. Has Gojo told you about our story at all?â
Geto smiles, drying a glass and leaning against the bar. âHe told me heâs gonna be the front page of every paper in the city, which I assume is a horrid exaggeration,â he says. Gojo looks affronted. âShoko mentioned youâre doing a feature for class, though. Iâd be happy to.â
âWe have our Monday night class time open for field reporting the week after this one,â Toge offers. âWill you be around?â
âI will indeed. Utahime, too, if you want to speak to both of us. And Gojo wonât be here, which might be beneficial for you.â
âSuguru,â Gojo gasps, pretending to stagger back. âYou wound me.â
âMhm,â he says, unaffected. âWhat time works best for you two?â
You set up a time to interview Geto and Utahime, then say goodbye to him and Gojo and run to catch up to your friends. Itâs a nice night, and since you didnât have to deal with instruments, you all decided to walk.
âHow goes the⊠journalisming? Journaling?â Takuma asks when you fall into step beside him.
âGood, all good. Reporting is maybe a better word, but valiant effort.â
âI like journalisming. Can you just submit words to the official dictionary? Iâm gonna do it.â
âNo,â Toge says, and you blink. He shrugs. âWhat? I tried once. But the only submission form I could find was for the Bureau of Linguistical Reality and it wasnât like, a legitimate dictionary form. Thereâs all these requirements, itâs horrible.â
âWhat word did you try to submit?â you ask warily, not sure if you actually want to know.
âSome things,â Toge says solemnly, âare better kept secret.â
The night is hazy, only small rays of moonlight piercing through the cloud cover, and you make your way through the campus roads guided only by the streetlamps and Makiâs reliable sense of direction.
Part of you wants to ask Takuma to come over, or Yuji to insist the band come over to his place again, just so you can keep talking. But you have work to do, things to write and transcribe, lists of follow-up questions to make, and thatâs only your workload for this one class. You still have exams this week, and you need to study now so you can balance it with rehearsals. Assuming you actually advanced to round two, that is.
And part of you worries you might be taking this too fast, too. You donât typically integrate people into your life so quickly. You like spending time with Takuma and Kirara and Yuji and even Megumi, though heâs pretty quiet. You just donât want to jump in too far too fast.
At your place, you say your goodbyes and head up to your room to get some work done. Toge uploads his photos and puts them in your project folder on Drive. And you spend the night doing what you do best, aside from drummingâwriting.
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You donât even notice the time until itâs past one in the morning, and youâre nearly asleep at your desk. The dark has crept across your room, the only source of light the desk lamp and your laptop screen. Finally, you push the computer shut and flick off the light, flopping into your bed. A few missed messages pop up when you hold your phone up, wincing at the bright screen.
takuma:Â just letting you know i made the treacherous journey home safely takuma:Â many miles of hardship takuma:Â thought i was gonna die halfway there
You smirk and type out a reply.
you:Â did kirara have to save you takuma:Â i resent that takuma:Â (yes) takuma:Â wait why are you up itâs so late you:Â journalisming you:Â why are YOU up takuma:Â travel adrenaline takuma:Â (coding project due monday that i just started) you:Â TAKUMA
The next text to come through is a voice note, and you canât help smiling as you hit play and his voice fills the open air of your bedroom.
âOkay, in my defense, I thought it was due next Monday. Which maybe isnât my defense because it means I just canât read due dates, or maybe I just canât read, but I thought I had a lot more time and then one of my classmates texted me asking for help on this block of code and I told him I hadnât started and he was like oh my god, Ino, itâs due in three days, and I was like no itâs not, we have so much timeâturns out we donât have so much time, so Iâm over here staring at my screen until the vessels in my eyes popââ
He yawns, and it makes you yawn too, despite the screen separating you. âSorry, agh. Anyway, I have to write this program that uses some kind of randomized generatorâŠâ
You find your eyelids fighting gravity, exhaustion washing over you as he explains the project and all the reasons heâs not that worried about getting it done by Monday because actually heâs on a roll and it turns out the code isnât that different from a similar project he did last year so he can just lift the main blocks over and wow, heâs tired, and you stifle a laugh as the voice memo comes to an end and he says, âOkay, gosh, I should go to bed. You should go to bed. Stop journalisming, Skip, get some sleep. Gânight.â
You grin, plugging your phone in and sending him a voice memo of your own.
âIâm done journalisming. Still havenât written that story on you, though. Night, Takuma.â
The last thing you see before you fall asleep is his reaction to your text. Itâs a thumbs up, but after a few seconds, it disappears, replaced with a heart.
â
âIâm gonnaïżœïżœdie,â Nobara groans.
Youâve been checking Instagram every hour on the hour for the bracket results, but to no avail. The five of you are sprawled out in the living room, a Fleetwood Mac record spinning in the corner, cups of coffee and tea and scattered remnants of breakfast dotting the table and the floor and the windowsill.
You have post notifications on for the Battle of the Bands Instagram page, but you check anyway, as if you somehow missed it.
âOkay,â Maki says. âCut it out. No phones.â
âMaki,â Toge groans. âHow do we live with the suspense?â
âGo around and give a rundown of your week?â Yuta suggests.
âAw, highs and lows, itâs like elementary school,â Nobara says happily. âIâll go first! High: annoying slacker guy in my marketing class got a shit grade on the group project and the rest of us got As. Low: Skipper wonât give me Ino lore.â
âLore,â you mimic. âI donât have any lore. Weâve known each other for like, two weeks.â
âThatâs enough time for lore,â she insists. âWhatâs your high? Ino?â
âOkay, jeez,â you say. âMaybe itâs that Toge and I had a really good first interview for our project story.â
Toge blinks at you.
âFine, maybe itâs Takuma.â
Nobara grins in a way you can only describe as malicious. âOkay,â you say, pointing at her. âLow: whatever that is.â She sticks her tongue out at you.
âMy low is Skipper bullying me in class,â Toge says. âAnd my high is she said sheâd be my partner, so Iâm not gonna fail.â
Yuta nods sagely. âMaki?â
âUhh,â she says eloquently. âMy parents wonât stop pestering me about fall break. But I aced a test on Thursday in anthro, so thereâs that.â
âYouâre not going home, right?â you ask. She shakes her head resolutely. Maki doesnât go home unless she absolutely has toâone thing she and Mai actually have in common.
All of your phones go off at once, a mix of buzzes and beeps and Apple watchfaces lighting up, and Nobara screams. âI canât look!â she cries. âSomeone tell me!â
You click on the notification and pull up the post, heart racing.
The first slide is a generic Battle of the Bands announcement with the cool ass graphics youâve been seeing on the posters. Whoever designs those needs a raise. The second image is the bracket for next Friday, with the first knockout round of threeâonly one group will move on to the finals. âWho is it?â Nobara asks anxiously, pacing the room. âOh god, Iâm gonna die.â
âShibuya Incident,â you read off, unable to keep the smile from your face. âAngel.â Nobara groans overdramatically. âAnd the Kamos.â
You swipe to the next screen, heart in your throat. OCTOBER 18, it reads. THE CULL. CURSED TECHNIQUE. BLACK FLASH.
âOh my god!â you scream. âOh my god, we made it!â
Toge yanks you to your feet and starts hopping around the living room, and Nobara shrieks with joy as you pull her into the celebration. Even Maki and Yuta are sporting wide smiles as they watch the three of you bounce around like kids on a sugar rush.
âWhat, no Sukuna?â Maki teases when youâve calmed down. Toge clears his throat and does his best impression, going as far as to make his pants sag a little around his waist.
âFrosted flexinâ, Iâm the cereal king, pourinâ⊠uh, duh nuh nuh, something doinâ my thing,â he says in a deep voice. âUh⊠squirrel? Somethinâ fuego, thatâs Spanish, uhhhâŠâ
âOh my god, let me look it up,â Nobara cackles, pulling up SoundCloud. âItâs Iâm the king of bad decisions, got a throne made of Legos, took a bite of my mic and said these bars are fuego.â
Yuta physically winces. âDoes he really sag his pants like that?â
Toge shrugs. âIt felt right in the moment.â
âWait, whoâs the other one eliminated, then?â you ask, running through the bands in your head. Yours, Takumaâs, Black Flash, the KamosâŠ
âMotion Capture,â Maki says.
âNo, itâs all caps. You have to shout it. MOTION CAPTURE!â Toge hollers. Nobara snorts.
You arenât entirely surprised, but you have a feeling the girls arenât too put out about it. Theyâre young, tooâtheyâll have their time to shine eventually.
You grin, flopping back onto the couch. âOkay, rehearsal when? Tonight?â
âYeah, I have to go to a friendâs to figure some stuff out for a project, but Iâll be back at like⊠five?â Yuta says.
âOh, fuck, I gotta go too!â Nobara says, darting toward the stairs.
âGroup project?â Maki asks.
âShopping! I gotta pick Miwa up in like, ten minutes!â
Maki rolls her eyes fondly. Yuta stands up and grabs his bag, heading toward the entryway, and the rest of you gravitate instinctually to the kitchen. Nobara is out the door moments later with a wave and a shout, and Toge grins.
âWhat,â Maki deadpans, not a question.
âI printed memes to hide on her Polaroid wall. Be right back.â
You snort, turning your attention to the window to watch Nobara cruise down the block. The view of her sleek, small car is interrupted by Yutaâs jungle of plants.
âI hope theyâre not too cold,â he says, frowning as he tugs a jacket on over his white hoodie. âDo they look okay to you?â
âYeah,â you say, pointing to the one in the white, ovular pot. âEspecially this one, itâs getting so big! Whatâs his name, Snorlax?â Yuta had a phase where he named at least six plants in a row after PokĂšmon.
âNo, that oneâs Rika, after that TV show,â Maki corrects, not looking up. Yuta blinks, looks between her and the plant, whose vines have started to creep up the window. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. Both of your eyes on her have her looking up from her phone, expression flat and unaffected. âWhat?â
âYeah,â he says slowly. âI didnât know⊠anyone paid attention.â
Maki shrugs. âYou talk to them out loud.â
âYeah, I guess I do.â Yuta laughs and waves one last time before he walks out, closing the door behind him. You count to five in your head and then whirl on Maki, entirely unable to keep the shit-eating grin off your face.
âKowalski, status report.â
She blinks at you. âWhat?â
âI saidââ
âNo, I know, justâon what? What happened?â
You groan, dragging the heels of your hands down your face. âMaki. Please.â You gesture wildly between her and the door, wondering if sheâs genuinely this oblivious or if sheâs just as good a liar as Mai. âAre youâdid we not just witness the same interaction? Jesus, Maki, put the boy out of his misery!â
Seeing Maki frazzled is not a common occurrence. The most agitated you ever see her is talking about her family or trading passive aggressive jabs with Mai. This is an entirely new sort of disarrayâsheâs flustered.
âIâwhat?! I canât do that! And heâs not miserable. Heâs that nice to everyone.â
You groan, burying your face in your hands with your elbows on the counter. âMaki! He likes you. And your face is telling me you like him back.â
She scoffs, turning her head down and crossing her arms defensively. âIâm not messing things up by dating my bandmate. We live together, Skip, heâs my best friend, if things got messyââ
You hold up a hand. âFirst of all, offensive. Iâm your best friend. Second of all, I hear no denial. Also, it wonât get messy. You are the two most mature people in this house and you know how to separate personal from practical. If anything, itâs gonna kill the vibes of the band and the house if you just keep stewing in the sexual tension.â
âOh my god,â Maki groans. âThere. Is. No. Sexual. Tension.â
âThereâs always sexual tension,â Toge announces, walking in and jumping up onto the countertop, legs swinging. He looks between the two of you innocently. âWhat are we talking about?â
âYou might be of some help, actually,â you say, turning to Toge with your hands clasped.
âUh, actually? Not oh, Toge, youâre always so helpful, thank god you live with me and keep my life interestingââ
âNevermind.â
âNo, pleeease,â Toge insists, sticking out his lower lip. âWhat?â His gaze shifts to Maki, whoâs blushing a furious red. His mouth turns into a small O. âThis is about Yuta?â
You didnât think she could get any more scarlet, but here she is.
âDoes everyone think that?â she groans, throwing her head back in exasperation.
Toge shrugs. âI thought we were all just quietly skirting around it until you both snapped.â
âNobara doesnât skirt around anything,â Maki says.
âWell, thereâs no way she doesnât know,â you point out. âMaybe she just respects both of you enough to leave it alone.â
âHah!â Toge snorts, poking you in the ribs. âThat means she doesnât respect you. She wants the Ino lore.â
âIâm gonna tell Nobara about the memes.â
âYou wouldnât dare.â
Abruptly, you realize you never got around to Yuta for highs and lows, what with the chaos of the brackets dropping. âAh, guys,â you say. âWe missed Yuta.â You pull up the house group chat.
you:Â YUTA DROP YOUR HIGH AND LOW IN THE CHAT you:Â YOU ARE NOT FORGOTTEN freak no. 1:Â yes you are utah:Â haha aw thatâs nice utah disliked a message from freak no. 1 utah:Â uhh low is maybe that toge keeps leaving memes all over our room. like i keep finding them tucked in my notebooks and everything freak no. 1:Â SLANDER freak no. 1:Â LIBEL you:Â not the same thing freak no. 1:Â SHUT UP utah:Â high is someone remembers the names of my plants!! :) nobara:Â Sorry, using voice text while I drive. Who knows the names of your plants? You and God? utah:Â maki! :)
âOkay, well, respond,â Toge says, poking Maki in the side. She glares at him and likes Yutaâs message.
âGuys,â she says exasperatedly. âWhat the hell am I supposed to do? Does he know?â
And youâre not sure, honestly. You donât know that Yuta is even aware of his own feelings, let alone aware that Maki reciprocates them. You shrug helplessly. âHow about⊠ask?â
âJesus,â Maki says.
âNot him, Yuta.â
Maki socks Toge in the shoulder and levels him with a disdainful look. âYou are the bane of my existence.â
âAnd the object of all your desires,â Toge proclaims in a horrendous Bridgerton accent. He made you watch all of it with him in two days. Maki refused.
Now, she just shoves him, and he squeals as he falls off the kitchen counter.
âChildren,â you sigh. âDo you need to be separated?â
âYes!â
â
âWhy is this so hard?â You stand with your feet planted on Takumaâs skateboard, which is confoundingly, entirely different than balancing atop your longboard. âOh my god.â You lurch forward as the board rolls a bit to the left, unable to stifle the squeal that comes out of your mouth.
Takuma stops it with one foot.
âYour center of balance is lower on a longboard,â he laughs. âLike, here.â His hands wrap around your waist and you tense under his grip, and he immediately freezes, jerking his arms back. âIâm so sorry, I didnâtââ
âNo! No, itâs okay,â you blurt, sheepish. âI just wasnât expecting it, Iâhere.â You try to fight the blush furiously rising in your cheeks as you take his wrists in both hands, putting them back where they were. You clear your throat, suddenly too warm. âUm. Okay, soâdo you turn the same way?â
âPretty much. You just lean,â Takuma says, and you shift your weight to your heels, letting him steady you. âItâs a bit harsher than you would on a longboard, though. Unless you want me to send you right into kickturns?â His tone is teasing and you pretend to consider, tapping a finger against your chin.
âMm. Maybe later.â
Youâve been at the skate park for a while now, and youâve only recently ditched your longboard for the skateboard. Takuma brought the extra board you saw hanging on his wall the other day, and he uses it to demonstrate while you practice riding back and forth, getting a hold on your balance. After you feel like you can make it a good distance without pinwheeling your arms, you come to a staggered stop beside him.
A flash of blue-green hair grabs your attention, and you watch a kid in a lightning bolt hoodie slip under the ramps. The park has been pretty deserted today aside from a few guys doing tricks in the pit, a chilly Sunday with the sunlight muted by the clouds.
âOoh, drug deal in action.â You poke Takuma in the side.
âAh, probably Sukuna. He deals here all the time.â Sukunaâs business is one of those things everyoneâs aware of but nobody talks about. Heâs consistent and pretty safe, as far as drug dealers go, but heâll deny any involvement while smoking a joint if he has to.
âWhoâs space buns?â
âUhhâŠâ Takuma narrows his eyes, and the guy slips out again. âDamn, that was fast. Oh, thatâs Hajime. Another senior, I think. They hate each other. Fastest deals Iâve ever seen.â
âI wonder how much of his songwriting is just⊠while heâs really, really high,â you muse. Swag of a squirrel doesnât strike you as a particularly levelheaded thought, but hey, itâs certainly memorable.
Takuma leans in and says conspiratorially, âIâm pretty sure I heard him dropping bars here the other day when I was with Yuji.â
You snort and look up at one of the smallest ramps, one you think you could handle without falling on your face, and point to it with a raised brow.
âOh, moving up in the world?â Takuma kicks his board up and starts walking over, and you do the same. Before you put the board down at the top of the ramp, though, you hold it up to the light, noticing a few short, white hairs caught on the surface.
âIs this⊠fur?â Maybe there was a cat hiding out somewhere when you were over. Kirara seems like sheâd have a cat.
Takuma sighs. âYeah, the dogs shed like crazy. It getsïżœïżœeverywhere. I donât think I even left that on the ground.â
Your jaw drops, and you stare at him until he looks back at you. âDogs?â
âWhat? Yeah, Fushiguroâsââ
âFushiguro has dogs? Dogs plural? In the house?â
âYou didnât know?â
âNo!â you cry. âWhat? Oh my god! Where were they on Wednesday? How many? What are their names?â
Takuma leans back on the rail next to the ramp, grinning. âI canât believe you didnât know. Oh my god. Theyâre so cute. Tsumiki had them Wednesday, I think. Mandated auntie time. Do you wanna meet âem?â
âDo I want to meet them?â you repeat, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet. âUh, yeah. Are they home? Oh my god. I love dogs.â
âI couldnât tell,â he deadpans, but heâs smiling still. âYeah, theyâre home. And you can meet them if you go down this ramp without dying.â
âYouâre cruel,â you say, situating yourself on the board. âBut I will. And then Iâll meet the dogs and become their best friend and theyâll love me more than you and Megumi combined.â
âConfident.â He comes up beside you, checking your stance. The ramp didnât look steep or long at all from your vantage point across the park, but now that youâre atop the board, it feels suddenly very steep and very long. âYou got it. Just donât panic, keep your stance.â He drops his own board and cruises down the ramp, hardly even trying.
âOkay, go!â he calls from the bottom. âCâmon, Skip, the dogs are waiting.â
âOh, god,â you murmur, the wind catching your words and whisking them away. You ball your hands into fists and push off, planting your foot back on the board and trying to keep your knees bent, but not too stiff, as you careen down the ramp. Donât panic, keep your stance. Youâre at the bottom in what feels like nanoseconds, and the sudden shift from ramp to flat ground has you stumbling off the board with an embarrassingly high-pitched squeak of alarm.
âNice!â Takuma laughs as he catches you, the board rolling a few more feet ahead. His arm is wrapped around your front, the other holding you up by the shoulder, and this time you donât tense under his hands.
âThanks,â you say a little breathlessly, grinning, the tiny spike of adrenaline making you almost lightheaded. He lets his hands drop when youâre steady on your feet, and part of you mourns the warmth a little. But there are more pressing matters at hand. âSo, about those dogs?â
You opt for your longboard on the way back down your street, cruising along beside Takuma, who has his extra board tucked under his arm. Youâve got a lot to do tonight, all the last-minute preparation for another crazy week, but you can and will drop everything to pet a puppy. Or two. Always.
And theyâre actual angels. Big, fluffy angels on earth, one white and one black, and theyâre all over you the second you open the door.
âHi!â you say happily, sinking down to their level. The white one immediately tries to burrow into your lap. âOh, hello! Youâre so nice, arenât you?â You glance up at Takuma. âWhereâs Megumi?â You grab the white oneâs collar and check the tagâShiro.
âShiro thinks sheâs a tiny dog,â he says, bending down to ruffle the fur behind her ears. âUh, Fushiguroâs at the animal clinic. He works there Sundays. And Tuesdays, I think.â
âWait, really?â
âYeah, heâs a vet student. You didnât know?â
âI did not.â The black one is licking your face, and you giggle and check his tag, too. Kuro. âHi, Kuro. Youâre a good boy, arenât you?â
âHeâs got such a soft spot for animals,â Takuma says as he kicks off his shoes. âYou should see when they both try to sleep in his little twin bed. Itâs ridiculous.â
âI love them,â you say, burying your face in Kuroâs scruff. âHi, doggies. Youâre awful cute, you know that? Mhm. Yes you are.â
When you finally look up again, Kuroâs cold nose nudging insistently at your palm, Takuma is leaning against the wall, looking down at you with his phone discreetly angled your way. âTakuma!â
He laughs, not bothering to hide it anymore, very clearly taking photos of you with the dogs. âItâs cute!â he insists. âIâll send them to you. Proof for Fushiguro of your master plan to make them like you more than him.â
âAnd you,â you remind him.
âWell, I donât know about that.â
You gesture pointedly to the two dogs, who are all over you and not him. Itâll be a nightmare trying to get all of Shiroâs white fur off your black jacket later, but itâs worth it.
âYouâre new,â he says. âNew scent. Itâs the novelty factor. I am their favorite.â
âYou sure? Iâm pretty hard to compete with.â
He smiles, looking from you to the photos he took of you and the dogs. âYeah,â he says. âYou are.â
â
The first half of the new week goes by in a rushed routine of classes, homework, and rehearsals, each night ending with you collapsing into bed, new and old lyrics fighting for dominance in the back of your mind. Sticks re-taped and drum heads re-tuned, assignments turned in and drafts edited. Your classes are ramping up as midterms approach, and Yuta bounces between his own work and poking his head into everyoneâs rooms, making sure they donât forget about dinner.
Toge follows through on his snack run promise, and the two of you spend hours on Tuesday afternoon trading two different flavored bags of Doritos back and forth, Toge writing photo captions while you edit your story lede.
Takuma, Hakari, and Kirara have offered to help Cursed Technique record a single on Wednesday night, and the five of you have been drilling the new song you wrote up, down, and sideways.
Finally, Wednesday arrives, and youâre all crammed into the recording studio space, instruments set up and headsets tuned in.
âYeah, Iâm good,â Nobara says to Hakari on the other side of the glass. She taps a finger on the mic in demonstration, and you hear it in your own headphones.
âGreat,â he says. âSkipper?â
âSkipper? I hardly know her,â Toge says, earning a harmless smack upside the head from Yuta and a not harmless smack upside the head from Maki.
âI will throw these at you,â you tell him, holding up your sticks. Toge sticks his bottom lip out, pouting.
A snicker from beside you draws your attention back to Takuma, kneeling just beside the throne as he adjusts the kick mic. He has you hit it a few times while Hakari monitors the levels. You feel oddly self-conscious like this, him looking up at you, but then he smiles and itâs not strange at all. Itâs stupid how fast he can put you at ease with a look.
âNice,â he says. âOkay, that should work, yeah, Hakari?â
Itâs Kirara who answers, âYeah, youâre good.â
Takuma stands up, claps his hands together once, and looks at you. âOkay. Kill it, Skip.â
âYessir.â You salute him with a stick and he makes his way to the other room, closing the door behind him.
âAll good?â Yuta asks, glancing at each of you in turn before giving Hakari a thumbs up. Itâs strange to be on this side of the glass, to think about your music being played back, to think about it on Spotify, out in the world.
âNext Fix,â Takuma says into the mic, locking eyes with you through the window. âTake one in three, twoâŠâ
The song starts out simple. You click your sticks together near the mic, on two and four, while Maki lays down a four-bar loop.
Yuta keeps glancing at Maki while she plays, utterly unaware, and the look on his face is so soft you want to shake Maki by the shoulders until she does something about it.
Nobaraâs got her eyes closed with the headset over her ears and her hands around the mic, entirely engrossed in the song.
âItâs cominâ on, cominâ strong, spinninâ up out of the blue, mmm,â she sings, stretching out the vowels. âAnd Iâm on the ground, bleedinâ out, until my next fix of you, ooh.â
Now you start up with a light rock beat, closed hat and a bit of a dragging buzz on the snare hits. Just as you transition into the beat, Toge comes in with some low chords and Yuta moves down the line in syncopated sixteenths.
Hakari is nodding approvingly and Takuma has a wide grin on his face, and you canât help smiling back.
âI need it like a lung,â Nobara sings, swaying a bit. âI need it like a light. Itâs got me twisted up. I need you here tonight, tonight, tonight, oh, oh, I wannaââ
And this part is your favoriteâNobara sings each two-syllable phrase while you pound on the toms twice, emphasizing it with the kick, and then the backup vocals echo her. Get my (get my) next fix (next fix) of you (of you, of you, of you.)
Kirara pumps her fist in the air twice, in time with the beat, and your bandmates canât keep the smiles off their faces. Youâve got something here, you really do. This might be your best one yet.
When the songâs over, Nobara whoops and tugs off the headphones, jumping around the cramped studio space with a grin on her face. âThat was so cool! Oh my god. Guys, we sound good. We actually sound good.â
âDamn,â Kirara calls. âOkay, girl drummer. Good shit.â
âNot bad for a first run,â Maki admits, adjusting her bass strap over her shoulder. âDo we wanna try recording backups separately at all?â
âGood call.â Takuma nods. âLetâs run that again without the backups and record them over, see what happens.â Heâs in full producer mode, flipping switches, colored lights reflecting in his eyes as he and Hakari talk shop away from the mic. Heâs good at this, you realize, running sessions like this, making sure things go where they need to go, that everyoneâs heard, that things get done. Itâs a little bit like watching him skateboard, or seeing him on stage. Thereâs a confidence to him here, a smooth, easy energy. Heâs in his element.
âAlright,â he says after a minute. âLetâs hear that again.â
And you play it again. And again. And again. And you are so in love with this moment, with your band, with a couple rowdy kids on the other side of the window, the rasp in Nobaraâs voice and the expression on Yutaâs face and Makiâs obliviousness and Togeâs consistent, head-banging keys, and your drums and your words and the music, and the lyrics feel right to you.
You need this like a lung.
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jjk taglist open: just send me a message!
@shutuppeter @mikikkoo @reactwithjan @theclassbookworm @lilactaro @bisforbuse @risararelywrites @idkidk32
a/n: GUYS. loml @shutuppeter is so downbad for soundcloud rapper sukuna that she's writing fanfic of my fanficđ credits for frosted flexin' are all hers LMFAO so go check that out (MDNI for that one though).
yutamaki nation rise. also, i kinda love this fic. there may be spinoffs for other characters in the works...
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#takuma ino x reader#jjk ino#ino takuma#takuma ino#ino x reader#megumi fushiguro#yuji itadori#yuta okkotsu#nobara kugisaki#kento nanami#toge inumaki#gojo satoru#scry writes#jjk au#college au#band au#kirara hoshi#suguru geto#ieiri shoko#ryomen sukuna#choso kamo#noritoshi kamo#maki zenin#kasumi miwa#aoi todo#mechamaru#mai zenin#yutamaki
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Which writer or director was the biggest shipper of Mulder and Scully and essentially told CC "no, you got to let their relationship thrive" through their episodes?
I think CC was a shipper from day one (have a long post featuring his own quotes here); but he had a niche interest in mind and wanted to stick to it. Like you said, it was the other writers or directors who helped keep the relationship ball rolling.
For the writers, it's gotta be Vince Gilligan--
Q #8 â Hi, my name is Peggy and I want to thank you, fist of all, âcause you guys make the show every week â youâre great. (all of them â Thank you.) Vince, I was going to ask you something thatâs been bothering me. In âMomento Moriâ, when Mulder is about to take Scully into his arms, what does he say?
FS- âCome on back.â He sayâs âCome on back.â
Q â Thank you, itâs been bugging me.
VG â I didnât write that, Iâm sorry. I forgot⊠that was these guys.
JS â But, Vince.. they HUGGED Vince! Isnât that your part?? [laughing]
FS â This has been a running joke with Vince. The three of us, you know, are so sick of each other because we work together constantly but Vince has always got Mulder and Scully hugging, or winking at each otherâŠ[big applause and screaming] âŠso we just think he is shameless, you know, suck up to the audience.
VG â I used to work for Hallmark, soâŠ. [laughter]
-- and David Duchovny.
David particularly kept slipping in little romantic moments between Mulder and Scully at every possible opportunity (and voiced his irritation at the "will they won't they" when it dragged on too long.) He also wasn't shy about fighting with Chris over his instincts during the original run, so that helped.
For the directors? ...Probably gotta pick Kim Manners:
The final scene of the episode featuring Mulder and Scully kissing almost was not filmed. Initially, the script called for Mulder to kiss Scully's forehead. Both Duchovny and Manners argued that the scene was "mundane" and that they had "been teasing and doing that bull for so long" that they wanted "a real kiss at this point".
(Also, I think The X-Files relationship progression wouldn't be complete without Spotnitz: he ironed out Chris's ideas and was the most transparent about William's paternity.)
What do you think? Maybe I'm missing an obvious choice. :DDD
#asks#anon#love that moment when the writers all tease Vince for his romantic leanings#we wouldn't have the Existence ending the way we did without DD and Kim Manners#and we wouldn't have had âone in five billionâ and Mulder and Scully's Bad Blood jealousy#and their many many MSR coded moments without Hallmark Vince#so those three? invaluable#DD#Frank Spotnitz#Vince Gilligan#that Gilligan-Spotnitz-Shiban comic con transcript is a riot#great details in there
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Ben owed everything to his cousin.
Of course he also owed his aunt and uncle. But they didn't help, atleast not the way that Aiden did. His auntie and uncle paid for his therapy and allowed him to stay with them. That's all they did, nothing more, nothing less. Don't get him wrong though, he is more than grateful that they did that for him. It just didn't help him.
But then Aiden came in.
He saw that Ben wasn't enjoying the therapy sessions and one of the few times that his parents were home (why are they always away so much?) He managed to convince them to let Ben stop going to them. Then Aiden started to suggest things that would help him get a new passion (they both knew it wouldn't be the same as singing, but they had to try) Aiden introduced him to drawing, writing stories, poetry. It was amazing to find different ways to express himself without his voice. Aiden was there whenever he had a nightmare, Aiden was there to watch whatever Ben wanted. Aiden was there.
Aiden saved him. And for that Ben would always hold him high, he loved and cared for Aiden. He would give anything to make sure his cousin was happy. Ben would forever be there for Aiden, just how Aiden was there for him.
Ben tried to ignore it, but he always knew that Aiden was jealous of him. He tried to ignore it, Aiden tried to hide it so why bring it up? Ben didn't know the reason why when he was younger, but after moving in with Aiden. He now understands. Aiden's parents were never there for him. They always focused on themselves or their business. And after Ben moved in himself as well. They cared more about him then their own son. That thought made Ben's blood boil. As much as he tries to control his anger this is something that he won't hold back on.
How fucking dare they. Aiden was amazing yet they continue to put everyone but him first?! Aiden was smart, creative, cheerful. He brightens up the room whenever he enters it. He can always make people laugh. His art is beautiful and just so hypnotising. But they continue to ignore him and say that he's not good enough. How can someone be so stupid?!
It hurts Ben deeply that Aiden tried to hide his pain and ignore his jealously. Ben understood why, just like how Aiden understood his pain. He just wished that he could relieve some of his pain. But Aiden wouldn't let him do that.
That didn't matter if Aiden didn't want help because Ben will try and try and try again if it means Aiden gets the love and attention he deserves
#I was going to write one with a quote but got this idea and I didn't want to forget it#Aww Ben#Ben is going to punch Jessica and Daniel#Just wait trust me#aiden clark#ben clark#Clark cousins#tyler hernandez#logan fields#taylor hernandez#ashlyn banner#school bus graveyard#school bus graveyard webtoon#sbg#sbg (webtoon)
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Why I Am Not Coming In To Work Today [abridged], Jess Zimmerman
part one | part two
#me when everybody is posting the maple leafs sad narratives and i am furiously generating this like HOLD ONNNN HOLD ONNNNNNN#honestly i could've been SOOOO MEAN about this because i saw this poem & alexandra got the preview on the poetry blog#where i just reblogged the first half of this poem point blank with the tags#kyle dubas#toronto maple leafs#& got yelled at aksdaksf & it literally only didn't go on this blog bc i usually write more & then it was percolating & i looked up the poe#& it was only the FIRST PART i'd reblogged i didn't know there was more & then brain immediately went brrrrr ok time for an edit.#this is a long one lol & i also have no idea if it makes sense to anybody but me but because y'all know me i will always overexplain so!!#my reasoning for the reasons obvi kyle. that's a given i hope he's doing well i hope he & his family r good but man is not coming in to wor#the second edit took me a stupid amount of time bc i am nitpicky but also i learned how to do the layers & transparency from the claude edi#that actually y'all don't know about lmao but i lost my mind when i saw how perfectly those pictures align i was scrolling getty & was like#ok december i'm gonna do a headline one (in my brain with the november/june quote about choosing to die again) w/ maple leafs playoff odds#how they say at winter break you know who's gonna be in the playoffs & who'll win & they thought they had a shot but it's mitchie overlaid#the 2003-04 team who'd last won a playoff round with the atlantic division stats from dec for 22-23 & how long it's been & dec headlines#i wanted breakup/recent/never loved to be a recent trade acquisition somebody who bounced around & somebody else so i almost had simmer#brodie & zar but then i wanted to make murray for breakup at any time &i forgot zar & him were on the pens together &it hit me like a truc#bc there's a photo of the two of them EXACTLY the same so close it's scary of this one but them as pens so they had to be it & i did always#know never loved again was mitchie. sorry. also mitchie in the penalty box the last game but i couldn't find footage of it & this one works#no i could not find a photo of tyler bertuzzi fighting a leaf for a dog looked at me yes i tried.#i almost made the bunting photo jt but instead it's 'bunting a rat etc' anyway the one i really feel unhinged about is dead pets bc at firs#i was gonna make it the handshake line & look to see if the leafs had drafted anybody on the panthers (dead pet former draft pick)#& they had & it was carter verhaeghe & i couldn't get a good pic of matthews & verhaeghe but it's fine bc i thought about the mo/luke schen#narrative (in which they are a perfect d pair long lost) & schenn was drafted by the leafs & that line fits jut trust me. also how i feel#about the kniesy luminous line that one possessed me it had to be kniesy idk why. i almost put gussy as girls are too pretty though ALSO#did u like my joke. daylight SAVINGS time on the goalie. thank u. also my photo magic on the jt (me very poorly editing in him as an isle)#OK ALSO HOLD ONNNNN there is a part two but i have to wait for the Content i want it will come out as soon as [redacted] or sooner#if i get bad at waiting &everyone will pretend like it is always the way it will be once i have the photos i want. speaking of did the leaf#simply not take a team photo this year?? it Does Not Exist for me i have tried very hard to look for it also i'm excited for part 2#one of them is named oh you're so unhinged for this one & the finished product is you're unhinged in ways you didn't even know u were sorry#liv in the replies
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asking whoever came up with quotes in academic papers for their hand in marriage, i love filling up my word count with quotes that explain my point so i donât have to and they make me look so well read too, we shall have a spring wedding my love
#i loathe going âthis person said thisâ and just pharaphrasing when i can use a quote instead itâs quicker and easier and explains the point#better - i will go âthis person thought thisâ if itâs explaining more of an overarching idea or theory but for something that can be told#in a quote? baby itâs going in there#i just split one long quote in 3 parts and sprinkled it in my thesis because i wanted to use it all and in there and god i love that for me#i am also currently dying over this donât get me wrong#iâve had debilitating headaches for the last week writing this because i decided i could write the entire thing and do most of the research#in like a week :/// iâve come to the conclusion my hubris got the better of me and this is in fact not comparable to any other paper iâve#written for uni it just isnât#anyways i have 7k och my minimum 10k word count and my deadline is friday at 5pm so wish me luck#im hoping i get it done tonight and then tomorrow i can do edits and email my professor and ask if i actually can still turn it in even tho#i missed turning it into my advisor last friday#i was not made for uni i wasnât but for now i keep trying#the worst part is i actually do find all this so interesting i just hate the restrictions and rules i have to follow#dels endless rambles
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hey so i saw your post about nico being happy and the line about him being manic: could you expand on that hc, I'm curious now you've said it
Heyyy sorry im kinda answering this a little late but id love to expand on it!
Iâm glad you asked I was kinda waiting for someone to comment on that and I was going to expand on it and then⊠forgot- I actually had like a whole fic planned for it and never followed through because idk life happened or smth BUT
Just want to clarify that I have done research to the best of my ability and although this may not be the most medically accurate hc, it is a hc so donât take it too personally
So manic episodes can happen regardless if the person is bipolar or not, someone doesnât have to be bipolar to experience manic episodes. Sometimes highly stressful situations and trauma and cause manic episodes (both of which Nico very much has and if Nico is bipolar I wouldnât be suprised but anyway-)
I donât think the headcanon of Nico being manic is too far-fetched because have you seen him??? Like I just think it fits because he is pretty impulsive and I feel like there would be times where Nico just has really high energy levels (which is a good and a bad thing) and when it first starts Will is like âoh yay- are you okay?â Nico dismisses it as like âIâm getting betterâ and Dionysus is just staring at him like âI have news for you-â and ruins his day
With the help of Dionysus he learns to manage it and Will helps out too by noticing the signs. Mania has different levels so maybe his might not be a high extreme so maybe hypomania or smth but itâs there.
Itâs the little things that sell the hc really
Thanks for the ask! I wish I could explain how I got to this hc but I really donât remember how- I just have the hc running around in my head
#the vibe speaks#like I donât think his manic episodes would be to the higher extreme and it mainly sticks to hypomania and mania but itâs there#just randomly gets ideas and Will is the one that anchors him down and makes sure he doesnât do anything too stupid#mainly Dionysus would keep an eye on him and help since he is his therapist#nico di angelo headcanon#nico di angelo#will solace#dionysus pjo#tsats hc#thanks for the ask!#you got me to go back to my outline and reread my thoughts which ngl- past me was onto smth#like I read it and Iâm like wow why didnât I write this#who knows maybe Iâll get motivated and then actually write but idk donât quote me on that
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the whole 'there are not very many Great Causes worth fighting for these days' from Julian scanned as WAY more out of touch than the moon landing thing for me the first time i read tsh
#like to the point of it being actively jarring when i got to him saying that#the secret history#'they landed on the moon??' well okay i guess it's not really their area#and they've been really out of touch with the news since it's also not really their area + they've been#off to the woods/a country house/etc and getting very drunk and killing deer and also people#i don't remember the exact dates re the moonlanding + the events of the book but like.#Sure. that's probably fair or at least kind of understandable#that could Feasably Happen On Accident at least#but julians like 'there isn't much worth fighting for these days' and um.#if you pay attention to literally anything happening in the world at any given moment at all. ever.#....what? literally what do you mean by this?#there have always been So So many Great Causes that people are dying for all the time constantly forever#and even if you've somehow managed to comoletely block out literally every piece of news/political development/etc#that's not really a reason to assume there Aren't. that's a reason to go like. well if there are any Great Causes left today then#I don't know about them. and even if we assume he's defining what makes a cause worth fighting for by classical values#and saying that that means for example that he wouldn't necessarily think of say the civil rights movement or liberatory movements etc#as fitting (which i think is also probably debatable- it comes to mind that the athenians valued (their own) freedom. political engagement#was valued but only the right kind from the right people. etc. what i'm saying is that#no i don't think they actually fit what julian would be thinking of as the classical mind's* idea of a great cause worth dying for#but also you could debate that/frame things differently/etc (*presumably there is a more particular subset of the population he has in mind#than just 'classical' or 'greek' in actuality. like. specifically those from whom we having writing/would have citizenship/etc.))#i'm certain there are plenty of arguments to be made. like plenty of people are fighting for various countries#it's not like wars or empires have stopped existing or other myriad conflicts have stopped existing#also in typing this i've realised he was maybe forshadowing henry's death#and now i need to go look up the exact quote and make another post i guess.#(also disclaimer that i'm aware i've phrased a lot of this clumsily. it is midnight these are the tags of a tumblr post and i am not sober.)#anyway to rephrase my initial point i just think with the moon landing thing that's One major event you missed.#if you're saying that there are No Great Causes Worth Fighting/Dying For (with the understanding that you think those are a thing#that can exist) then i think maybe you managed to skip out on hearing about significantly more#than just the one major event. that's much harder to manage i would think
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it's absolutely insane that the song that has the most quotes that i want to get tattooed is sandwiched between a song about skinning ryan bergara alive and a song that alludes to playing a brass instrument is like giving a blowjob
#sorry watcher if you see this. extra sorry shane if you see this.#i love puppet history so much. the duality.#btw the quotes are 'if im gonna stop this looks like a really wonderful place to do it' 'tell the critters that you love that you love em#thats enough' 'some shits just etched into the stars collamities you cant outrun' 'the sky will burn and boil the sea as mountains rend its#you and me' 'but im not worried anymore im with my favorite dinosoars' 'we're history'#and some short phrases like 'a cosmic kiss' 'the greens and blues be still my heart' that are still bouncing around my head for tattoo#designs. but yeah. i'll start with the first one and go from there lol. theres also that one hotdaga quote im thinking of getting but im not#sure. im so excited to get this tattoo though. im going to film a little vlog about designing it and getting it and probably blab about how#its meaningful to me. i cant wait for it to be on me to look at forever. its gonna be so wonderful. i hope shane gets to see it. especially#in person. that would be such a cool experience to me. especially since i got him to write the quote for me. fucking awesome#this is the first tattoo idea im 100% sure of. the song still gets me emotional almost a year later.
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Thereâs two different types of bad writing, and one of them is the kind thatâs actually infuriating.
Thereâs bad writing thatâs just bad 100% of the way through, or itâs otherwise so low quality that thereâs nothing of value to be gained from it. When writing is this bad, you can just ignore it and forget about it because it has no skill, no value, no memorability whatsoever. You donât develop strong feelings about it because the writing is so bad you canât even hate it because you donât care about it enough to complain about it.
And then thereâs bad writing that actually has gems of quality in it: There were interesting concepts, or character relationships that seemed interesting, or a setting or other plot device that adds depth to the world. Except itâs executed in such a shoddy way that it makes you scream from how much worse the actual writing is compared to what it could have been in theory. Bad writing thatâs bad because of wasted potential is 1000% worse than bad writing thatâs just bad because itâs just good enough to make you want to enjoy it.
The latter type of bad writing is pretty much how I feel about Barberâs work in phase 2 and it really annoys me lmao. Because Barber got almost every plot point that I was looking forward to reading about (Earth politics, Pyra Magna, colonies, Optimus fucking Prime being my favorite character of the whole continuity) and managed to turn it into a snail-paced boring slog full of contrivances that donât make sense and only exist to force a certain plot to happen, with virtually no character relationships that are interesting and sloppy political allegories that arenât actually told through a good story and are basically just Barber puppeteering the characters to scream âTHIS IS A POLITICAL ALLEGORY DO YOU GET ITâ as if this is entertaining or #deep when really itâs just boring and annoying.
#squiggposting#negativity#like i guess i can see the reasons other people like it#but not really because i don't understand how they even GOT THROUGH enough of the story to like the themes#when most of the story is just fucking stupid and there's almost no emotion besides unrelenting gloominess#and any 'commentary' it makes comes in the form of such brilliant scenes as#zeta prime quoting fascist propaganda and orion going 'but fascism is bad!' and zeta going 'it's cool when we do it'#like bro lmao my best friend loves his writing and the way she talked about it i was SO READY to love exrid/op#i was right here ready to be a stan and even a contrarian ready to enjoy it more than i liked mtmte#but no i absolutely get why no one talks about exrid/op because it's so fucking underwhelming and awful#and i barely even care about the characters so like why do i even care about whatever grand political commentary barber is trying to force#like lmao jro is a megatron apologist that shoehorned in megatron being not the worst guy ever but at least he made it entertaining#at least i felt pathos for megatron and other horrible people despite their shit actions#with barber's stuff i'm just like. this is a plot hole. this makes no sense. this is stupid. this makes no sense.#this is hamfisted. how many more issues do i have to read before i start caring again#it's just awful lmao#my disappointment is immeasurable and my day is ruined#like IN CONCEPT i love so many worldbuilding and character ideas that are in exrid/op#but i would never recommend anyone to actually read it because like. there's almost no point#exrid/op is nothing but occasional glimmers of potential in a sea of depressing averageness
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WHEREâS MY FUKING CAPO
#my post#funny#relatable#guitar#music#bjork#wait you can only have 30 tags the joke is much less funny if i donât have a fucking wall of the stuff i guess iâll just make this one reall#and 140 characters per tag this is stifling my creativity meh i was running out of popular tags anyway bjorkâs not that popular of a tag tho#tbh i was running out of inspiration after like the 4 tag this joke was not meant to be at least not by my hand and i guess it wasnât that f#unny either i cooled down real fast on that one you know what iâm pivoting this is no longer popular tags just my train of thought for as lo#ng as i feel like it the first few one might not even make sense when iâm done but who cares not me clearly it is quite annoying how i canât#use commas tho makeâs this harder to read than it needs to any way i lost my capo for like the third time my desk isnât even that messy but#donât know where else i wouldâve put it itâs not lying on any of my instruments either i probably put it quote somewhere i would remember un#quote but clearly i didnât iâm usually very good at remembering where i put things put the capo is the zone in between i use this often and#i use this every other year so i never remember where it is stored it is 1 am so i guess iâm going to bed soon anyway but still this is goin#g to annoy me until tomorrow i donât even need it right iâve had to remove so many tags the original joke barely makes sense anymore iâm kee#ping bjork tho you can pry her out of my cold dead hands not that i really listen to her music or know her i just like saying her name iâts#got good mouth feel and itâs fun to spell i didnât realize how long filling 30 tags would be whatâs 140 times 30 let me look it up 4200 this#makes this post my biggest project by like 3000 words the only time iâve written any meaningful lengths of texts was in college and iâm a dr#opout what 4200 characters not words silly little me makes a lot more sense now that i think about it iâm getting tired of writing so this m#ay end soon i would like to not go to bed at 4 am for a silly little post 2 people are going to read plus i am running out of ideas of thing#s to write i am very much not a writer writing scares me even writing lyrics for songs terrifies me iâve only manage to write lyrics for one#without getting too self conscious and imploding but iâm better at writing songs with vocals iâve never had anyone to write music with and w#ithout the ability to sing or write lyrics itâs been difficult the singing has been more or less remedied with synth v but the puter canât w#rite lyrics for meso until i get a lyricist friend i will have to toughen up you canât make art without making yourself known to those who c#onsume it but lyrics and poetry has always been 1 step too far for me tbh iâd rather spontaneously combust rather than let people know me i#do not look at my very numerous in stars and time posts and reblogs they are completely unrelated to this donât think about it oh look behin#d you thereâs a distraction oh youâve missed it i have been writing this for half an hour and i am getting so sick of it i revealed informat#ion about the inner machinations of my mind i have not done this since last time i saw a therapist 5 years ago this is fucked up what a self#impose writing challenge can do to you luckily this is the last tag iâm doing lucky me well this was fun this is going to end suddenly so do
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âwatch me, don't touch me, love me, don't hurt me.â
[title is from ive's accendio. gif not mine.] summary. you are the fop of the wizarding society, known for your shallowness and careless display of wealth, but as hogwarts faces another threat, the marauders and lily, find themselves drawn to you and the secrets hidden under your facade. (harry just wants to know what is going on.)
pairing/s. marauders x reader. (james potter/lily evans/remus lupin/sirius black/reader.)
wc. 24.1k.
tags. enemies to lovers, angst, hurt but the comfort is later, fluff(ish), i try slow burn for the first time (it hurts.), this is highly self-indulgent idgaf, set during goblet of fire but i decide what goes, voldemort isn't the only character who can revive from the dead, BITCH. OH, LMAO I FORGOT, THIS IS FOR THE DILF AND MILF LOVERS SDKJFHSF they're married, but remus and sirius keep their name for legal and plot reasons. adult marauders and adult reader! and i was careful this time to not use any specific pronouns or gendered terms so everyone can enjoy the pain!! every1 is hurting 2nite. proofread kind of, so we die like. . . harry potter?
cws. here we go... canon-typical violence, vivid description of injuries, pain, and blood, emotional abuse, trauma, self-destructive tendencies, minor character death (non-canon), pureblood society practices, voldemort is his own warning, brief mention of war, brief scene with abducted children, panic attacks, depictions of mental illness, suic!dal thoughts, bellatrix lestrange is also her own warning, morally-grey reader.
a/n: this is inspired by my most favorite finnick odair fic EVER! obviously, i won't ever reach that level of greatness, but i've had this idea in my head ever since i read that story. sometimes, i just want to cry at night to feel something, LMFAO. halfway through writing this story, i got insecure, so thank you to this eye-opening comment on reddit that i found that will forever change how i look at reader inserts: âfor me, a reader should be faceless, but not soulless.â
to my dearest friends and readers, i hope you enjoy this world that i've written for you ueueue. (the next and final part is fluffier, i promise.) will upload to ao3 soon!
act i. dear god, please save the little man.
âRITA, DARLING, do get your wretched little quill for this one. I heard from a wee birdie that Vittoria Zabini was spotted in Rome, and not just wearing last seasonâs designer collection, but on her honeymoon, of all things! Can you believe it, dearest? If I remember correctly, this must be husband number five now.â
Like a wingless canary in a gilded cage, you are forced once again to sing for red-lipped witches and their grating laughter, and for wizards with their fat bellies, graying hair, and leering eyes. How kind of Narcissa Malfoy to host these decrepit creatures in her manor gardenâand thrust the role of main attraction onto you. There you are, lonesome badger, dressed in the finest tulle for everyone to ogle at. A ballerina in a music box, turning, and turning, and turning.
(When will your cursed lullaby finally end?)
Isadora Bulstrode cackles. âGold-digging wench must be at it again.â
As predicted, Rita Skeeter greedily whips out her Quick-Quotes Quill. The bloodthirsty journalist preys hungrily at your every wordâand youâre more than willing to satiate the irritable, little pest. âRiveting.â She pushes her glasses upwards with a quirk of her lips. âWe may have tomorrowâs front page in our hands.âÂ
Lavinia Nott brings the teacup to her mouth, her gaze slicing towards you. âDo tell us more. Where ever do you get your information from?â
You hide a coy smile behind the fine porcelain. âWhy, Lavinia dearest, if I reveal my secret now, I might have to kill you!â The drove of ladies giggle amongst themselves as Lavinia sips her tea impassively. You play these people like a fiddle, and theyâre none the wiser. But even vile women have to play their parts in the cruel world forged by mad men. Yours happens to be the most ill-fated of them all.Â
âA shame you decided not to pursue the same path as your mother, but that is alrightânot every one is fit to work.â The Selwyn matron raises her brow, offering you a tight-lipped smirk.
âOh, Elinor, my love, Iâm surprised youâd even suggest such a horrible thing!â Your grin grows wicked and wider. You know perfectly what the wizarding society thinks of you: the orphaned heir, the shallow socialite who only cares for gallivanting about in pureblooded extravaganzas. A status youâve so carefully fashioned; utterly beloved and adored by these people, flowers falling at your feet with so much as a whisper from your lips.Â
Your gaze drifts to a familiar crowd of people to the side. Itâs the pack of lions and The-Boy-Who-Lived. There they are, the marauding bunch and their displays of loyalty and whatnot; hideously coordinated outfits, but capturing the worldâs attention constantly and effortlessly.Â
How repulsive.
In spite of that, you are intrigued. They are the section that plays out of tune in the orchestra you have been conducting for years.
And so you bid your goodbyes to the witches; they fawn and beg for you to stay for an hour more. You pout your lips and say with faux sympathy, hand flying to your chest. âOh, donât worry, my dears! Iâll be back soon enough after greeting some of the other guests. You lovely ladies might tire of me if I stay for too long.â
Melina Traverse brushes you off. âWe could never! You know youâre like family to us, pet!â
With a delighted gasp, you say, âDonât tell Narcissa, but youâve always been my favorite Slytherin.â The venom flows endlessly from your lips. You owe your life to only a handful of people. Narcissa Malfoy, who raised you when your mother no longer could, is one of them. Finally, youâre able to sneak away from their freshly manicured talons as they tittle-tattle amongst themselves.
Once your back is turned to the rest of them, you roll your eyes until your head begins hurting.Â
What a bunch of insufferable fools.Â
Still, the show curtains are wide open and the sun is yet to set. You have another audience that is awaiting your next number.Â
âOh, my, my, my! Is it truly the Chosen One in our midst?â You approach the horrid family of Gryffindorsânearly doubling over in laughter at the speed with which their faces fall at the sight of you. How refreshing, you think to yourself. Itâs been so long since youâve seen people who wore their hearts on their sleeves. âCissa and I didnât think youâd even respond to our invitationâbut this is just brilliant! Lily, darling! How long has it been? That dress looks utterly divine! Is that Charmeuse silk? The purple simply brings out the color in your eyes! And your skin, my love! Just glowing! Tell meâhave you been trying those snail facials? I hear theyâre all the rage nowadays.â
Sirius grimaces, cheeks turning ashen. âBloody hell, Iâm going to need a drink for this. A strong one, too.âÂ
âYouâre at a garden party, Sirius darling,â you remind in jest, flamboyantly motioning to the grazing table. âThe elves are serving Darjeeling, jasmine, chamomile, berry blends, spiced orange, silver needle, and my personal favorite, chocolate mint!â There are strings of lights wrapped around the tree branches; floating lanterns and the hydrangeas creeping on the stone walls. You put a hand over your heart, smiling knavishly. âFrom the Malfoy family, to yours, we sincerely hope you enjoy your brunch.âÂ
Lily deeply inhales as she intertwines her fingers with Jamesâs, a polite smile on her faceâan odd pang in your heart at the show of solidarity. (She questions how sincere can a Malfoy really be.) âY-Yes, well, itâs so good to see you, too. Weâre grateful for the invitation, especially since itâs for a rather honorable cause.âÂ
Ah, pure-hearted creatures really do get on your nerves. Lion hearts; words dripping in honey, limitless bravado. Youâve changed your mind, youâre sick of it all. A flash of vindictive glee crosses your face as you abruptly grab her hand, wrenching it away from her husbandâs. âWe just knew youâd see it that way! You probably see yourself in those Muggle children, eh?â
Lily recoils, as if struck by hot iron, shoulders tensing; slowly, she peels away her hand from yours, long lashes blinking away her shock. âYou and Narcissa must be raising a lot of money, then.â She eyes the marble fountain adorned in white roses, the harmonizing gnomes nearby, self-playing harps, and the scrutinizing stares from afar. âI never knew you cared so much about Muggle children.â
âWell, I suppose it must be done for all the pudgy-cheeked brats in the world,â You callously wave away her words with a sigh. Unbeknownst to most, all the charity proceeds come from your own Gringotts account. That is the one real thing left in your miserable life. âAs staff at Hogwarts, the children must come first, wouldnât you agree, Lily flower?â
âQuite,â replies Lily, lips firmly pursed.
James enters the fray, hand snaking around Lilyâs waist; jaw taut, seeming to regret ever entering the snake den. âHave you met our son, Harry, already?â He turns to the fourteen-year-old at his left side, gently patting Harryâs back with a crooked smile. âHaz, this is an old classmate of ours.â James gestures to you, and you offer the Potter spawn an amused smile as he blinks owlishly at you. The poor thing has gone frigid from the wintry cold, despite the summer sun overhead and blooming coneflowers; and you wonder if he must have run into Draco and Lucius before coming to the garden.
So this is the child the Dark Lord failed to kill, you muse. You only wish that you could have seen that monster fall to the ground lifelessly, defeated by an infant and his courageous parents. How fitting for men like Lucius Malfoy to follow in his footsteps; the blind leading the blind. Your grin stretches from ear to ear as you take his hand in yours. Clearly, heâs never held a girlâs hand before, as he limply shakes your hand, awkwardly spluttering his greetings. âWhat an honor it is to finally meet the savior of the wizarding world.âÂ
âWhy, you look just like James when he was younger, always strutting around the corridors.â Your eyes drift to the lightning scar on his forehead, a testament to his and Lilyâs survival against the killing curse. âAnd such clear-cut emerald eyes; truly your motherâs son. Tell me, Harry dearest, you must be quite the heartbreaker at Hogwarts.â
His doe-eyes harden, and your brow quirks in curiosity. (So the littlest lion can growl, after all.) âOh. . . not really.â His hand hangs back at his side, fists coiling. The robins chirp merrily as they fly by, his parents carefully watching the scene unfold; water endlessly splashing in the fountain. Harryâs voice deepens as he continues, âI couldnât be. My friends and I barely have time for anything else. There always seems to be something going on at the castle, apparently.â Â
âHow interestingâElsie!â You bark at the quivering house elf as Harry stumbles on his words. âGet Mister Potter and his company a plate of macaronsâserve them our finest tea, as well.âÂ
Harry winces as the elf apparates at once. âThereâs r-really no need forââ
Your gaze, sharp as a knife, slices to him, as the corners of your painted lips bend contemptuously. âHave you heard the news, dearheart?â
Harry looks to his father before shrugging. âI donât think so.â
âIf Mister Lupin here has so graciously informed you,â you begin tantalizingly, eyes cutting to the rugged werewolf at Lilyâs side; his back stiffening at the mention of his name, âOtherwise, keep this between you and me, Harry darling. Hogwarts will be hosting a rather important event this yearâand I do love a good partyâso you must have noticed the rise in appearances from the Ministry.â You gesture to the top Aurors at the DMLE towering over Harry, Sirius and James. âMore than that,â you continue with a sly cant to your voice. âThere will be a few new additions to Hogwartsâ staff. Among them, of courseâis yours truly!â
âAnd to do what, exactly?â Sirius blurts out incredulously.
âBe a teacher, of course!â you feign ignorance, bashfully furrowing your brows. âWhy else?â
âBrilliant!â Sirius chuckles scornfully. âSo, the children will be learning about French designers and frilly dresses then, I presume?
âIs that truly all you think of me?â you ask, gasping melodramatically as you circle the rim of your empty teacup.Â
âYou want to know what I think? Or what everyone thought behind your back at Hogwarts?â Sirius scoffs with a cock of his head. âYouâve always been the belle of the ball, no bloody doubt about that. But Iâve always wondered if there was anything more to your head than just air.âÂ
He runs a hand through his dark curls, lips twisting into a sneer. âBut I reckon nothing has changed since then. Youâre just the same insufferable, vapid wench as youâve always been.â
âSirius. . .â Remus quietly calls. âThatâs enough.âÂ
Your expression faltersâbut your mask cannot afford even a moment of rest. A jarring note in the lullaby plays as the ceramic ballerina stops turning. You let the minutes pass by fleetingly; it seems the self-playing chordophones have changed their tune, as well. You watch as the canary diamonds in your bracelet glint against the sunlight. (You are growing tired of the blinding show lights, unrelenting crowd, and never-ending play. Where is the reprieve, you wonder, for the tormented primadonna and her aching soul?)
The strings are now dipped in blood as your tears polish the stage. Your joints have twisted, bent, and danced. You wonder, how long must it be until you are rid of the starring role?
You muster a coy smile, fluttering your lashes at the heir of the most noble and ancient House. âSuch crude language, Mister Black,â you say, albeit your voice has gone mellow; nails drumming against the table surface as the guests mingle with one another. The unbearably dull conversations buzz in your ear. You notice Draco and Astoria Greengrass heading for the glasshouse. You consider stealing her lace parasol and whacking Sirius with it, and the thought fills you with immense joy.Â
Unfortunately, they are your guests, and you are nothing if not the most polite host. âPerhaps, I am not the only one who hasnât grown out of their immature habits,â you say, eyeing his shoulder-length hair, spiky ear piercings, and leather jacket. That damned leather jacket of his. It irks you that he and his kind can show insolence freely without bearing any repercussions. (But youâd die before you ever feel envy for a man like Sirius Black.) The sun fades behind the clouds, and your mask slips perfectly into place once more.
âWhat is it that happened again? Between you and Severus Snape in sixth-year?â You tap your chin pensively, taking cruel satisfaction in the stutter in Siriusâs breath and Remusâs parted lips, ever stupefied. You gaze fiendishly at Remus. âOh, silly me, Iâve gone off topic. Well, anyhow, I just wanted to say, I believe the students are in rather good hands this year. I just hope Dumbledore doesnât accidentally let an infected beast roam the halls of Hogwarts.âÂ
Your eyes flash impishly. âWouldnât you agree, Mister Lupin?â
Lily curls her lip viciously. âJust what exactlyâ?â
âElsie has returned, master.â The house elf bows her head just as the antique bistro table is circled with macarons, cucumber sandwiches, miniature cocktail buns, and slices of pound cake. Lily retracts her hand, grinding her jaw as she swallows the words in her throat.
âYou may go, Elsie, thank you.â With a guileful smirk, you levitate the teapot towards James and Harry, dutifully filling their cups; steam soon arising from the Chinese porcelain. You nod at the group. âItâs jasmine pearl,â you explain haughtily. âCarefully handcrafted tea from harvested leaves and flowers. Such exquisiteness that you wonât be able to find anywhere else.â
âDo enjoy your tea; Cissa and I made sure to spare no expense for our guests.â The teapot carefully lands back on the table. The sinfonietta ends, and so does your time with this particular audience. What misfortune, that you wonât receive your flowers for todayâs performance. You pivot on your heels, flinging them a lukewarm goodbye. âDo excuse me, for I must tend to the new arrivals. I believe I see Missus Parkinson over there by the koi pond. Cissa might have my head if I neglect my responsibilities.â
You turn your head, tossing a wink at Lily. âToday, after all, is for the children.â
Alas, it is not Persephone Parkinson you head towards.Â
You briefly exchange tepid pleasantries with Lavinia Greengrass before walking past the koi pond to the edges of the garden, far beyond prying eyes and ears. There, like a brooding Dementor drifting through a frozen lake, waits your true target. Sadly, it is only a dour-faced professor, a long time confrĂšre of yours, to be precise. There are only a handful of people to whom you are indebted. Severus Tobias Snape is one of those few.Â
With a flick of your wand, you covertly cast the silencing charm upon the elusive spot Severus had chosen. There is no need for these edacious vultures to prey on your conversation. They are better off with their tĂȘte-Ă -tĂȘtes and syrupy pikelets. You drown out the chamber orchestraâs symphony, the clinking of champagne glasses, the rustling leaves and ringing wind chimes. âSeverus darling,â you say liltingly, feet shuffling to his side as you playfully ghost your palm against his nape. He barely spares you a glance as a breeze courses through the rippling lake water. âYouâre missing out on the festivities, you know.â
âHave you finally finished tormenting Narcissaâs visitors?â he drawls, at long last acknowledging your presence and sharply raising a brow at your saccharine-sweet smile.
âWhy, Iâd never dare to do such a thing,â you reply with a theatrical sway of your head. âI simply conversed with the ladies and had a delightful run-in with your old flame, Lily. Do you remember her, my sweet? Ghastly red hair, pale skin, and, oh, those green eyes. It must be infuriating to look like that,â you rattle away to the only entity willing to listen to you in his company: the wind.
âSpare me,â he drones, lips curved impatiently.
You moue. âEver the bore, you are, Severus. Shall I fetch you a platter of brandy snaps?â
âShall I sit around while I wait?â Snapeâs lips contort into a sour grimace, eyes rolling to the back of his head. âThe Dark Lord himself might even find time to rise from his grave.â
âSeverus dear, if I didnât know any better, Iâd say you were trying to tell me something.â You eye him slyly, mouth tipping into a smirk as a dragonfly hovers by the waterline, avidly stalked by the dwarf frog on a lily pad. âSo,â you pry, âdid you have something important to tell me? I promised Mister Goyle Iâd have a drink with him.â
The frog splashes into the lake, and the dragonfly flutters away without a care. Severus clandestinely slips a piece of paper into your palm as he swivels around, dark cloak billowing. âEnsure that nothing traces back to you,â he snarls. âClearly I do know better, Severus.â You toy with the paper between your fingers, a sense of exhilaration running up your spine. âNot to worry,â you say with a clipped smile, a serpentine glare in your eyes, âI always do as I am told.â
(Severus, not for the first time in his life, wonders if the Sorting Hat made a mistake when it sorted you into Hufflepuff.)Â
act ii. tonight, letâs start the masquerade.
THE NIGHT GROWS weary, and so do the alleys of Knockturn; neglected as your hooded figure navigates through the brick road, only the caged owls and flickering stars to notice your presence. You fainly traipse amongst the shadows, a moment of surrender from the spotlight and malignant eyes; a brief interlude in the performance. Past the hanging doll heads in the windows of Borgin & Burkes, you find a lonely shop. Inside the locket of your ring, lies a slip of paper that had been given to you earlier this afternoon. Well, Severus, you think to yourself, idly twisting the ring on your finger, letâs see where you sent me to this time.
And so, the stage actor calls for a costume change. âAlohomora.â
With one last glance at the dimly-lit passage, you enter the boutique. The brass shop bell accompanies your entrance, but no owner appears to greet youâand if there was, well, you have quite a unique way of saying hello. Your fingers feather across the dusty bookshelves, eyes raking through the broken staircase, the faint scent of ginger, rosemary, and mugwort pervades the room; a shattered crystal ball sits in the center of the shop desk, ripped paintings on the wall. A grimace pulls at your lips as you come across a familiar ivory mask. A Death Eater maskâitâs warm to touch; recently worn, perchance. You bury the strong urge to set it on fire.Â
Thereâs a shift in the air, a creak in the floorboardsâin an instant, you whip your wand out from its leather holster.Â
âReveal yourself,â you whisper curtly.
To the naked eye, there is only one intruder in the dingy parlor. To you, however, there is an obscure silhouette of a stranger covered by a glimmering veil. You hold onto your wand resolutely. If it was an enemy, youâd be blown into the walls by now. âThis isnât an ensemble stage, you know,â you chuff impatiently, âIâm not fond of sharing the spotlight with lineless extras.âÂ
The disillusionment charm slowly unveils, and you wait unblinking, until you see a familiar face standing before you. Mid-length curly hair that falls over gray, dagger-like eyes, the irksome scent of tobacco, and a frightening similarity to his elder brother.Â
There are exactly five people youâd risk your life for, and right now, youâre digging the tip of your wand into their neck.
âMister Regulus Black,â you greet with a playful edge to your voice, eyes narrowing. âSeverus didnât mention weâd be running into each other tonight.âÂ
âThatâs because I didnât tell Sev Iâd be here,â says Regulus, dimples poking out as he swats your wand away from his throat. âI might go mad if I have to stay inside for another bloody week, thereâs only so many times I can re-read Good Omensâand by the way, did anyone ever tell you how dramatic you are? Lineless extras, really?âÂ
You hide a fond smile with a roll of your eyes, whirling around to browse the glass cabinets and leather journals on the table, returning to the task at hand. âAnd so you thought going outside and risking someone seeing you in the open was a good idea? Reggie darling, I often think about the possibility of Walburga dropping you on the head as an infant.âÂ
Regulus shoves his hands inside his trouser pockets as he hovers over your shoulders like a lost, overgrown duckling. âWasnât it Cissaâs soirĂ©e today? Did you jinx the statues like I told you to?âÂ
âWho do you think I am?â you say haughtily, pausing in your search to half-heartedly glare at him. And after a momentâs pause, you jerk your shoulder and coyly respond with a side-smirk, âOf course I did. The young Mister Flint nearly screamed his head off.â You hum reminiscently, âtruthfully, itâs been quite a while since I heard Draco laugh like that these days. For breakfast, I hear about the Granger girl, and then for lunch, I hear about the Weasley children, and for dinner, itâs an hour-long spiel on the famed Harry Potter.âÂ
Regulus chortles in amusement as he hops onto the shop counter, kicking back his chunky boots. âAnd, then? Did you see my brother?âÂ
âOh, darling, I did more than that,â you mutter offhandedly, leafing through the paraphernalias and foul-smelling potion flasks.Â
âHow was he? Is he doing well? Merlin, I think itâs been so long since I saw his face.â Thereâs a lapse of silence between you and Regulus. A lizard scurries across the room, chasing after a line of ants. The younger wizard taints the quietude with a long, frustrated sigh. âSorry, I just. . .â He slumps his shoulders in resignation. âI wouldnât have to ask so many questions if. . . if I could just. . .â
âI donât understand why I have to hide from my own family.â With a jagged whisper, he says, âI feel like Iâm losing my mind. Like I canât believe that Iâm really here, I donât even know if I exist sometimes.âÂ
You grimace as you turn to look at him, hand flinching as if wanting to reach out to him. Instead, you avert your gaze and continue scouring the room. âItâs forââ
âMy own good, I know,â Regulus blows a strand of hair away from his forehead. He jumps off the counter with a hardened stare. You glance at his back as he bends to pick at the marks on the floor. At times like this, you remember how small and young Regulus had been when you found him moribund from lake inferis. What a cruel price to pay in exchange for his survival, you think.Â
For Regulus Black has to remain dead to the wizarding world, stuck in an interminable masquerade, waiting until the hour is up for his performance.Â
All the worldâs a stage, and for the best of the actors and actresses, it seems the production never ends.Â
âHow long do you think itâs going to stay like this? For you, me, Sev? For Cissa?â As he stands on his toes to inspect the top of a dusty cupboard, Regulus veers his head to peek at your expression, frowning when he finds none. (Youâve no answers for him, after all; the entirety of your life was spent wondering that exact same question. All you know is that the show must go on until the audience tires of the starving artist.) âNever mind, letâs just focus on finding whatever you were trying to find here.â He walks past his reflection in the vintage carved mirror. âWhat are we looking for, anyway?âÂ
You wish to offer solace to a cherished friend, but duties are meant to be fulfilled. For now, to do what is right must come first. Your fingers slither up the side of a bookcase, a wooden ladder resting against the shelves. The mahogany is freshly varnished, the stench of glue is prominent, and deep scratches indent the floor. Itâs an empty treasure cove, barely anything displayed on the racks. You grit your teeth as you realize itâs been well-maintained compared to the obsolete state of the room. âHere,â you rasp, abruptly snapping your head to look back at him.
He furrows his brow. âWhat?âÂ
You beckon him to the corner of the room from where you stand, wooden planks creaking as you push at the bookcase. âHelp me with this, Regulus. There could be something behind it.â You clench your jaw as you lean your weight onto the cabinet frame.
âWhy donât we just, I donât know,â Regulus cocks his head as he waves his wand in the air. âUse magic?â he offers discreetly, as though divulging a century-old secret. âI suggest Bombarda for maximum efficiency.âÂ
You stare at him vacantly. âRegulus dearheart, I hold a stupendous amount of tolerance for you, but there is absolutely no way we are drawing attention to ourselves via explosion spells in the dead of the night.âÂ
He grins boyishly before ushering you away. âAlright, alright, I was only taking the mickey out of you.â Soon after, Regulus deftly mutters a levitation charm, his wand steadfast as the bookcase slowly detaches from the floor. You take a couple of steps backward, lips pursed as you observe Regulus concentrate on his work.Â
You note to yourself to have a conversation about Regulusâs restlessness with Severus. It could pose a liability and pull the curtains on the entire pasquinade. âCareful,â you keep a tight watch on Regulusâs pinched brows, his hovering wand, and the steadily moving bookshelf.Â
âLike taking jelly slugs from a first-year,â he says flippantly, beaming at you as his dark curls sweep over his eyes.Â
You give him an exasperated scowl before side-stepping his quip as you descry a faint outline of a door in the plastered wall. You feel a rumble in the ground, muffled noises behind the shrouded entrance. âReady your wand, Regulus,â you say grimly, hand reaching for the doorknob, looking back in time to catch his smirk fade into a distant expression, âI believe what awaits wonât be as simple as that.âÂ
A grave tenor disquiets the room, your free hand already grasping for your wand. Regulus stands at your side, nodding as you take a sharp breath. He offers his back to you, in spite of the looming danger. (A sadistic part of you finds comfort in his presence tonight, but neither of you can truly share the burdens of your harrowing façades. Tomorrow, you play the lone star once more; and he, the dead brother and son. But today, you must simply share the stage.)Â
You twist the knob until a click pierces the heavy silence.
You wait with a bated breath, expecting creatures and spells to come hurling in your direction. The room ahead is enshrouded with darkness. You share a terse nod with Regulus as a ball of light appears at the tip of your wands. Regulus moves to take a step forward, but you block him with your arm. âIâll go first,â you say breathily, curtly glancing at the Death Eater Mask. âIt could be cursed the moment we step inside.â Regulus presses his lips into a white line, clearly unhappy with your decision, but relents nonetheless.Â
Rough, travertine flooring begins where the woodwork ends; a gust of wind howls into the dark chamber. Wordlessly, you call for your patronus to investigate inside; thin, silvery wisps floating in the air, its light hauntingly beautiful against the unilluminated dungeon. You hear heavy chains dragging across the ground and the harmony of timid footfalls. A drop of water falls onto the cracked stone. Regulus grinds down on his jaw as he readies his wand.Â
After an eternity of waiting, you snap your wand to set the torches alight.Â
A pronounced chill runs up your spine; a stutter in your breath. You nearly stagger at the sight unveiled before you. If you had been a weaker wizard, youâd have dropped your wand already. âThis. . .â you say hoarsely, eyes wide, blood simmering in your veins.Â
Children.
Little ones as young as ten-years-old, barely coming up to your stomach, staring up at you with bloodshot eyes. Their skinny arms are covered in grime and wear pathetic rags for clothes. Moss grows in every corner of the room. Emaciated mattresses on metal beds. âBloody hell,â Regulus growls, chest heaving. âWhat the fuck?âÂ
âItâs a prison,â you whisper, horrified. There must be more than twelve children standing before you. Bile rises to your throat. You worry about your wand breaking in half, but the overwhelming sense of dread traps you in position.Â
âAre. . . are you with the bad men?â A brave, young girl with owlish eyes protectively steps forward in front of her companions. âNo,â you answer gently, bending down on one knee to meet her eyes. You were neither good, or bad, but there is no magic on earth that would make you harm these children.Â
Regulus calls your name. âTheyâre Muggles,â he hisses angrily. âI donât sense any magic from any of them.â He exhales in frustration. âWhat the hell are they doing with Muggle children?âÂ
You grind down on your teeth, nearly dizzy with anger. You forgo a response to Regulus in favor of clasping your cloak around the trembling child. Soon after, you blanket the room in a warming charm. âTend to their wounds,â you say sharply. âIâll see what I can do about the chains.â And you will do something about those shackles, if itâs the last thing you do. âWeâre going to get you out of here, I promise,â you tell the girl, stolid as you pat her head.
Except, the brass bell rings once more and everyone stiffens in alert. The children begin whimpering amongst themselves. Slow, deliberate footsteps reverberate from the shop into the icy-cold room. The hairs on the back of your neck rise.
âMove out of the way!â you yell, veins straining against your neck, just as youâre blown into the stone walls.Â
Regulus screams out your name, but you barely hear anything over the ringing in your ears; through blurring vision, you see the children and Regulus unharmed. Relief floods through you as you sluggishly rise from the floor. Thereâs a large crater in the wall from the impact; luckily, the tethers to the chains were demolished, as well. âGet them to the safehouse,â you order, blood trickling from your lips. You hardly feel your arms and legs; thereâs an ache in the back of your head, your spine feels as though itâs been snapped in half. Youâre definitely going to feel this tomorrow. Regulus hesitates to leave, hands laid on the shoulders of the children as he glowers at the newcomer. âNow!â you bellow gutturally.Â
A muscle ticks in Regulusâs jaw, but as he finally apparates with as many children as he can, you finally stop holding your breath. âItâs okay,â you reassure the wee boys clinging onto each other for comfort, limping to their side. âIâm rather strong, you know. Stronger than any of the bad men.â
In every duel, you allow yourself to be hit only onceâdriven by your inhuman desire to feel something other than the emptiness of your unbroken charade.Â
(And for years, you have waited for anyone to say these two specific words: Avada Kedavra.)Â
âGo,â you instruct gently, brushing away the tendrils of hair from the little boyâs forehead. âHide and wait until my companion comes for you.â
âAnd as for the ill-mannered invader,â you crane your head towards the entrance of the chamber, eyes raking over the tall figureâs bloodthirsty stance and flittering cloak. Thereâs a lack of silver mask, but you know well the stench of foreboding decay and malignity. At the speed of light, you aim your wand, âConfringo!â
You watch with a spiteful grin as the stranger is blasted across the room. The walls and ceilings threaten to crumble, and you can only hope that Severus wonât be too cross with you in the morning. You point your wand at the uninvited guestâs heart. Nothing will trace back to you, that much you are certain of.
After all, no one would suspect a vapid, insufferable boulevardier to be the greatest spy of the wizarding world.
A firebird caws in the distance.
And, scene.
act iii. whereâs your soul? whereâs your dream? do you think youâre alive?
âAPPEARANCES ARE OF utmost importance.â You stand in the front of the Great Hall, sun rays streaming through the large, stained windows, wooden tables pushed to the walls; accoutered in a black velvet capelet with gold trimmings and vintage dragonhide boots. The sleeves of your blouse are lined with handwoven, gothic lace; trousers made of the finest yellow satin. It is a testament to your Houseâthe cete of badgers. (You seize everyoneâs attentionâwhether the two Aurors in the corner like it or not.)
After a descanting introduction, you are given center stage before the students of Gryffindor and Slytherin. With a swing in your step and a wrest in your voice, you continue, âThat is why the Headmaster, Dumbledore himself, invited me to personally facilitate this yearâs Tri-Wizard Tournament. As hosts of the event, excellence is expected of us. Professor McGonagall has graciously allowed me to take charge of your lessons, particularly in the art of dancing.â Your eyes gleam as you offer the young fourth-years a graceful reverence. âAnd our first lesson begins straight away.â
The crowd of students transfigure into a sea of curious eyes and flabbergasted whispers. You derisively watch the chaos unfold with an amused grin. Yet, youâre not the least bit worried. Youâve charmed even a flock of Dementors before, the creatures having been drawn to your voice, ostentatious stature, and the dark depths of your soul; like a bee to a field of flowers. A class full of awkward teenagers should be more than easy for you.Â
âNow, now, children,â you clap your hands as you make your way to the heart of the room, leaving a trail of softening murmurs. âThe Yule Ball is a revered tradition, an exhibit of togetherness that has lasted for hundreds years.â You lift your nose up in the air as the girls look at one another, barely able to hide their giddy smiles and discreet glances across the hall. âAs such, it is my venerable duty to oversee your etiquette in and out of the ballroom.â
(Sirius rolls his eyes from where he sits besides James.)
âMister Filch, if you please.â With a flutter of your lashes and a poised smile, you beckon for the school caretaker who flounders to the gramophone. You wink at the young miss Pansy Parkinson who stares up at you in awe. Soon thereafter, you hear the soft melody of LĂ©o Delibesâs Valse. CoppĂ©lia, you simper to yourselfâa story close to your heart. (Youâve always found a winsome irony in a marionette like you dancing to the enamel-eyed girlâs song.)
âA dance, while enjoyable by oneâs lonesome, is best savored with a partner,â you begin vivaciously, eyeing the gentlemen in particular. âYour date for the night must be aware that youâve chosen them out of your own volition and undue necessity.â Your stare drifts to the coterie of young Gryffindors, tittering mischievously. âShall we have a demonstration from the House of courage and splendor?â
âNo one?â You raise a brow curiously when youâre met with silence and averted gazes. You then utter the scariest phrase a professor could say to their students: âIâll choose the lucky student myself.âÂ
You survey the pack of lion cubs, drifting through the tuffs of flashing red hair; gangly boys raucously kicking and pushing at each other to volunteer for your teach-in on ballroom dancing. You flash the students a vexatious grin. âMister Harry Potter?â you call out to the ashen-faced boy with your hand outstretched. âWhy donât we let the Chosen One set an example to his peers?âÂ
Hollers and cheers break out across the hall; not withholding the mirthful giggles of the doves on the other side of the room, wonderstruck by his green eyes and lightning scar. You motion for Harry to join you on the pseudo dance floor. The Weasley twins take delight in clapping and wisecracking into his ears until Harry reluctantly rises to his feet, a blooming shade of red on his neck and cheeks.Â
âAs you approach your partner with the grace of a majestic stag,â you acclaim to the class whilst Harry approaches you with a wry grin and hands shoved inside his robe pockets, âAnd not a newborn foal.â You place your hand in his, âYou may now invite your lady to dance.â
âOr your beau,â you add spiritedly, eyes gleaming as Harry chokes on his saliva.
You pat his back as the music comes to a sweet-sounding crescendo. âDancing is about connection,â you turn to the students with a stern gaze. âIf your posture crumbles, there goes your confidence, as well. At all times, you must maintain eye contact,â you say sharply as you tilt Harryâs chin and correct the arch of his arms. âRemember, itâs not ballroom if thereâs no trust. Lean onto one another, and then. . .â You lay your palm onto his shoulder. âThe feet should follow the music.â
Unfortunately, Harry runs on two left feet and both persistently evade the music. On the umpteenth time he stumbles on your shoes, heâs appraised by snickers and low whistles from either side of the hall. The Weasley twins in particular seem thrilled by Harryâs flailing arms and bewildered expression. Along with the two Aurors whoâve skipped their aurorly duties to patrol the castle in favor of heckling their ward. âYouâre doing it wrong, James!â shouts Sirius through cupped hands, shoulders shaking in laughter.Â
âWhy donât you try it, Padfoot?â Harry retorts back to him; thick hair flopping over his eyes as he grates his teeth. Youâre given no warning as Harry extracts himself from your grip and stalks over to where Sirius and James sit comfortably.Â
You blink, dumbfounded. âHarry dearest, I donât believe that is necessaryâ!â
âGo on then,â says Harry, jerking his head. âShow us all how to do it.âÂ
To the side, Ron guffaws into his fist, brought nearly to tears. (Earlier he was apprehensive about the class. âWeâve got a whole new professor just for twirling around and all that girlish stuff?â he had asked in disbelief before entering the Great Hall.
âShut your mouth, Weasley,â growls Draco Malfoy as he shoves past Harry and Hermione to head inside the hall.)
Sirius grins roguishly, having the gall to bat his eyes in confusion. âWho? Me?â He chuckles before forcibly slapping Jamesâs back with the flat of his palm. âNo, no. The honor should go to the debonair of his time.â Trenchant eyes flicker with mischief. âHave at it, James. How will the children ever learn without a proper demonstration?âÂ
âGo on, Sir Prongs!â exclaims one of the red-headed twins. âShow us how itâs done!âÂ
Alarmingly, the bespectacled man resigns to his fate, a deafening ovation as he shrugs his robes off, generously revealing his broad shoulders in a tight, black turtleneck; a leather wand holster across his chest; long legs framed by pleated trousers. You bite down on your tongue as James draws closer to you, a hint of a smirk on his lips. With an unerring arch of his back, he holds out his hand for you to take, âMay I have this dance?âÂ
Your breath stuttersâif only for a moment. One cannot deny that James Potter is deviously more appealing to the eye than the dance partners youâve had during Narcissaâs galas. Perfectly-carved cheekbones and golden hoops dangling from his ears; bright, hazel eyes girdled by rectangular glasses. âWell,â you say, pursing your lips as you slip your palm into his. âIf you must.âÂ
In contrast to his son, James needs little-to-no guidance from you. Youâd have assumed that much, considering that both James and Sirius grew up in pure-blood customs. The warmth of his hand on your back is scalding. He spins you along to the songâs aria; the two of you gliding effortlessly through the soapstone floors. Any more closer to him and youâd be able to hear his heartbeat. âThere will be lifts, turns, and dips during a waltz,â you inform the class as you demonstrate a twirl vine. âYou will rise and you will fall together with your partner. Understand?âÂ
James chuckles at the wistful sighs and horrified groans that erupt through the Great Hall. âYouâre good with the children, you know,â he remarks cheekily as he gently lowers you to the ground, hand steadfast on your waist. You hear his unsaid words clearly: Sirius thought youâd be downright rubbish at it.Â
âWell, Mister Potter,â you say breathlessly, clasping your arms around his neck once more. âTo some of the students here, frilly dresses and French designers are their entire world.â Your chin all but perched atop Jamesâs shoulders; the scent of his famed Sleekeazy potion and vetiverâdew on fresh grass on a warm sunny dayâfills your senses. You cast a sniffy glare in Siriusâs way, to which he responds with a raised brow.Â
âBit shallow, isnât it?â he murmurs, chest rumbling and his breath hot on your ear.Â
You scoff. âOne could argue the same for a young Seeker whoâs been given their first ever broom.âÂ
James Potter has the nerve to smile at you. And as you move to extricate yourself from his hold, James mindlessly lets his hand fall from your waist to your hipâincidentally, where youâve been nursing a heavy fracture. Sore bruises from chasing vampires the night prior as you were out hunting allies of the Dark Lord from the first wizarding war. Although you had drowned yourself in pain relief elixirs, it seems youâre more sensitive and hurt than you thought.Â
Even statues of white gold chip and fade over timeâyouâre reminded of this fact quite painfully. You roughly push James away from you, hissing in pain as you cradle the left side of your hip. Memories of crimson-stained teeth and rotten, pale skin flash before your eyes. You remember the stench of blood, and the feel of their nails slashing into your thighs. But most of all, you remember their ear-piercing shrieks just before you drive the stake into their chests, one by one, until you have left a graveyard of vampires in the outskirts of an abandoned mansion.Â
James furrows his brow immediately as you cave in on yourself. (Even Sirius surges to his feet.) âWhatâs wrong?â
Occlude! Occludeâyou must occlude immediately!Â
With a sharp inhale, you close off your emotions for anyone else to see. âIt is nothing of your concern, Mister Potter,â you respond blankly, as though your soul is locked far away. âI do believe weâre done here.â You step further away from him. Your attention shifts to the students as you fold your hands behind your back, lips curling into a virulent smile. The weight of your mask is comforting; youâve forgotten how to breathe without it. âNow, letâs have the students pair up and practice what theyâve learned so far. Iâll have no patience for dilly-dallying and nescience on my watch. Youâll dance until I tell you to stop. Youâll practice until the soles of your feet are sore and raw.â
That, after all, is how you learned.
The class goes by accordingly; you maintain a distance from Sirius and James, turning a blind eye to their burdensome sympathy. (Gryffindors and their bleeding heartsâit always unnerves you how easily the avowed Marauders get deep under your skin.) You nip at the studentsâ heels, righting their poor footwork; looping the music until you are certain theyâd hear it in their nightmares. To your surprise, the round-cheeked Neville Longbottom takes all your instructions in stride. From the moment that you allow Filch to lift the tonearm, the students practically fall to the floor, heaving; some forsaking their long robes and tying their hair in flimsy ponytails.Â
As the students retreat from the Great Hall, you slink away into the crowd of Slytherins, desperate to avoid a particular duo of Aurorsâno doubt ready to probe you with questions. A numbing panic claws at your chest; black spots swallowing your vision. Emotionsâhow putrid. The studentsâ discordant chatter overwhelms your hearing, more than the ringing in your ears. The unyielding, outrĂ© stone walls feel like theyâre closing in on you. Still, you keep your head above the water, enduring every staggered breath. You must.Â
Whatâs wrong?Â
The question echoes in your head.Â
Ha!Â
You scream inwardly, if they only knew!Â
While you had been expecting either James or Sirius to ambush you, you do not expect to see Draco Malfoy shouting your name as you flee down an empty corridor.Â
The miniature Lucius Malfoy stands before you, grimacing as he clenches his fists tightly. âAre. . .â Dracoâs expression contorts morosely. âAre you alright? Theo and I were worried that the blood traitor upset you.â he spits his concern as if it were acid. Little snakes and their keen eyes.Â
âMind your language, Draco,â you reply cuttingly, eyes flashing as you lift your chin. And for his question, one that youâve been asked numerous times over the years, you have only ever had one answer. Despite the scars on your back, the tremors in your hands, the aching of your heart, and the endless bruises on your limbs, you tell him: âAnd do not ask what is not needed to be.âÂ
âYouâre hurt, arenât you?â he presses further, mouth pinched. âDonât treat me like a dim-witted child because Iâm not!âÂ
A hand lays on his shoulder, and to your chagrin, Severus makes his appearance, lips downturned and his gaze filled with subdued apathy. Your day is about to get worse. âPerhaps, it is best if you leave this discussion to the adults, Draco.â Snape drones, leaving no room for debate. He tightens his grip on the younger wizard. âI will not be inconvenienced to explain to Minerva as to why you were dawdling in the corridors.âÂ
In true Malfoy fashion, Draco sneers in disdain. He rips himself out of Snapeâs grasp with a scoff. As he storms past you, you sigh and pat his side.Â
When Draco disappears into the corner, you release a deep breath as you prepare for the onslaught to come. âJust get it over with, Severus,â you pinch the bridge of your nose, the pounding in your head growing more unbearable by the second.Â
You see his nostrils flare as Severus turns to glare at you. âI wonder,â he says through gritted teeth. âIf you are actually capable of following direct ordersâof using that near-empty brain of yours!â His upper lip curls back into a snarl, as he scours the empty hallway for any prowling ears. âYour stunt made it to the Daily Prophet. You were asked to proceed tactfully, were you not?âÂ
You lean against the wall, rubbing at the temples of your head. âAnd Iâve done my part. Every last one of themâdead by my hands. A problem you failed to deal with for the last two months. That I settled last night. Remind me why youâre still chittering into my ear, Severus darling?â
âDo not play coy with me,â he replies brusquely. âIâve heard the students tattling about it as though it were the most interesting event in their pathetic, insolent lives. The Embris Mansion burnt down to the ground. There are talks of a vigilante, a good-for-nothing do-gooder. You got sloppy!â
âAnd if I didâso what?â You retaliate, chest heaving as you step into his face. Truthfully, this isnât the first time youâve had this conversation with him. Over the years you have left some sort of mark on your work. Not a phoenix, but a firecrest. Wings outstretched in flames. All eyes are on the ungovernable hero, the Firebirdâand never on you, the foppy socialite. âWould it be so perverse to want even a slither of recognition, Severus?âÂ
âDo not forget your duty,â he taunts venomously, the cords in his neck going rigid. âTo the greater good you so earnestly fight for. Your duty to your mother.âÂ
âDo not talk about her!â you all but shout, magic sizzling in the air around you.Â
âThen see to it that there are no more mistakes going forward!â Severus juts his chin, baring his teeth in contempt.Â
After a few long moments, he continues with a resigned exhale, dragging his palm down his faceâas though you are the perplexing one. âThis. . . Moody has developed a habit of emptying my cupboards.âÂ
âAnd why, pray tell,â you retort gruffly, âshould I care for this oh-so special cupboard of yours?âÂ
âIt contains ingredients for Polyjuice potions!â he proclaims angrily. âGet to the bottom of this. Iâll not have a blithering fool like Pettigrew get to the students again. Do what you must, I have no interest in understanding the workings of your mindâas long as you do not draw unnecessary attention to yourself.âÂ
The sound of footfalls break you apart as Severus nimbly lifts the Notice-Me-Not charm he had cast earlier. Within seconds, you find Remus Lupin rounding the corner. Heâs dressed in his usual baggy, gray jumper; jaw clean-shaved, and pinkish scars against his skin. A well-loved quilted coat over his shouldersâhandmade by Lily, you presume. You notice the mismatched otter socks peeking from his loafers. Remus saunters down the hallway with tired eyes and a feeble smile as he stops right in front of you and Severus. He has a rather tall frame, slender even, despite his hunched shoulders.Â
âSnape,â Remus nods to him, gaze flickering back and forth as he attempts to discern what had transpiredâwell, youâre certainly in no rush to tattle and cry into his arms.Â
âProfessor,â he says to you, an ever curious smile on his face. âYouâre looking quite peaky. Is something the matter?â
âI am most certainly sound and fine, Mister Lupin,â you respond, irritated, as you wobble on your feet. You are at your witâs endâhow bothersome of it all. âShould you not be on your way to your next class, Professor?â you bite tiredly.Â
Remus shrugs, hazel-eyes crinkling in amusement. âMad-Eye is taking over my next class. I thought it would be good for the students to learn from a veteran Auror. Iâm sure he has much more experience to offer than me.âÂ
You scowl, his humility smothering you painfully. âWell, Iâve no interest in dragging my feet around. If youâll excuse me, gentlemen, I have a prior engagement with my cat and Iâm afraid Iâve left her alone for too long.âÂ
And as fate would have it, when you make haste for your quarters, you falter in your steps; lurching as your vision goes blurry. Your breath snags in your throat as Remus catches you by the waist. âPerhaps, we should get you to Lily,â offers Remus as he sets you upright, brows pinched worriedly, ignoring Snapeâs eye roll in the background.Â
âI said I was fine!â You blurt out, cradling the front of your head as you sway backwards; now seeing two Lupins and two Snapes. âMerlin, are all Gryffindors this bloody meddlesome? Must I repeat myself? I am fineâ!âÂ
Turns out, you are not fine.Â
The last thing you see before losing consciousness is a pair of brown eyes with flecks of gold, more beautiful than any full moon youâve ever seen.Â
 â
You wake up to a dry, sore throat; the bitter scent of infirmary disinfectantâa Muggleâs touch, no doubtâand concoctions of various healing potions. Your head is still pounding, but somewhat bearable. The room is small, privy to only teachers, you concludeâalthough, it is the very first time you have ended up in the infirmary. Remus Lupin would feel your wrath, youâd make sure of it. Your back stings as though it were doused in Dittany recently. As you nearly break the flower vase in an attempt to reach for the empty glass, the door creaks openâand in comes Lily Potter with her husbands.
âAm I in hell?â you eye them bitterly.Â
âNo,â says the youngest matron, dressed in her own version of the nurseâs uniform. Red vest over her white blouse, and a long, plaid skirt with pockets. Soft red hair tied back with a pink ribbon. Albeit, her expression is anything but sweet and delicate. âBut youâre in my office, which means you are now under my careâtherefore Iâd like you to explain why you have vampire toxins in your blood.âÂ
âAnd I would like to return to my quarters now, please,â you respond haughtily, referring to the private bedroom professors were offered in the castle. âIâve nothing to explain to someone who administers the diagnostic charm on my person without explicit permission to do so!â you exclaim, releasing a shuddery breath as your head throbs agonizingly.Â
âYou will listen to meâseven hours ago you were this close to paralysis!â Lily shouts right back, eyes glaring defiantlyâshe may have adhered to you in Malfoyâs territory, but no power holds more authority than an acclaimed healer over a patient. âIf you had been a Muggle, youâd be dead ten times over.â
âWell, now that weâve established that Iâm alive and well, I suppose we have no more pleasantries to exchange, Lily darling.â You tear the flimsy blanket from your legs, grimacing at the bandages covering your skin.Â
âNot before you tell us where those bruises came from,â Sirius demands, voice low and knife-like eyes on you.Â
âMust have been the Nargles,â you reply sarcastically. No one would care for a bonny doll ripping apart at the seams and gathering dust on a childâs shelf. âTheyâre quite frisky this time of the year, didnât you know? My good friend Xenophilius wrote about those creatures a long time ago. Good read, Iâd say.âÂ
âAre you capable of taking anything seriously?â cuts Sirius with a snarl, tendrils of hair curling around his face; hints of tattoos peeking out from his leather jacket. Vermillion satin shirt clashing against his pale skin. The lingering smell of lit cigars only reminds you of Regulus, and so you tear your gaze away from Sirius.Â
âSirius, letâs not scare her off now, love,â Remus admonishes, softly resting his palm at the back of Siriusâs neck, before he stares at you with honey-dripping eyes. You have a desperate need to run away. Theyâre an uncharted danger that you arenât familiar with navigatingâand you figure young Harry wouldnât appreciate you treating his parents like a rabid vampire. âWe just want to know what happened, you looked worse for wear when we brought you to Lily and Madam Pomfrey,â Remus placates, treating you like a crow with its wing snapped in half.Â
You sneer. âIf I am not dead, then these wounds hardly matter to me.âÂ
Lily gasps, a sound so soft only the wind could have possibly heard it. âHow could you say that?â she asks, hand flying to her lips. âOf course it matters, you had lost so much blood while we tried to get the toxins flushed from your system.â She stares at the puncture mark on your arm, before peering over at Sirius. âWe nearly couldnât find a match to your blood type. Sirius. . . Well, heâs a universal donor and he didnât even hesitate in giving you hisââ
âGiving me what?â you echo lowly. âWhat did Sirius give me, Lily?â
âBlood,â Lily says firmly. âHe gave you his blood so you could live.â
âHow dare you?â you seethe, chest rapidly rising; digging your nails firmly into your palms as you stare furiously at Lily. âYou had no right!â You scream until your throat is sore; your magic overflowing until it shatters the nearby vase of butterfly weeds.Â
Rage tunnels your vision; heart hammering against your ribcage as you move to carelessly rip at the bandages over your wounds. âYou had no right! You had no fucking right! I would have never done the same for you! Get out! Get out!âÂ
âGet out!â You hurl the glass at the wall across from you, narrowly avoiding Siriusâs head; anguish tears itself from your voice and you barely notice James flinch from the intensely flickering lights.Â
âYou think Iâd be grateful?â you scoff, a burning heat spreading across your chest. âYou think Iâd be indebted to any of you after this? Is that what you wanted? What a fucking joke!â You laugh irately as you gasp for air. âIâd rather die!âÂ
When you run out of items to throw at themâpillows, shards of glass, and crumpled flower stemsâyou sit on the bed, shoulders violently shaking as you cough yourself sick.Â
âI. . .â Lily begins, swallowing the lump wedged in her throat. âI understand. . . But I am the castleâs nurse, as long as you are under Hogwartsâ protection, I am keeping you alive no matter what.âÂ
âI donât bloody care,â you snide.
Her eyes flash to James. âWeâll leave you to rest, then.âÂ
You stay silent, vacantly staring at the reddened welts on your hands. Itâs not until you feel Jamesâs arms around you and his chin hovering above your head that you realize youâve stopped shivering. âIâm sorry,â is all that James whispers into your ear as he lays you to sleep with an inaudible charm. The chill of his magic is the last thing you feel before your eyes flutter to a close.Â
â
You wake up in the infirmary once more. This time, you lay stiff on the mattress, absentmindedly gazing at the plain ceiling; your chest falling and rising ever-so slowly. The stink of a Calming Draught is painstakingly familiar. A low humming sound tells you that you arenât aloneâbut you barely flinch from their presence, too tired to do anything but close your eyes. âSome boys kiss me, some boys hug me. . . . something. . . theyâre okay,â murmurs one Sirius Black, tapping on his thigh as he rests his back on the rustic chair.Â
If Sirius wants an encore, heâd have to drag the fight out of you. Youâre utterly drained from your emotional palaver earlier. âDidnât know you were into Muggle songs, Black,â you chortle bemusedly. Â
Sirius halts in his singing as a forceful silence falls over the roomâyou distinctly hear the moment Siriusâs hand drops to his thigh, most likely taken aback by the sound of your hoarse voice. You feel the weight of his eyes on your bandaged arms and legs. A few seconds pass before he responds, his words but a faint breath. âAfter today, I believe that there is much to be uncovered for the both of us.âÂ
You donât bother replyingâyouâd have Obliviated them instantly if it wasnât illegal to use on Aurors.Â
âWe know it was you,â says Sirius out of the blueâyour blood turns icy-cold on command, wondering if heâs figured out about the wizard behind the Firebird. âOn the first day of term, someone had left a basket of freshly-brewed Wolfsbane potions enough to last him for the entire year,â he explains further, leaning his elbows on his knees as he stares at you unwaveringly. âI almost didnât believe it, but a Marauder has his ways.âÂ
(His son with an invisibility cloak and a handy, enchanted parchment.)Â
âThank you,â he says, guttural with emotions. âIt means more to Remus than you think.â
âYour gratitude is misplaced, unfortunately,â you rasp, coiling your fists tightly, stubbornly intent on avoiding his eyesânot wanting to get caught in the storm within. You exhale with a ragged sigh. Severus was right, you had been sloppy. And this is what carelessness leads to. âDonât delude yourself, Mister Black, I couldnât care less what happens to you or your family.â
Sirius chuckles, like heâd expected such a response from you. âWell, do what youâd like with my gratitude, I donât care, just know that you have it,â he says, rising from his seat. âItâs past midnight, by the way. Lilyâs left you some dinner in case you woke up hungry.âÂ
Your eyes drift to the nightstand. Thereâs a steaming bowl of spinach rice with mushrooms, and a plate of honey cinnamon bars. But your gaze lingers on the bouquet of snapdragons and orchids placed in a ceramic vase.Â
âShe believes home-cooked meals help the patients heal faster,â Sirius tells you, carefully observing your reactionâbut thereâs none to be found. He purses his lips into a thin, white line.
As he makes his way to leave, Sirius pauses, hand resting on the doorframe. âYou know,â he begins quietly. âThe thing about magicâit can fool the best of us into thinking weâre indestructible. But, youâre not as inhumane as youâd like us to think.â Sirius veers his head to look back at you. âTake that mask of yours off sometimes, yeah? Youâd see the rest of the world clearly if you did.âÂ
That is all you hear from him before the door clicks shut, and youâre left alone with your thoughts.
How arrogant.
How very Gryffindor of him.Â
You push the flower vase closer to the edge of the bedside table, indignantly eyeing the watercolor art. The room reeks of Lilyâs kindness. Lions and their constant need to see the goodness in everyone. Take off your mask? Youâd give your entire Gringotts account to wear the kind of rose-colored lenses they haveâtheyâre more pestilent than you realized. No matter, itâs high-time you reintroduced yourself to the Marauders, anyway.Â
If you take off your mask, they would find nothing but a barren soul.
â
It seems your newfound parasites have forgotten who you truly areâbut you have no qualms in reminding them why exactly youâre called the pureblood societyâs darling.Â
For the week or so, the Daily Prophet features you out in luxurious restaurants, a new partner each night hanging off your arm. International Quidditch players, foreign models, esteemed opera singers, and even Muggle celebrities. Men and women are captured in moving photographs, avidly fawning over you.Â
Youâve missed three classes in favor of shopping in France; Flooing back to Hogwarts, stinking of bordeaux and rosa centifolia. Painite gems nestled around your neck, glittery sapphires lining your wrists. On more than one occasion, youâve seen McGonagall lift her chin in distaste at your behavior.Â
âWell, thatâs certainly a speedy recovery,â says Lily one afternoon as the owls take the Great Hall by storm. Rita Skeeterâs new article about you is plastered on the front page, apparently youâve gotten into a catfight with an Italian seamstress. She risks a glimpse of you from the other side of the long table, laughing away with Professor Sinistra. The sound is scraping against her ears, yet Lily canât help but feel disappointed.
Your desk is littered with mails from admirers, invitations to galas and fundraisers. The students canât help but notice this fact as theyâre brought to the dance floor each morning. (Each day, you rewind CoppĂ©liaâs songâher wishes, and her painâbut you plan to ignore the ballad until blood trickles from your ears.)
âMummaâs just about ready to send her a Howler,â you hear Ginevra Weasley saying in passing after class. The young red-haired girl nearly bumps into Hermioneâs shoulder as Ginny dips her head low, prattling excitedly, âCalled the Professor a tart, even.â
Hermione stops walking, scrunching her nose. âReally?â
âYes, yes,â Ginny nods. âBut enough about all thatâhave you seen the news this morning?âÂ
Hermione looks up, lips wrinkled in thought. âThe one about the Professor being seen in Muggle London? I thought that was rather stale for a headline.â
âNot that one,â Ginny says exasperatedly, rolling her eyes. âThe article about the Firebird. Remember what happened during the World Cup? When You-Know-Whoâs followers came and raided the entire campsite?â
âThat would be pretty hard to forget, Gin,â Hermione replies softly.Â
âWell, the Firebirdâs gone and hunted a few of them,â Ginny tells her, eyes brimming with awe. âFound their hideout and left them half-dead for the Ministry to find. No Malfoy, though, which is a bloody shame.â
At your desk, you sip your jasmine pearl tea with a knowing smirk.
On the first of October, your previous Head of House invites you to the greenhouse for an overdue get-together. Naturally, you greet Pomona Sprout with gift baskets overflowing with glacĂ© treats, packets of tea, scented candles, and dried berries. She huffs in fond exasperation before instructing you to grab a pair of cotton earmuffs and gardening gloves. And, well, you donât mind playing the part of a slap happy third-year under her gentle care. Itâs a role you enjoy more so than others.Â
âYouâve been worrying me these days, dear,â Professor Sprout tells you earnestly as she wrestles with the Flitterblooms. Hoo-hoo chicks flutter around in their cage while the uprooted baby Mandragoras screech nearby. You feel the weight of her gaze, much like a knitted blanket draped over your shoulders on a cold, autumn noon. âThe other staff have been expressing their. . . concern, as well.âÂ
You busy yourself with planting the Wiggentree in its pot, allowing only a moment to raise your walls of Occlumency. You know that she couldnât possibly be a threat, but you would not allow someone else to expose you bare for others to see. (You loathe the thought of Siriusâs blood flowing through your veins.)
You know that concern is shallow at best, forged from fear of the students being influenced by your frivolous escapades.Â
At your silence, Sprout continues on, âWe always tell the children that their Houses will be like their second family during their time at Hogwarts.â You hear her draw in a long breath, gingerly placing the flitter tentacles on the ground. âI hope you understand that the same is true for the professors. We take care of each other, substitute teacher or not.â Pomonaâs hand is leaden on your shoulder. âAfter all, you were our student before anything else. The Sorting Hat gave you to me, and what a darling blessing you have been, even until today. When I look at you now, I see the same young first-year student who was afraid of everything and afraid to come out of their shellâbut do not forget, I will always be on my childrenâs side no matter what.â
How poignant that the first person who truly welcomed you to Hogwarts, is one of the only people who can see through you despite your protective barriers.
And so, the puppet show beginsâlike a lifeless ragdoll, you peel the deer-leather gloves off your hands, blinking away any hints of emotion. You stand tall before Pomona, dusting flecks of soil off your dovetail skirt. âNo one has been on my side. Not then, not now,â you say as you snobbishly arrange the brim of your sunhat. âBut do not be mistaken, Pomona. I have been fine on my own and a change still remains to be seen.âÂ
In another life, you would have happily embraced her comfort and affectionâbut the fate of a lonely starlet is cruel. Youâve made your bed of thorns and wilted roses, and there you shall lay when there is no one left but yourself.Â
âToday was lovely, Pomona, thank you.â It is one truth youâve permitted yourself to offerâa shred of humanity in exchange for her kindness. The dirt beneath your nail beds is real; so is the ache in your back and the sweat dripping from the side of your head to your chin. But you cannot feel any more than thatâyou forbid yourself. The Mandrakes fall silent, and you bid your goodbyes to the professor.
The sunlight on your skin is real as you step outside, and so is the sound of clamoring students heading for the greenhouse. Sixth-year students from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw hurry down the hill. Their unrestrained laughter and carefree smiles are real. And so is the unwashed blood on your hands; the killing curses that have fallen so easily from your lips, and the ghosts that haunt you as the moon arises. Perhaps, you could withstand it all if it means the children would live through a real future without the sins of people like you.Â
(But why is it that every time you distance yourself. . . there always seems to be someone calling out to you?)Â
Cedric Diggory, your godson, yells for you with a grin that stretches from ear-to-ear. You watch as his yellow scarf swings with each hasty step he takes. Cedric crosses the gap between you in under a minute, strands of wavy, brown hair sweeping over his glimmering eyes. Itâs an unsolved mystery as to how you and him were sorted in the same House.Â
âYour shirt is wrinkled, Cedric,â you tut, straightening his tie. âDo you go riding Hippogriffs in your spare time?âÂ
Cedric chuckles wholeheartedly. âFather told me to tell you that youâve been invited this weekend for a dinner at Hogsmeade,â he says, cocking his head as a cheeky simper erupts across his face. âThat is, if you arenât busy.âÂ
You raise a browâsly little badger, he was. Harrumphing uppishly, you swivel to turn your back to him and say, âTell your father that Iâm choosing the venue, lest he chooses some primitive pub in the village.â You draw out the distance between you and Cedric, tossing your parting words into the chilly breeze, âTell him Iâm paying for everything, too.âÂ
His hearty laughter cuts through the hillside as you make your way back to the castle. Thinking you have the last word, you donât expect him to yell once more:Â
âIâm going to enter the tournament this year!âÂ
Youâre certainly taken by surprise, but you donât slow your pace. An imperious smirk tugs at your lipsâwell, at least you know where youâre placing your bets.Â
A day before the esteemed guests are set to arrive, you run into Sirius and Jamesâmuch to your annoyance. Itâs just your luck that the evening prior you were hunting down a known member of Greybackâs pack. You played a little cat-and-wolf deep in the depths of a forest, hungrily isolating him from the rest of its family. Though this lycan was unturned, you walk away with claw marks on your back. Still, you hope that Greyback licks his wounds and feels the burden of this particular loss. However, you feel that dealing with James and Sirius will be much more difficult than bringing a werewolf to its knees.
After all, this is the first time you come face-to-face with them, nearly a month after your incident in the infirmary.Â
âAuror Black, Auror Potter,â you say liltingly, the rhinestone tassel clinking in your hair as you swirl to face them with a devious leer. âWhat can I do for you today?âÂ
Sirius scoffs in disbelief. âSo itâs like that, then? Like nothing ever happened?âÂ
âPartying around, missing your bloody classes, parading all over the castle like youâre better than everyone else. We thought you changed. You know, I actually thought there could be something real to you under all that,â he punctuates his words with a harsh laugh, sneering at your blinding jewelry. âGuess we were the fools, eh?âÂ
James stares at Sirius, a grim expression flashing across his face, before he shakes his head. âIt just doesnât make sense. What we saw at the infirmaryâthatâs not something anyone forgets.â He gazes at you with grief in his eyes. âItâs like youâre two different people.âÂ
âItâs disappointing, really,â Sirius bites, his lips curling into a snarl.
Theyâve made it all too easy for you.Â
âWhat are you so frustrated for, darlings?â you say in faux sympathy, stalking towards them as you tap at your chin; a sickly-sweet pout on your lips. âWhat were you hoping for? For all of us to become friends? Weâre not children anymore, my loves!â you exclaim histrionically. âDid you actually fall for my little trick at the infirmary? The care parcel I left your husband? Didnât you know my mother drafted the anti-werewolf bill?â
Sirius staggers.
âThe real me?â you giggle incredulously. âWhat you see is what you get, dearestâdonât go searching for what doesnât exist. Itâs not my fault you fall so easily for a pretty face.â You tilt your head, fluttering your eyes as you drag your nail up Jamesâs chin. âNot every damsel is in distress, you know.â
Your eyes slice towards Sirius with a coy smile. âMaybe if you had followed your head more often than your naive, little lion heartsâyou wouldnât have driven Regulus to his death.âÂ
James recoils away from your touch just as Sirius flinches, eyes flashing with angerâSirius digs his nails into his palms, chest heaving as he stares at you in disgust. You expect another stab in the chest from him, and so you lift your head up high, daring him to say another word. (You hope they stopped trying after thisâthat they would leave you alone to rot in your stage of lies and dutiful sacrifice.) But you donât plan for James to step forward, shielding Sirius away from your gaze.
âYou are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature Iâve ever seen,â says James, words dripping in sincere revulsion. âCanât believe I thought anything less than that.âÂ
You smile widely, despite the tightening sensation in your chest. âAre we done here now, gentlemen?â
They would learnâthis is who you are beneath your masks and pretenses.Â
The thirtieth of October brings about a cold youâve never felt before. As you await the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, the outside corridors are teeming with students, eyes hungry with anticipation. You lean against the wall, exhausted physically and mentally, hugging your worn-out shawl closer to your shoulders.Â
The skies are exceptionally gray todayâyouâve had to drag yourself out of bed earlier this morning, limbs heavy as lead. The teacup in your grasp is scalding to the touchâyou find that nothing hurts more than the ache in your heart. The children are particularly rowdy at the momentâeach time you close your eyes, you see the hatred in James and Siriusâs eyes.Â
Has loneliness ever felt so suffocating before?Â
When winged horses make their way from the heavens, the clamoring grows louderâyet all you hear are their words.Â
âYou are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature Iâve ever seen.â
âI actually thought there could be something real to you under all that.â
You would not weepânot for yourself, and not certainly for them.Â
Sometimes, you wondered if you were hurting too much to even be considered alive. Did your marked flesh even count as skin anymore? Worthy to be cherished with gentle touches and tender lips? How much more did you have to do until the guillotine finally fell?Â
When does duty end? And when does life begin?Â
Madame Maxine and her drove of Veelas descend from their carriage; awestruck gasps and intrigued murmurs echoing along the corridor. When the Beauxbatons Headmaster comes to stand before you, you instinctively sink into the role of a diplomatic hostâthat is, after all, why Dumbledore hired you. With a nod of your head and a pleasing smile, you greet the first of your guests to arrive.Â
âWhat a relief that you made it safely to Hogwarts, Madame Maxime,â you tell her in a saccharine-sweet tone. âIf you please, Mister Filch here will guide you to the dormitories where youâll be staying while Hagrid will take care of your horses.âÂ
You want to go to sleep already.Â
Finally, as a large ship emerges from the Great Lakeâa sense of relief floods through you. Only one more person to greet and youâll finally be able to return to your quarters, welcoming feast be damnedâyouâve done your part for today. Igor Karkaroff and his students make their presence known; imposing statures and foreboding glares. The castle nearly crumbles from Viktor Krumâs entrance, Hogwartsâ Quidditch players eager to catch a glimpse of the prodigal Seekerâwell, you could care less about such a barbaric sport.Â
Karkaroff presents you a slimy leer as he presses a kiss to the back of your palmâthe dig of his long nails into your skin is a pleasant feeling, to your surprise. âDumbledore did not inform me we would be greeted by such beauty. We would have arrived earlier, otherwise.âÂ
You miss your cat.Â
(Siriusâs eyes roll all the way to the back of his head when you giggle and melt in Karkaroffâs wretched compliments.)Â
You want to die.
â
Chaos erupts the next day. The Goblet of Fire has chosen a fourth championâHarry Potter himself. No one is more enraged than his mother, Lily. The Aurors on duty, James and Sirius, struggle to contain the studentsâ horror and verbal lashings. Some have taken to accusing James himself of putting Harryâs name in the goblet in the name of family prestigeâpredictably, itâs Draco and Pansy who lead that revolt. But you donât expect for Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan to be swayed by the baseless gossip. So thereâs a crack in the prideâs loyalty to one another, you surmise to yourself.Â
Like a Niffler drawn to shiny objects, you follow the Headmasters and professors into a room, away from all the ruckus.Â
âDid you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?â the wise Professor Dumbledore asks calmly.
The atmosphere is beyond wintryâyou note the biting criticisms in their eyes, particular between Fleur and Madame Maxime. Lily hides Harry from their scrutiny, proud and unyielding despite being shorter than the Beauxbaton champion. Across the room, you find Severus and Remus engaged in a muted, albeit wound up argument.Â
Everyone looks to the morose Bartemius Crouch Sr., awaiting his decision with a bated breath. You sympathize with the manâfor a fleeting momentâfor if looks could kill, Siriusâs tempestuous glare would have dragged him six feet under.Â
âWe must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament.â
Your blood runs cold.
Ludo Bagman appears to be pleased with his colleagueâs decisionâyou see no reason why he shouldnât be, heâs only ever put his odds in the thrill of the game. âWell, Barty knows the rule book back to front!âÂ
Dimwitted fool.
You scoff. âIn a room full of Headmasters and Ministry leaders, surely one of you can find a way to unbind young Potterâs name from the tournament.â
âErr. . .â Ludoâs gaze flickers from Dumbledore to Crouch Sr. Madame Maxime and Karkaroff nod emphatically in agreement, forcing him into a corner with a ragged chuckle. âThereâs nothing to be done, the Goblet of Fire has gone out.â
âDo you or do you not have a wand, Mister Bagman?â you reply, piqued; crossing your arms over your chest. âIf the rules were written by a wizard, surely it can be unwritten by a wizard. Teaching an Unforgivable to a first-year would be more difficult than that.â âIt is not as simple as that, Professor!â Bagman cries. âBut you are welcome to try a hand at it.â
âSo we just let a child run to his death, then?â you seethe, nostrils flaring. âI never knew the Ministry was teeming with incompetent men. Shall I steal your job from under your nose, Ludo dear?â
(Harryâs brows pinch in confusion. He does not expect for you to care so much.)
âHeâs got to compete. Theyâve all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?â says Alastor Moody as he limps across the room, flask in his hand. You fall silent, an unnerving chill slithering down your spine. Something about this man did not sit right with you. You pull the sleeves of your blouse further down your arms.Â
âMaybe someoneâs hoping Potter is going to die for it,â Moody growls in response to Fleur. âOver my dead body!â James snarls, veins rigid against the column of his throat, eyes simmering in anger.Â
âYes, yes, Potter, we all know youâd die for your son,â Moody remarks offhandedly, taking a large gulp of the liquor in his flask.Â
âIt seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it,â Dumbledore counters in an attempt to placate the tense atmosphere. Lilyâs sharp sob engulfs the outraged clamors of the two other Headmasters. âBoth Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do. . . .â
The glass sculpture of a long-haired mermaid shatters into fragmented pieces as you bump into the table; just about ready to flee before you do anything rash like point your wand at Crouch Sr. himself. Before you exit the room, you catch sight of Cedricâs eyesâworry and uncertainty pooling within his gaze. You slam the door hard enough until the wood splinters.Â
Harry Potter is imprisoned by his fate as the Chosen Oneâand it seems time has imprisoned everyone at Hogwarts, yourself included.Â
The first task for the tournament arrives defiantly, without care for Harry and his loved ones. You have only been to the Quidditch field twiceâtoday happens to be the second time. Everyone is bundled in their wooliest sweaters and warmest jackets; although, Hermione did have her portable bluebell flames. You stare at it with envy.Â
âOi! Professor, over here!â One freckled Weasley twinâFred, you guessâbeckons for you to sit by their swarm of red and gold. He pushes Ron away to make room for you beside Minerva.Â
âThank you, Mister Weasley,â you say quietly, sniffles falling from your frost-bitten nose.Â
Itâs quite oddâyouâd have expected to be sitting with Professor Sprout and Amos, amongst your sett of badgers. But itâs not half-bad. You donât erupt in flames when Minerva holds onto you, shrieking, as Fleur narrowly avoids her dragon, awoken from its trance. You donât particularly mind either, when the Weasley twins bump their chests and holler into Ginervaâs ear when itâs time for Viktor Krum to face the Chinese Fireball.
âWe got a traitor here!â George snickers when you flinch and yelp for Cedric as he fights shy of the Short Snoutâs fire, and cheering breathlessly when he eventually captures the golden egg. You glare at George mirthfully, wondering where your fight and heat has gone.Â
âPlease excuse me for a moment,â you say, rising to your feet as the judges mull over their scores for Cedric. âMinerva,â you nod to her, and she offers you a hint of a wrinkly smile. (McGonagall thinks that if anyone can talk back in the face of a Ministry chairman in defense of her students, then perhaps sheâs misjudged a professor or two.)Â
Your cheeks grow numb from the cold as you cross the swarm of Beauxbatons students, past the flock of Ravenclaws. Harryâs match is underscored by the deafening cheers; the stands rumbling from the yells for his name. Youâre nearing the territory of yellow banners and black insignias, trumpets blowing into your ears, when the clamor and hurrahs turn into terrified gasps; students rushing back from the edge. You donât understand the fuss until you look back at the arena.Â
Harryâs dragon has broken free from its chains.Â
You join Professor Sprout and Severus in herding the students away from dangerâspotting James and Sirius across the arena, hastily reinforcing the protective barriers around the stands, uttermost precision in their wandwork. While Harry dances a life-threatening waltz, you hurriedly clear out the space closest to the banisters. Your breath hitches as the Hungarian Horntail wreaks havoc below, inducing quakes and showers of fire.Â
But more frightening than any dragon, you hear the bloodcurdling scream of a student.
âDaphne!âÂ
The Greengrass heiress, Astoria, cries vehemently as Draco holds her back from rushing to the front of the stands.Â
You scour the area franticallyâthere, only a few feet away from you, lies a fear-stricken Daphne Greengrass, staring right into the eyes of the Horntail. Its teeth bare, growls like thunderstorms, and the rising scent of embers and ashes.Â
âDaphne, get away from there!âÂ
You hardly hesitateâyou run to her, desperation pushing at your legs, terror holding your heart captive. As the dragon screeches in preparation to breathe fire, the nearest Aurors miles awayâeach gasp for air is torn from your throat. In a blink of an eye, you grab Daphne into your arms and shield her from the Horntail. The crowd bellows in frightâyou close your eyes, preparing for even the most excruciating of pain.Â
But there is nothing.Â
Just you, Daphne, the Hungarianâand Remus whoâs pointed his wand at the onslaught of flames, redirecting it up into the sky as Harry grabs the Horntailâs attention, now zipping freely on his broom.Â
Remus looks back at the both of you in relief, drawing his wand back in his pocket. âAre you alright?â he asks you first, a weary tenderness in his eyes.Â
You tear your gaze away from him, checking on Daphne instead; cupping her pale cheeks and wiping the tears from her eyes. âAre you alright, Daphne? What do you feel? Come, darling, letâs get you to Madam Pomfreyâcan you stand? Here, put your arm around my shoulder.âÂ
âTâThank you, Professor,â stammers Daphne as Astoria rushes to her, the pair of sisters blubbering and crying. The blonde-haired girl nods to you and Remus, âBoth of you. IâI donât know how Iâll repay such kindness.âÂ
âDonât worry, Daphne,â says Remus, smiling as he offers her a lemon-flavored treat.Â
He steps back to make way for Lily to fuss over Daphne, his eyes straying to you, oozing with sincerity as he rubs his handkerchief to your cheek. He grins at you and your heart skips a beat. âMy kindness is freely given.â
Has kindness ever felt so real before?
act iv. you wouldnât last an hour in the asylum where they raised me.Â
âTHE CHILDREN ARE terrified, Missus Fawley. Just last week, we had another incident. All the windows in the kitchenâshattered! The little ones couldnât sleep for days.âÂ
You hear the orphanage matronâs voice behind the bedroom door. Youâre allowed but a moment of playing with your ragged, plush animals, before the matron comes barging inside. (How rude, you think to yourself. Hasnât she ever heard of knocking before?) Although, unlike all the other times, she has a lady right on her tail. This woman is much taller than Sister Thompson, certainly more beautiful-looking, too. Not that you have anything against Sister Thompsonâs wrinkly face and foul smile.Â
No, this woman walks with her head held up high, dressed in a burgundy leather coat that clearly costs more than the thin rag you call a shirt. This must be Mrs. Fawley, then. Her black heels click against the rusty, wooden floor; you watch impassively as she bends down to your eye level. She takes you by surprise when she grabs ahold of your chin, slowly turning your head from side to side.Â
âSo this is the child,â Mrs. Fawley muses, red lips quirked. Haunting blue eyes stare back at you; hair dark as ebony falling to her waist. âYou may leave, Sister Thompson. I would like to get to know my future ward.â
The matron widens her eyes. âMissus Fawley, I strongly advise againstâ!â
âYou misunderstand me, Sister Thompson,â says Fawley, a sharp edge to her voice. âThat was not a request.â
A strange sense of victory fills you when Sister Thompson bows her head in response, tossing you just one sour glare before exiting the room. The rickety door clicks shut and Mrs. Fawley returns her attention to you with a low hum, eyes raking over your form once more. You wonder what sheâs thinking about; wondering if itâs the vast difference between her neatly-pressed clothing and your rumpled dress shirt. Many have visited the orphanage before, but none have spared you a second glance, not with Sister Thompson scaring them all away. (You suppose there is no appeal in adopting a child with temperamental issues who can make other girlsâ noses bleed.)
âShow me,â Fawley commands, breaking the quietude; her voice stern, yet hypnotic. Much like the first notes of a pied piperâs song. For a few moments, you donât understand what sheâs asking for, until realization dawns upon you. You drop the plush toyâs limbsâseconds later, the teddy bear waves its hand as though itâs gained a soul. If this had been a wooden doll with a long nose, it would be saying: âIâm a real boy!â
Fawley chuckles, leaning back with a pleased look. Your head falls to the side in confusionâwhen you had shown this little trick to Daisy Anne and Annaliese, theyâd begun to throw stones at you, screaming and saying that you were a witch. You donât try to play with the other children anymore after that. Rather than being afraid, Missus Fawley seems to be happy with you. âMy name is Agatha Fawley, special adviser to the Wizengamot, daughter of the Sacred Twenty-Eight,â she tells you, and you donât have a lick of comprehension. âWhat do you know about witches and wizards, darling?â âI donât know, maybe. . .â You scrunch your nose, making the stuffed elephant twirl the bear with just a glanceâFawley tilts your chin upwards, demanding your utmost attention. âThat they arenât real? Or if they are, they should be burnt at the stake?â
Agatha Fawley hisses, a low sound that sends shivers down your spine. You wonder if youâve angered her. The toys fall back to the floor lifelessly. âDamned Mugglesâ! Is that what they teach these days?â She shakes her head. âNo, never mind. What matters is what happens from now on.â âAre you going to adopt me?â you dare to ask, gaze falling to the floor, heart hammering against its confinements.
âI will,â she affirms and your eyes grow wide, breath stuttering in your throat. âBut if we are to become familyâthere is one thing you must do for me.â
âAnything!â You all but scream in her ear, a plea for her to take you away from the orphanage; far, far away from hurtful words and a room that echoes your loneliness back to you.Â
âNever lower your eyes.â She smiles, teeth bared into a snarl, reminiscent of a prowling fox. âYou are magic, my darling. And I will be your mother. No one on this earth can make you kneel in surrender.â
You believe her.
You believe her with all your heart.
But, you would learn that even monsters can call themselves âmotherâ and embrace you with open arms.Â
The Fawley Manor is largeâlarger than the orphanage, and that was a place you couldnât fully explore due to its largeness. There must be a thousand rooms, as far as the eyes can see. Itâs like a princess castle coming to lifeâakin to the ones youâve read about in storybooks. Missus Fawleyâs home nearly touches the sky. There are tall trees, wide grassfields, and glimmering lakes. You gasp and cover your eyes with your hands as the chauffeur drives past the marble sculpture of naked ladies. (âThink of them as Goddesses bare to the mortal eye, dearest,â says Fawley when you yelp and sink into the leather seats.) Then, the family butler, maids, and chef come to greet you, all smiling at the new addition to the manor.Â
You meet Elsie, the house elfâyour first real encounter with magic. Well, besides Missus Fawley turning paper into crystalline butterflies in the car. Elsie is a tiny, wrinkly creature who wears five different-colored knitted hats atop her head. She canât seem to stop shuddering while speaking, too, as if drenched in cold, invisible water. But you look into her big eyes and you decide to be her friend forever.Â
âGet settled into your room, and then weâll have you acquainted with the rest of the staff,â Fawley says after she ushers you into a roomâa bedroom just for you, where you wonât have to listen to anyone elseâs snoring or fight to the death for a blanket on a cold winter storm. The bed is bouncy and soft, not unlike the cardboard theyâd given you at the orphanage. Your shelves are stocked with toys and books.Â
Then, you remember that in exchange for all this, you must do your best in school. That is one thing you arenât looking forward to.Â
But, how bad could a school be if itâs filled with magic?Â
You happily imagine smelly trolls, dashing unicorns, talking ghosts, and floating crayons.Â
For your first week in the manor, you enjoy glazed desserts, fluffy pillows, and silken clothingâand on your second week, you are reminded of your duty to the family youâve been brought into. Something bigger than studying in a faraway magic castle. Missus Fawley introduces you to her long line of ancestors. You stumble on your footing as the portraits shuffle around and gaze upon you with curiosity, some with a more heated glare than others. They call you a funny term as you walk past. Mudblood. But, Fawley tells you not to worry. You are now her child before anything else.Â
The family crest is chiseled with gold; you squint your eyes to make sense of the inscription: Virtus in Arduis.
âVirtue in hardships,â Agatha explains in her dulcet tone. As you featherly trace the emblem with your fingers, Fawley leans down to your height, clearing her throat; her expression impossible for you to read. âI brought you to this family because I saw potential in you. I sensed great magic from your person. But we all have our duties. Magic gives, and magic will take.â
âThe wizarding world is in grave danger,â she tells you firmly, gripping the curve of your jaw with an intensity that frightens you. âWill you help me fight for the greater good?â
You blink.
You just got here and now you have to fight for a world that you never even knew that existed?
âGreater good?â you echo in disbelief. âF-Fight? Fight who? Iâve never even fought in my life! Making Daisy Anneâs nose bleed w-was just an accident!âÂ
âI will be with you every step of the way,â she vows fiercely, the tips of her nails digging into your cheeks. âTell me, do you understand? You will do what is right without any recognition at all. Think of it as a performance, my love. And Iâm preparing you for your role in this world starting now.âÂ
The ingĂ©nue in this act you have to play involves studying endlessly, practicing your wand work until Fawley is satisfied, and familiarizing yourself with every shelf in the library from dawn until dusk. You donât understand why you must memorize every charm and every incantationâbut Missus Fawley reminds you that you are bound to her and your responsibilities. You donât want to go back to the orphanage, cold and aloneâso, you acquaint yourself with parchments and quills, swallowing the discomfort when the nib harshly rubs your skin raw.Â
On your tenth birthday, Missus Fawley gifts you with a closet overflowing with chiffon, taffeta, and organza. Lace parasols, pretty shoes, and wide-brimmed sun hats. The chef surprises you with a three-layered cake, the constellation icing charmed to flicker like real stars in the night. Itâs the best birthday youâve ever had. For the first time, you feel like your life is actually celebrated.Â
The next day, your adoptive mother says with utmost exigency, âThis time next year, you shall be off to Hogwarts, but that means your debut in society is drawing near. The wizarding world will officially acknowledge you as my child.â
âWhen that happens, vultures will flock to you as though you were a corpse.â Her eyes flash dangerously. âAnd you will become one, unless you learn how to fend for yourself. The most ruthless of us all can be adorned in pearls and dressed in ball gowns. Appearance is everything in this worldâdo not let them see that you are afraid.âÂ
And so, you donât tell her that sheâs petrified you to the bone.
âAs the sole heir to my fortune and properties, you must understand how to navigate, not only the wizarding world, but this treacherous domain, as well.â Missus Fawley straightens your back, harshly tapping you once more to spread your legs at a more acceptable distance. âTo be envied by allâthe perfect host must always be ready to receive their guests with attention and politeness.â
When you wince, or move to massage your sore muscles, she barks at you, âYou must always be composed, even in near-death. If you crumbleâif you let even a single person know what youâre truly feeling, all this will be for naught.â
The burden of her words is heavier than the textbooks she shoves in your hold.Â
âControl them before they can control you,â Fawley explains as the seamstress measures your waist and arms. âExert your influence in a conversation. Not only in words, but your stature. Present yourself accordingly. Jewelry and clothing can be your armor when you cannot draw your wand.â
You grumble under your breath when the seamstress accidentally pokes you with a needle for the nth time.Â
âSmile when flattered, giggle when offered a dance, and curtsy when greeted.â Fawley glares daggers at you when you hiss in pain. âBut most of all, do not let any of those cretins know that you are fully aware of the power you wield over them. Anyone can be a puppeteer if they want to be. Youâll just be the greatest of them all.â
(But even a master of puppets has someone pulling their strings from behind the curtains.)
Elsie stays up with you each night, carefully pouring ice-cold water over your head, and playing with the floating bubbles to distract you from the ache in your legs and arms. âElsie will give Master her hat!â the young elf says one evening, pulling the topmost beanie from her head and laying it on yours. She tells you a bedtime story before tucking you beneath the covers of your queen-sized bed. You fall asleep to the sound of grasshoppers chirping and portraits murmuring to one another.Â
Then, you get your first taste of a pureblood skirmish. Missus Fawley had taken you to Diagon Alley, months away from the first of Septemberâa letter in your hand with all the materials a first-year would need for their classes. Safe to say, youâre more than excited. (âOh, mother, look!â you exclaim, pointing to the various shopsâand also remembering the rule of calling Agatha mother out in public. âA sweet shop! Fortescueâs ice cream parlor! Mother, can we go there? Please, please, please!â) Fawley smiles at your wide-eyed wonder, your hand in hersâtoday is a special one, she decides. Youâre allowed a bit of fun. Especially since youâve shown unfathomable progress in your studies.Â
You get your very first wand at Ollivandersâand now this world of grumpy goblins and jumping chocolate frogs becomes even more real. You hardly let go of your wand, a tingle of exhilaration running through you each time you brush your fingers against the finely-carved wood. Even Missus Fawley is pleased with the wand that chooses you. Later, youâll be given three hours to practice your charms again, but you find that you donât mindânot when youâve learned that you can now read books under the covers when Elsie turns the lights off.
As you exit the shop, breathless and flushed with a hunger to explore more of this world youâve been given access to, you and Fawley run into one of her friends. This must be one of the scary people sheâs warned you about. Sharp cheekbones, unfriendly gray eyes, and a stern demeanor. You immediately suck in a breath and school your face just as Agatha has taught you.Â
âWalburga!â Fawley greets with a lovely smile, but you notice that it doesnât reach her eyes, not like when she smiles at you for growing another inch taller. She brings her hand onto your shoulder. âWhat a pleasant surprise, my dear.â She peers at the two young boys hiding behind her, much like you were doing now. âOh, my! Is it that time already? Iâd forgotten young Sirius was set to go to Hogwarts this year. You must be overjoyed.âÂ
Walburga is a tall lady, taller than Agatha, even. She hums, lips quirked, chin held up high. âFawley,â Walburga responds, rather displeased. âTalking my ear off, as usual.â Her trenchant eyes land on you and her smile curves into a sneer. âAnd who might this little one be?âÂ
You risk a glance at Missus Fawley before offering the other woman a sweet, half-curtsy. âMadam Black, how do you do?â you smile at her, gaily revealing your name and the gap in your front teethâthe two boys snicker and your eyes instantly narrow into a glare.Â
Walburga stares you down harshly. âHow adorable.â Her eyes slice to the two boys behind her. âSirius, Regulus, introduce yourselves.âÂ
Missus Fawley laughs, a grating soundâmuch like warning bellsâas her eyes flash dangerously at her, hand tightening on your collarbone. âWhat a relief to know that Sirius will at least have one friend already before they arrive at the castle.âÂ
âButâoh, dear, look at the time.â Agatha quickly casts the Tempus charm before looking at you aghast, eyes wide as saucers, mouth parted dramatically. âI promised the Daily Prophet a photoshoot today! It is my thirty-first birthday soon, after all. Iâd give you tips on how to capture this look, but, Walburga, it seems youâre embodying the housewife fashion perfectly.â
âTa-ta!â She plants two, airy kisses on Walburgaâs cheeks before waving the three goodbye.Â
âThat,â Fawley whispers into your ear as she snuggles the side of your face. ââis exactly how to do it.â Â
You collapse in your bed that night, wondering just what youâve gotten yourself into and what kind of world youâre about to live in.
How confusing.
All this time, you thought that Missus Fawley had been preparing you for an intense entrance exam. Why else would she make you study twenty-five hours a day and eight days a week? But as it turns out, all you had to do was sit on a chair and have Professor McGonagall put a talking hat on your head.
âHufflepuff!â the Sorting Hat proclaims, and the table of yellow and black welcomes you with open arms. You sit next to a boy named Amos Diggory. Later in the night, youâll share a dormitory with a kind girl named Amelia Bones.Â
(Hogwarts is the best!)Â
The holidays arrive in the blink of an eye and you find yourself standing at the steps of the manor once more. Agatha Fawley waits for you by the door, engulfing you instantly in a hug that shields you from the falling snowflakes and biting winds. Hot cocoa with marshmallows and gingerbread cookies await you in the grand dining room; you even get a crotchety greeting from Isolde Fawley the Thirdâs portrait. Elsie crumples to the floor and sobs at your arrival.Â
âSo you were sorted there,â Fawley mutters to herself, a worried expression contorting her face. The fireplace crackles as a winter storm rages outside the manor. You lay on her lap as she absentmindedly pats your head. Stories of your first few months at Hogwarts fall from your lips without pause. âThis would go smoother if you had been sorted in Slytherin, however; but no matterâitâs not what I expected, but we can make do. The Diggorys and Bonesâ are purebloods, so maybe not all hope is lost. But you need to get more acquainted with the Greengrasses and the Malfoys, Druella Blackâs daughters as well.â
You hide your frown against her legs. You really liked Amos and Susan, Bellatrix was just downright mean to everyone, even calling this one girl, Lily, a Mudblood, too. But if mother wanted you to try, you might, but only once. If Bellatrix didnât want to be your friend, then thereâs no helping that unhinged witch. (At least the Prewett twinsâ pranks were funny. Bellatrix once snuck inside the Ravenclaw tower to leave a dead pigâs head in the girlsâ dormitory just because.)
On the twenty-fifth of December, Agatha Fawley throws a gala just for youâmasqued as a fundraiser for Muggle children in need. (None of the families cared about them, you would realize later on.) The ground nearly rumbles from the number of guests sheâs invited. From your bedroom window, you spot a few familiar faces. Sirius Black, who stands out from the crowd like a pale bean sprout; his cousin, Bellatrix, whoâs already taken to yelling at the staff; Lucius Malfoy, the Flints, and the Parkinsons. Your head goes dizzy.Â
As long as you donât trip during your entrance, everything should be fine, right? Right?
(You one-hundred percent trip in front of everyone as you descend the stairs. The sound of James Potter and Sirius Blackâs laughter haunts you.)
But other than that, the Yule event goes by smoothly. You donât fall flat on your face when greeting Cygnus Black and Druella Black nĂ©e Rosier, and mother is thoroughly satisfied when you smile in the face of Walburga Black and Abraxas Malfoy. You stay in the corner after welcoming your guests, sitting in your chair like an abstract painting forbidden to touch; whilst the Prewett twins and James teased Elsie until she cried from anxiety. Sirius also goes out of his way to congratulate you for growing all your teeth in.Â
You donât understand why Mother is so scared of these people.
But youâll understand virtue in hardships soon enough when you receive your first tutoring in ballroom dancing. Instead of sapphire earrings or a trip to France, Missus Fawley has a different gift in mind for your fifteenth birthday. She surprises you with a tutorâyouâre bewildered at first, arguing that youâve consistently been at the top of your class. (âMadam Hawthorne is not here for your academics, my darling,â Fawley explains with her red-lips stretched in a foreboding smile. âDance is a beneficial skill for any host to have. Youâll practice until your footwork is perfect. You will dance until I say you can stop. And when your feet are aching and bleeding, you will keep dancing.â)Â
Each night for your summer holiday, you go to bed, sobbing into your pillows, body trembling from Madam Hawthorneâs cane.Â
Everything changes on the eve of your sixteenth birthday.
Like all the years before, Missus Fawley invites the entirety of the pureblood society to the manor.Â
You stay with Narcissa and Andromeda, gently placating their concerns when they ask about your unnatural quietnessâtruthfully, you could no longer breathe in the flounced dress youâve been forced to wear; the sides of your feet raw from constantly practicing with Madam Hawthorne, head aching from the lights and obnoxious perfumes; stomach gurgling. Bags under your eyes from revising endlessly for your N.E.W.T.S.Â
Eyes drooping and neck craning from exhaustion, you donât at all expect for James Potter to emerge from the crowd; wavy, brown hair sweeping over his glasses, wine-colored suit melting into his dark skin. He holds out his hand to you with a boyish grin. âMay I have this dance?âÂ
You blink, frozen solid for a few moments until Narcissa softly nudges your side. âY-Yes, if you must,â you splutter, placing your palm in his.Â
He leads you to the dance floor as the orchestra plays a song perfect for a waltz along a flower field; your eyes glued to his back. The chandelier hangs overhead as James settles your arms around his neck in one swift motion. You almost step on his feet, spluttering your gratitude when he steadies you by the waist, the heat of his hands permeating your layers of clothing.Â
âIsnât it odd that the birthday celebrant wasnât dancing all this time?â he says, pulling you in for a twirl.Â
âI assume the others were all too afraid to deal with my mother,â you reply timidly. âSheâs quite overprotective, you see.âÂ
âWho? That tall lady over there by Missus Black whoâs currently glaring at me?â James chuckles into your ear as you step closer to hear his heartbeat. âShe couldnât possibly terrify me.â
âLily says thank you, by the way.âÂ
âOh? For what?â
âLetting her copy off your Defense Against the Dark Arts essayâsheâs downright shite at the subject. Donât tell her I said that, though.â
You laugh along with him, and you find that you could rest in his arms forever.
But, as your dance with him comes to an end, so does your wistful reverie.Â
When most of the guests have left the scene, and when the lights have dimmed, Mother presents to you her real giftâyour debut in the wizarding society. She leads you to a room, one where youâve never ventured before. Itâs deep past the cellars, where cobwebs and dust bunnies grow. (Before you enter, Narcissa grips your hand firmly, a look of dread and urgency in her eyes. âBe brave,â is all that she says, encasing you in her arms.)Â
In this dark room, you see Abraxas and his wife, Walburga, Cygnus, the Notts, the Goyles, and more people you recognize, all dressed in their finest black cloaksâas though it were a funeral instead of a birthday. In the center of it all, is your mother, Agatha, with a man kneeling in front of her.Â
âWhat is this?â you ask in alarm, frantically searching for answers. The man struggles against his rope, binds, screams and pleas muffled by the cloth shoved in his mouth. The sight of his bruises makes you all but retch. âMother, what is going on?âÂ
Walburga is the first to step forward, her lips painted blood-red against her ashen skin, curving into an edacious smile. She cradles the back of your head to her chest. âMy lovely dear, it has been the utmost privilege watching you grow. Your mother is certainly proud of you, we all are. Tonight, just as our sons and daughters before you, we offer you our blessing on this very special day.âÂ
âYou know of the Unforgivables, right, my child?â Her voice is a sweet, ruthless cadence in your ear; her touch, like worms crawling on your skin as she places your wand in your hand. You bite down on your tongue, swallowing each breath as the walls threaten to cave in on you. Your fingers forcibly shake in terror and you worry that you might snap your wand in half if you arenât careful. âThe Cruciatus, the Imperius, andâ?â
âThe killing curse,â you breathe out, ever-so stiff in her hold. You watch as Abraxas kicks the man to the ground; you dig your nails deep into your palm to keep from flinching.Â
âThatâs right, little one,â says Walburga, tracing your jaw with a morbid sense of satisfaction. She holds your chin in place as Abraxas tears the cloth from the manâs mouth. Itâs worse now. You hear his desperate begging and his guttural cries for help. âMuggles,â she spits the word out like venom. âLook at them. Theyâre filthy. Infecting our blood with theirs.â
âKill him,â Walburga says, a delicate whisper, as though she had asked for a cup of tea. âKill him and youâll have proved your worth to us.âÂ
âNo! No, please!â The man struggles against Abraxasâs arms. âPlease! I have a family! A c-child!â
You stagger backwards, nearly losing your grip on your wand. You look to your mother for help. âIâ!â
âKill him, pet!â Bellatrix cackles from across the room, teeth bared viciously, eagerly beckoning for you to come forward. âMake sure you mean it! Otherwise it wonât hurt!â
âYou know the words,â says Walburga, lifting your pliable armâa puppeteer controlling its ragdoll. âSay it.â
The man before you is real. Heâs a real person with a real family anxiously waiting for him to come home. His children worried sick for their father. How can they just stand there and expect you to kill him? âMother, pleaseâI canât. I w-wont.â Your breathing grows labored, hot tears pricking your eyes; the man screams and yells, and the sound echoes ceaselessly in your ears. âI donât. . . I donât understand.â
Agatha Fawley closes her eyes, and you understand perfectly.Â
Each sob wrecks your body and the tears endlessly flow from your ears, you hiccup and shiver; blood pooling from the bite in your tongue. âI canât do thisâplease!â
âYou will.â
You close your eyes just as a flash of unforgiving green shoots from your wand. âAvada Kedavra!â
The man falls limp to the floor, and so does your wand. Walburga coos and drowns you in a sea of shallow praises, the men offer their congratulations, but all you hear is the sound of a lifeless body dropping to the ground.Â
A man who you just killed by your wand, in your home.Â
That night, the four walls of your bedroom bear witness to your anguishâyou cry until you throw up on the floor, body lurching and quivering on the freezing red oak.Â
âDo you get it now?â says Agatha as she enters your room, the faintest of sunlight streaming through the windows. She bends down and cups your face in her palms. âThis is your world from now on.âÂ
You rip her hands away from you, gritting your teeth. âI donât want to live in your worldânot anymore! I donât care about all this! Magic, wealth, and all these things mean nothing if I have to kill innocent people! Youâre a monster!âÂ
âGood.â Fawleyâs voice is cold as she stands up, lifting her chin as her eyes glaze impassively. âThat means youâre ready for your next lesson.â
âDidnât you hear me? I said I was done!â you retort, sore from crying.
âDonât you see?â says Fawley, pausing underneath the door frame, gaze ruthlessly slicing towards you. âWe will destroy them from the inside out. Walburga, Abraxas, Tom Riddle. All of them, one by one. That is our true duty.âÂ
As she turns to leave, she adds coldly, âReady yourself. Iâll be teaching you Occlumency during your summer break.â Then she slams the door shut, leaving you all alone in your room.Â
When you return to school after the winter holidays, youâre forced to pretend that you hadnât taken the life of an innocent Muggle.Â
âDo not let them see you are afraid.âÂ
âUnfortunately, flaming red hair and hand-me-down robes will not complement my dressâitâs crimson taffeta, you see, handcrafted only by the finest tailors in Italy,â you say dismissively to the ragtag of Gryffindors before you, Vittoria Zabini and Isadora Bulstrode giggling at your side. The Prewett boy visibly wilts and you almost give inâalmost. But everyone must play their part in this world. You know that if you show a sliver of weakness, Vittoria and Isadora will be happy enough to report to their mothersâvying for the pedestal youâve been put on by their parents.Â
For the final blow, you scrunch your nose in disgust, slamming your Divination textbook close. âCan you even afford anywhere in Hogsmeade for a date, Prewett?â
(Walburga would Avada you herself if she caught you in such a place with such a wizard. Youâre more terrified of what she might ask you to do to Gideonâsomeone she deems as a blood traitor. You refuse to utter another Unforgivable. You just wonât.)Â
âOh, you cruel wench!â Marlene McKinnon steps forward and before anyone could take another breath, she slaps you in the face. And, finally, you feel something other than the guilt of taking someoneâs life.
Your cheek stings from the impact, your ears ringing with the sound of your friends asking if youâre alright and Dorcas Meadowes roaring about how you deserved itâwell, youâre not about to disagree. You move your jaw about, cradling the side of your face as you sigh impassivelyâoh, itâs nothing compared to the etiquette lessons of Agatha Fawley. âMy mother will certainly hear about this, McKinnon.â
âYou and your mother can kiss my arse!â she shrieks, eyes ablaze.
âGideon didnât deserve that, and you know it,â Lily argues fervidly, eyes sickle-shaped as she looks back at the Prewett twinâs dejected expression. âHow could you even say that?âÂ
âHow could I not, Lily darling?â you reply off-handedly with a roll of your eyes.
Lily flinches. In her gaze, all you see looking back at you is the Muggle father who had cried out relentlessly for one last glimpse of his children. She stares at the badger emblem on your cloak with disdain, and you with a great deal of pity. âYou are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature Iâve ever seen.âÂ
She has the softest voice youâve ever heard, but it hurts you all the same.Â
Youâve scrubbed your skin raw in the bath, hoping that youâd wash the feel of your sins off your handsâitâs all for naught. Agatha might be a monster in your eyes, but youâre the fool that played right into her act.
You get to your feet, meeting her eye-to-eye. In a low whisper, lips close to her ear, you say, âThere are far worse creatures out there, Evans. Youâre lucky youâve been born only a Muggleborn.â
Fortunate that she wonât ever have to play the role that youâve been forced to. You feel an overwhelming envy towards herâeffortless beauty, pure and untainted hands, a kind heart that draws in every one and every person. Compared to her, you must be a dirtied, black swan in a lake thatâs only meant for white swans like Lily Evans.Â
And she will have more charming princes and truehearted fairies on her side than you could ever hope to gain.Â
âSay another word and I will tear your hair from that pretty head of yours,â Marlene snarls, pushing Lily behind her.
Oh, how easy they make it for you.Â
You smile in delight. âSo you think Iâm pretty?â
Marlene lunges.
(You are so tired of it all.)
Every night of your summer holiday, you spend it writhing on the floor, Agathaâs lessons on Occlumency taking its toll. She grows harsher, stricter, and more apathetic than the sun beating down on the manor windows. (âAgain!â Fawley demands as you collapse to the ground, drenched in sweat and your head numb from her probing. âDo you think the Dark Lord will be lenient with you? Get up! Weâre going again! If you want this to end, you will endure this without error!â)Â
While your peers are out swimming in lakes and racing around in Quidditch brooms, youâre stuck within the confinements of your home. But you are not that naive, youâve seen the headlines of the Daily Prophet. A coalition known as Death Eaters have begun making their mark on the wizarding society. There are rumors of a great, sinister power rising. People go missing everyday, and you worry that this might be the world that your mother has been preparing you for all this time.Â
But why you? Why must you carry this burden all alone? Who will pick up the pieces of your battered soul when the weight of your burden crushes you entirely?Â
There are times when you wish you never left the orphanage at all.Â
A week into your summer break, you find out that your mother is dying. Violent coughing, dizzy spells, jaundiced skin, her eyes bloodshot, and the healer frequenting her bedroom quarters. Youâre not allowed inside, of course, but you can hear her feeble voice and the doctorâs stern orders.Â
You also learn that sheâs absolutely insaneâbut that is a fact youâve come to terms with years ago. One night, during dinner, youâd let it slip that you have your suspicions of a classmate being inflicted with a lycanâs curse. Agatha Fawley reacts just about as one would expect her to.Â
âA werewolf? In Hogwarts?â Fawley staggers to her office, the tower of neatly-piled documents and research reports from the Ministry now fluttering to the floor. âNo, no, no. . .â she utters to herself, panic seeping within her skin. Itâs the most frazzled you have ever seen the great Agatha Fawley. You stare at her unraveling from the threshold of the room, unsure of what to do. âDumbledore has gone mad! That old loon! What was he thinking? Sheltering a beast within the castle!âÂ
âDonât worry, my dear,â says Agatha as she reaches for you, a ghastly smile on her face and a near-empty look in her eyes. Your brows pinch together in confusionâyou hadnât been worried about that student at all. âIâll have that monster out of the castle in no time. The Ministry will have no choice but to listen to me.âÂ
âThatâs it,â she mutters, haphazardly grabbing for her feather quill and blank parchment. âPerhaps a law to forbid werewolves from ever integrating into society. School, house propertiesâcan you imagine if they manage to infiltrate the Ministry? Everything Iâve worked so hard for!âÂ
âMother?â you call out hesitantly, crossing the distance, hand outstretched as Fawley slips on her footing, a muttered profanity under her breath. The woman before you is unrecognizable, a sallow casing of a moribund soul. âMother, please, Remus is no threat to the castle,â you plead, ripping her hand away from the quill. âYou canât do this!âÂ
âDo not tell me what I can or cannot do!â Agatha seethes through her teeth, chest heaving as she glowers at you. âEverything I have done, I have done for you! Yet, you still continue to fight me? I should have left you in that orphanage to rot while I had the chance!âÂ
âWell then, why didnât you?â you scream, pushing her away as the words force themselves out of your throat. âMaybe that Muggle father would have still been alive if you did! Maybe I wouldnât have to suffer so much! To hell with you and your duty!âÂ
Fawley laughs to herself, a weak and feeble sound. At first, you think itâs in response to you, but then you watch her drag her palm down her face, unblinking when her fingers appear to be drenched in blood. You take a step forward and thereâs crimson trickling down her nose, a pallid contrast against her skin. âHa,â she chuckles once more, keeling over to the ground as she stares up at the ceiling, blood on her flesh. âMerlin, what have I done? IâIâve gone too farâeven the Gods cannot save me.â
The despair in her voice is confounding. âCome here, my love,â she croaks from the floor, reaching out to you with bloodstained hands. Reluctantly, you sink to her side, gnawing on your lower lip as she cups your face in her palmsâhow many times have you been in this position before? âIâm sorry,â she sobs, shoulders trembling. âOh, my darling, I am so sorry. Iâm afraid Iâve doomed the both of us.â She traces the frame of your jaw and cheekbones. âMy child, my beautiful child. What have I done? Will you forgive me?âÂ
You realize that this must be the consequence of living in a constant lie. To be an imitation of a human person, with no room for grief, rage, fear, hope or even a semblance of love. You stay silent, drowning in the arms of your adoptive mother. âI am to die soon,â says Agatha with utmost finality, eyes boring into yours. âBut you are better than me. Braver. Far stronger than I have ever been. I know this must be the heaviest burden a child can carry, but you must understand that the fate of this world is at stake. I am so sorry, my love, but I must leave this duty to you.âÂ
She lets her head hang limply. âI-I am tired, as well. Iâve pushed away everyone and anyone for this. To do what is right, to endure what is hardâthat is what Iâve lived by all these years.â
âAnd so must you.â Agatha has been mourning all this time, but not for her life.Â
You hate her.Â
You hate her with all your heart.Â
But even monsters need a heart to breathe.Â
A month passes by in a blur, and you are now set to meet the ill-famed Tom Riddle. You know that he was a student of Professor Dumbledore; that Narcissa is extremely terrified of him, and that Lucius Malfoy idolizes him to a fault. (âThis is the moment I have been preparing you for all these years,â your mother tells you, shields of Occlumency glimmering in her deep blue eyes. âDo not let him in no matter what.â) Soon thereafter, Missus Fawley apparates the both of you to the Malfoy manor.Â
The dining room is bleak, befitting of a Malfoy; curtains drawn, fireplace idly crackling, and hushed murmurs upon your arrival. All eyes are on you, and youâre lucky to have dressed in your Sunday best. At the head of the table, you see Tom Riddle, with Abraxas and Cyprian Nott sitting on each side. You hear something large slithering across the polished floorsâyour breath hitches at the sight of a monstrous serpent curling around Tom Riddleâs chair. The glass chandelier chimes overhead and you wish it would fall from where he sits on his shrewd throne.Â
(You find Regulus Black sitting beside Narcissa, cheeks flushed, body quivering as his skin pales to a deathly color; holding onto his left arm for dear life. And, your heart just physically breaks. You donât understand why this is the world you must live in.)Â
âCome here, my dear,â Tom Riddle hisses, urging you forward with a serpentine leer in his eyes. You feel like a circus lion forced to perform its tricks.Â
Tom Riddle is handsomeâyou notice begrudgingly. A menacing kind of beauty that entices the weak and preys on the vulnerable. (You would not be one of his victims, you vow, raising your own walls against him.) His gaze drills into your ownâinstantly, you feel his magic snaking around in your head, searching for hidden truths. The sensation is staggering, dizzying, and youâre nearly brought to your knees. You clench your jaw at his Legilimencyâobstinate bastard.Â
âThis one is lasting longer than your son, Abraxas.â Riddle chuckles, his finger tracing the curve of your jaw, as Abraxas forces a smile. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he leaves your mind. You release the breath youâve been holding for the last thirty seconds. He finds none of your secrets, and you suppress a vindictive grin. Riddle glances at your mother. âHow fascinating.âÂ
You wonder if his intrigue will keep you alive for another day or bring you closer to your death.Â
âMy Lord,â you greet windedly as you press a kiss to the cold signet of his ring. âWhat an honor to stand before you today. Although, I could have done with a more polite greeting from you.âÂ
Bellatrix snarls at you in warning. âDo not speak to the Dark Lord that way, you insolent brat!âÂ
âEnough, Bella,â Tom rasps, flicking her concern away, barely so much as sparing her a glance. âIâve no need for a little girl to come to my defense.â She visibly wilts at his dismissive words and you almost feel pity for herâalmost. Then, you remember this is the man who treats the Cruciatus curse like a treat to give away freely to childrenânow, you pity Bellatrix fully. The curly-haired girl twitches at the sight of him toying with his wand, Naginiâs forked tongue flicking in anticipation.Â
âTell me, my dear,â says Riddle, trailing his gaze down to your arm. âHas your mother arranged a marriage for you yet? Much like our dear Cissa here.â
You grow frigid in his hold. âNot at all, my Lord. Mother thought it best if I focused on my studies before anything else.âÂ
Tom hums in thought, eventually releasing you from his clutches. âI see. . . Then, have you considered other ways of pledging your allegiance to our cause?âÂ
Instinctively, you hide your left arm from his sight. âMy Lord,â you begin, wondering how much longer you can address him as such without throwing up in his lap. âThe only reason there isnât much backlash to your. . . merciful endeavors is because Mother and I have ensured that the Daily Prophetâs eyes are elsewhere. The Ministry is blindsided, and no one expects a mondaine darling to be under your influence,â you say, desperation pouring from each word.Â
You donât want to carry his Mark. Not ever. You can endure itâyou can endure it all so long as you arenât eternally condemned to his name.Â
âTake that away, and youâll face significant repercussions,â you threaten boldly. âI promise you that. They look away because of me.âÂ
For every village and family terrorized, you had shifted the publicâs attention to your facetious behavior. Throwing galas left and right, appearing out in public with various partnersâyou had done it all to bury the looming war. Rita Skeeter is at your beck and call. For every attack, your face is plastered on the front page. For every cry for help, the Ministry is busy dealing with trivial matters that your mother has proposedâsuch as anti-werewolf bills.Â
And Voldemort would never notice that youâve been thieving covert information from right under his nose and delivering it anonymously to a rising organization known as the Order of the Phoenix.Â
(Youâre also not pleased that they share similarities to your non de plume, the Firebird, but you suppose that is the least of your worries.)Â
If Molly Weasley comes across a sealed letter on the steps of Grimmauld Place, with complete details and addresses of Death Eater hiding places, it is no oneâs business but the Orderâsâand yours.Â
For every life taken, you remember that Muggle father in your motherâs cellar. It may not be today, it may not be tomorrowâbut youâll dismantle the pureblood society yourself. All of them, one by one.Â
Tom Riddle smiles, and you realize that no one threatens him and gets away with it unscathed.Â
A day before youâre set to return to Hogwarts for your seventh-year, the Malfoy Manor is pervaded by your gut-wrenching screams.Â
There you are, little Firebird with your wings clipped, writhing on the floor of Lucius Malfoyâs guest roomâthe Cruciatus curse surging through your veins like molten lava threatening to burn you from the inside out. You hear Narcissa and Missus Fawleyâs voices blend into a cacophony of panic. Theyâre shouting for various things: warm towels, bandages, essence of Dittany, and water. Regulusâs hold on you is tight, near-suffocating, even.Â
But you donât feel anything other than the mutilated flesh of your arm.Â
You scream, cry, and scream againâyou feel his magic over and over again. Branding you. The ink blends into your skinâbut itâs not your skin anymore. A part of you now will always belong to him.Â
Bile rises to your throat.Â
Tears fall from your eyes.Â
(How cold is the floor? You donât even care anymore.)
And, the worst part is that no one can see it. Riddle charmed it perfectly to coalesce against your skin tone. But you see it. You see the skull and the stupid, wriggling snake. You see Tom Riddleâs monstrous glee as he drives his wand into your armâAbraxas and Lucius holding you down as you thrash and flail. Your only reprieve was your mother was there, cradling your head to her chest, blocking out their malignant laughter. (You canât believe you never noticed, but your mother had been branded, too.)Â
âIâll. . . kill him,â you say to yourself, blood and saliva trickling from your lips. If it is the last thing youâll ever do, you will have Voldemortâs head on a silver platter.Â
âDonât be foolish,â Narcissa scolds, tipping your mouth upwards to swallow the drops of Dittany. âNone of us have the power to do that. We just have to make do with the life that weâre given.âÂ
âI promise. . . you,â you gurgle through the searing pain, gasping for air, clawing at her arms. âIâll destroy them all.âÂ
You pass out in her arms.Â
When you awake, youâre on a train to Hogwarts, left arm bandaged and hidden under the sleeve of your school robes.Â
You donât bother attending your classesâseeing no more purpose in Transfiguration and Herbology when youâre just a pawn in someoneâs, everyoneâs plans, apparently. The professors express their concern when you no longer turn in your homework or assigned projects. Once again, you barely see the need to. Your meals during breakfast, lunch, and dinner go untouched. You stay away from Narcissa, Vittoria, Isadora, Lucius, and Regulus. Your only friends, Amos and Amelia, stay away from you, too, having seen news of your promiscuity in the Daily Prophet. You scoff internallyâyouâve never even had your first kiss yet. But even that seems like a distant dream.Â
You are tired.Â
How much longer do you have to play this part? How much more of yourself do you have to give?Â
Youâre only seventeenâhow can you even hope to defeat Voldemort like this?Â
The castle walls have dulled, and you drift through the corridors like a wearisome ghost. The once colorful world that you have been brought into now pales in the face of curses, spilt blood, and the Mark on your arm. You wonder what would happenâif you just run away now.Â
Why should you be the one to bear the burdens of this duty thrust upon you? Why do people like James Potter and Sirius Black find loyalty and a real family within Hogwarts, and there is no one willing to fight for you?Â
Perhaps, you have no one else to blame but yourself.Â
Rita Skeeter publishes her article on the growing rift between you and Vittoria Zabiniâclaiming that you had stolen her beau from her.
You toss the newspaper into the fire.Â
Some nights, you donât bother returning to the Hufflepuff dormitories anymore. You know what they think. You know what they say behind your back.Â
For the third time this week, you find yourself at the top of the Astronomy Tower, legs dangling from the edge of the window, eyes blankly staring at the horizonâif you run towards there, you wonder how long it will take before they find you. The cold nips at your cheeks, but you barely feel anything other than a gnawing emptiness.
Your gaze falls to the ground below, thirty, fifty meters from where you sit.Â
Maybe. . .Â
If you move a few inches forward. . .Â
If you just fly.Â
Youâd be free.Â
âOh, I didnât know this window was occupied.â You loosely turn your head to find Remus Lupin standing before you with a crooked grin, hands shoved in his pockets as he awkwardly shuffles one foot over the other. He raises his arms up in surrender. âI guess Iâll. . . find somewhere else to brood.âÂ
I donât care.Â
Go away.Â
I want to die.
If I disappear, would you care? Would anyone?Â
You rest your head back on the windowsill, hugging your legs to your chest.Â
Starlings chirp and fly past youâhow liberating it must be, to soar in the skies. But all you can do is watch enviously. Powerless, little songbird with no more lullabies to sing and no more wings to fly with.Â
You let your weight shift over the window.Â
Maybe if you fall, you could see what itâs like to fly.Â
âH-Hey! Donâtâ!â Remus quickly snatches your hand and pulls you into his embraceâthe both of you tumbling to the floor. You feel his chest heaving, arms trembling around you, and the sound of his rapid heartbeat. His eyes are wide as he looks over your face for any injuries. âWhy would you do that? Are you mad?â
You sigh.Â
Maybe tomorrow, then.Â
âOi!â Remus pokes your shoulder. âDonât just ignore me! You scared the piss out of me, you know? Bloody hell.â His shoulders slump in relief, and he takes another peek at youâjust to make sure youâre still in front of him. âA-Are you okay?â he asks softly, afraid to spook you further away. âDo you want to talk about it or anything?âÂ
You shrug. âNothing to talk about.â
His gaze flickers from you to the window ledge. âI think thatâs a big something to talk about, honestly. B-But I get it. Really. No judgment.âÂ
An unwilling chortle escapes past your lips. Remus Lupin and his marauding bunch of lions would never understand the burden you have to carry each day for the rest of your life.
Remus scratches the back of his head with a wolfish grin. âHey. . . listen. We donât know each other all that wellâso this is going to sound terribly weird. But would you like a hug?â
He opens his arms wide enough for you to fitâand you stare at him in horror. âCâmon, then. It really seems like you need it. And honestly, I kind of need it, too, especially after a scare like that.âÂ
You stay silent.Â
He shakes his hands, beckoning you forward, golden hair flopping over his eyes. âI donât bite. Promise. One hug and weâll go on pretending like we donât know each other tomorrow. Marauderâs honor.â
âI havenât done anything to deserve your kindness,â you say with a prominent sneerâcertainly not kindness from him. It must be another prank of theirs. You wait for Peter Pettigrew and Sirius to jump out and spray you with garlic juice.Â
Remus smiles. âI think youâll find that my kindness is freely given.âÂ
You nibble on your bruised lip.Â
Could you really?Â
Maybe just this once.Â
Youâre only human, magic as you are.Â
You take one step forward.Â
Then another.Â
Another.
Until you fall right into his arms, and you inhale the scent of honey, milk raspberry chocolate, and cedarwood. The warmth of his arms around you is real. His voice is real. He whispers cruel words into your ear, âYouâre alright, love. Let it out. Iâm here.â You burrow your head deep in the crook of his neck. The sound of his heartbeat is real. He tightens his hold around you, and the ground underneath feels real. For a few moments, you donât feel like youâre floating away into oblivion.Â
Maybe youâd stay aliveâfor a few more days.Â
To do what is right.Â
To endure.Â
Perhaps, tomorrow will be easierâif such kindness is real, maybe youâre allowed to seek it for yourself every now and then.Â
But your nightmare doesnât end when youâre awakeâit takes you by the throat when you find yourself summoned to the Malfoy Manor on Hallowâs Eve.Â
Youâre not the only one caught by surprise. One by one, Tom Riddleâs followers apparate into the dining room, stumbling inside with a bewildered expression. Their Dark Lord has called for them in the dead of nightâit must be for something important. You stiffen, sinking into Luciusâs shadow. You search for your mother but she doesnât appear to be anywhere in the room. Someone brushes their hands against yoursâNarcissa. She stands by your side, face impassive, her pupils frantically trying to make sense of the situation.Â
Then, Tom Riddle finally apparates into the room, startling you for a fraction of a second. Not far behind is Abraxas, Cyprian, the Lestranges, Bellatrix, and finallyâ
Your mother.Â
Fawley looks worse for wear, her skin sinking into her bones, clothes tattered, and her face littered with bruises. Bellatrix drags her across the floor, hair wrapped around her hands.Â
You move to stop Bellatrix, anger blinding your visionâNarcissa tightens her grip on your wrist, subtly shaking her head. You rip your hand away from her.Â
âWe have found a traitor in our midst!â Bellatrix cackles, throwing your mother to the groundâyour fists clench, swallowing each lump in your throat with rage blinding your vision. âI caught the bitch helping the McKinnons escape!âÂ
âNo,â you whisper, dread knocking you backwardsâit just isnât possible. The two of you had always been careful. Bellatrix hits her again, and you have to restrain yourself from marching forward and cursing her from where she stands.Â
One moment of weakness, that is all Tom Riddle needs. He finds you in the crowd with ease. The crowd of Death Eaters part like the red sea, and you steel yourself with Occlumency before you are sharply pulled forward, the mark on your left arm blistering as though a hundred needles are driving into your skin repeatedly.
âIf the mother is a blood traitor, the child is sure to follow!â Bellatrix hisses, spit flying into the floor, her eyes gleaming with maniacal glee.
Voldemort cruelly holds your jaw in his hand, nails digging into your flesh, threatening to break through your bones. âIs this true?â he asks, drawing blood from your skin. âTell me!âÂ
âNo!â you cry out, kicking and punching to get away from his hold. âItâs notâlet me go! That is my mother! Youâre hurting her! Sheâs sick!â
âThat,â Riddleâs eyes flash with hostility, breath hot on your skin, âis a betrayer to our cause.âÂ
âSheâs not!â you scream.
âHow did she find out, then?â Voldemort flings you to the groundâimmediately, you rush to your mother, gathering her in your arms. Tom Riddle cocks his head and youâre blasted into the wallsâyou feel his Legilimency trying to force its way in, exploiting your pain and shock. But you wonât let him in. Heâll have to pry your memories from your cold, dead body.
The pain is searingâyouâre being torn apart from limb to limb. Your mark is burning, head throbbing from a concussion, and still fighting against Riddleâs magic. Through your blurry haze, you see Lucius holding Narcissa back from running to you. âWeâre not traitors!â you cry out desperately, crawling pathetically to your motherâs listless body. âI swear!â
Voldemort sneers just before he points his wand at your mother. âCrucio!â
âNo! No! Stop it! Please! Please, stop it!â you beg on the ground as your mother helplessly writhes on the floor, the Cruciatus curse reducing the once austere Agatha Fawley to a whimpering mess. âYouâre killing her!â
Tom snarls, âGood.â
Bellatrix digs her claws into your neck, her laughter resounding throughout the manorâyou swallow the sobs down your throat as she drives her wand into your flesh. âYour mummy over there is done for. But youâour precious jewel, you can still prove your loyalty to our Dark Lord.âÂ
She puts your wand and closes your fist over the woodâyour eyes grow wide as you thrash in her hold, screaming as she forces you to look at Fawley. âKill her. And you may live.âÂ
âJust say it,â Bellatrix whispers in your ear. âTwo little words. Youâve already done this before, petâthe second time should be easy enough!â
âNo!â you knock your head back into her nose, slipping away as her hold loosens and she screams profanities at youâbut to your misfortune, Voldemort captures you, like a defenseless bunny running into a starving snake.Â
âMum, wake up, please!âÂ
You cry out helplessly, sobbing as Voldemort forces you to watch the life gradually fade away from her blue eyes. Her magic envelops youâand you remember warm holidays spent by the fire, Muggle storybooks before bed, surprising you with breakfast in bed for your birthdays. Itâs a warm feeling, a stark contrast to Tom Riddleâs invasive magic. Her voice echoes in your head one last time.
âThank you for showing me what love feels like, if not for a moment. I am sorry I could not show it as a proper mother would.â
âKill her!â Voldemort rages into your ear.Â
You watch as Fawleyâs eyes drift to a close, an act of resignation. âItâs okay, my darling,â she whispers tiredly. âI. . . can rest now.â
For the second time in your life, you point your wand at someoneâs heartâthis time, itâs your motherâs.Â
âWhat are you waiting for?â Bellatrix asks, twitching menacingly. âKill her! Before I do it myself!âÂ
Thereâs a faint smile on her face.Â
âIâm. . . sorry.â
Those are Agatha Fawleyâs last words before you take away her life.
The incantation falls so delicately from your lips, an act of mercy for the woman you once called your mother and your greatest tormentor.Â
But your eyes are on one person and one person only.
Tom Riddle.Â
âAvada Kedavra!â
He will know your pain.
Not today, not tomorrow.
But youâll destroy them all, one by one.
a/n: THERE IS KISSING IN THE NEXT SCENE I PROMISE.... AND TRUST MY LILY LOVERS WE WILL GET OUR REDEMPTION ARC SKDJHFGKJH and sirius lovers too,, but yall are well-fed every day so.. next part has the yule ball, likee,, there's no way THAT becomes angsty.. if you saw a plot-hole, no you didn't just CRY and enjoy sdhgsdf... come tell me what you thought!! (if you have any constructive criticisms, just come to my dms BUT PLS BE VERY GENTLE.... oh and don't hesitate to tell me if i accidentally wrote anything super specific like height, skin color, etc.!!) i promise to better in the final part!!!! (there's only two parts to this fic.) I LOVE YEW I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS STORY AAAAAAAAAAAA
#poly!marauders x reader#hp angst#hp fluff#hp imagine#james potter x reader#lily evans x reader#marauders x reader#poly!marauders fluff#x reader#remus lupin x reader#sirius black x reader#reader insert#poly marauders#poly!marauders imagine#poly!marauders#sunny's hp fics#x reader angst#poly!marauders angst#poly!marauders x you#marauders fanfiction#marauders angst#marauders imagine
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Hii, i just read all and i mean ALL of ur fics, but i saw you wrote for arcane women and was wondering if you could write headcanons abt them with a socially awkward/anxious reader?? If not thats A-Ok đ with me
Sure! How is everyone doing after the first three eps? I still haven't seen it but the edits I've seen... oh boy.
"I Got You." | Arcane Ladies Headcanons
â°â†PLOT: How the ladies of Arcane(Jinx, Vi, Caitlyn, Sevika, Mel) act with a socially awkward and/or anxious partner
â°â†WARNINGS: Spoiler Free, On The Shorter Side, Cursing, Not Proofread
âŁ àł Enjoy!⣠àł
JINX
â At first, Jinx didn't get that you were socially awkward. She was used to people being awkward or even scared around her so she thought it was the same case with you until you two got closer.
â After knowing that your awkwardness was just you and not your fear of her, she observed you in social situations and noted what made you more anxious than normal.
â For example, she noticed you're more anxious and timid in bigger, louder spaces but if a space was quiet and quaint, you would be just fine so she often took you to quiet places for dates.
â If Jinx notices you're anxious in places you typically aren't, without a doubt she's removing you from the situation and taking you home where you can relax. No words, just grabs and tugs.
â She's tried the pep talk route before but it ended up in her rambling and somehow planning a terrorist scheme aloud... (yeah, a few patrons quickly left the area after hearing that), so she decided to scrap that idea altogether.
â At home though she would prepare what she calls, "A Safety Nest". It was a place in your shared space that had all your favorite things and trinkets, and she usually kept the space dimly lit and played your favorite music to calm you down.
â In social interactions where you take the lead in conversation, Jinx would quietly encourage you with big, almost alarming smiles and "gentle" pats on your back. Let's face it, Jinx can be socially awkward herself.
â Once the conversation concludes, she'll jump on you proudly, ruffle up your clothing, and pinch your cheeks endearingly all while calling you weird nicknames and quoting what you said while mimicking your tone and cadence.
ââ
VI
â Before you've had your first real conversation together, Vi could sense that you were an anxious individual.
â You fidgeted with your body while speaking, didn't hold eye contact long, and used a decent amount of filler words to casualize your sentences.
â She thought it was endearing to watch you act and move as if you thought no one truly cared about what you were saying or were afraid of boring others but you never bored her. She didn't think it was possible.
â You had tells and quips that revealed themselves with each conversation you two had. You showed more and more of your personality the more you got comfortable with her too. Vi loved it.
â When you spoke to her, especially when you went on tangents about things you were interested in, she always showed signs of active listening by nodding and asking follow-up questions. Even days later, she'll bring up the topic again to see if you have any updates.
â She made you feel seen and heard, something you've subconsciously craved. And when you went on your worry rambles, she consoled you and tried her best to stop you from spiraling.
â You thought about a lot of things and oftentimes about things no one else thought about. Vi thought your brain must've been exhausted with all the worries, doubts, and judgments that were usually wrapped up as others' but were truly your own; it was a lot for one person to handle so she strove to let you know that you were not alone.
â Is there a night you can't sleep because of your racing mind? Vi is there, holding you or reassuring you that everything is going to be okay. She can't sleep until you do anyway so why not speed the process along?
â You often had yourself stuck with your head stressing and worrying about multiple things at once and Vi was always there to bring you down to Earth.
__
CAITLYN
â Caitlyn's an encourager and a comforter with you.
â She's patient and silently allows you to take your time when gathering your thoughts midconversation but she'll also be the one to say, "It's okay, take your time," in the sweetest way possible.
â If there's an instance when you two are out and about and you really want something but are too scared to get it, she'll spring into action and get that thing for you. (Even if it was just a napkin).
â The only time she's frazzled socially is when you both are in an unfamiliar area and need to ask for directions. She'll stumble over her words and try to get someone's attention but they're moving too fast to hear her soft words.
â She'll get frustrated and you end up comforting her, but after a few backrubs, she's ready to try again. Her voice is strong and powerful, and people have no problem hearing her.
â You secretly thank whomever you have to for her determination but there was no way in hell you were going to walk up to a stranger and ask for directions like a tourist... which you were.
â Since Caitlyn's job has her socializing with a lot of people, she can get burnt out easily. Especially if work hasn't been going her way lately but even if she's burnt out and tired, if you seem to be more awkward or anxious than her, she's more than happy to step up socially.
â When you both have someplace to attend to or some event that holds significance, Caitlyn will not hesitate to stage a "social rehearsal" with you. She'll make flashcards of topics you could bring up, you'll both dress accordingly for the event in her living room, and she'll pretend to be an assortment of people so you can get used to different personalities all at once.
â It may seem like this is all for you, but honestly it helps her too. Sometimes she misses the personal cues of conversation leading the other to think she's a black-and-white thinking who has no time for pleasanties. Not true! She's very pleasant... sometimes she's just shy.
â Shyness is not a crime!
â After talking with the host and a few others she has to talk to due to her job, her social battery is depleted. She's extremely thankful you're able to recognize this and suggest leaving early. What would you two do without each other?
ââ
SEVIKA
â Oh, man. This lady found your awkwardness charming as hell.
â Your awkwardness was different than all the nerds and scaly-beings she's forced to be around. You were cute, looked perfect sitting next to her, and your awkwardness, as mentioned before, had a certain charming quality she can't quite place.
â She'll see you in your workplace trying to make casual conversation or small talk but none of your topics seemed to be landing. Your coworkers would give you a thin pressed-lips smile that she wanted to strike off of them to your attempts and then scoff at you behind your back.
â You were authentically yourself and those bastards didn't know what to do with it. They were scared, not her though.
â When you two got closer and comfortable enough with each other that you could tease one another or make playful jabs at the other's expense, no doubt she would tease you about your awkwardness.
â With those gorgeous eyes of yours, you would look everywhere else but her own, prompting her to say, "You know you can look me in the eyes, right? I won't bite", with the stupidest most shit-eating smirk on her face. And then when you look at her, a bit shocked and playfully annoyed, her smirk would only grow. "Unless you want me to."
â Sevika never made your awkwardness seem like a flaw. Your awkwardness came with you and she wanted all of you so she often encouraged your awkwardness.
â If she caught you trying to "reel" it in or realizing that you've talked for a few seconds too long, she'll playfully scold you and tell you to continue or to "let it out". Y'know. As someone who seethes dominance does.
â There would be an instance in which you go to Sevika asking for advice to be "less awkward" and her only response would be, "Why? I like your awkwardness, you don't need to change it. Anyone else who thinks otherwise is a sad loser and don't deserve to be in your life anyways."
â like damnnnn, okay!
â Safe to say you never asked her a question like that again.
--
MEL
â Mel understands your worries about what others think and the awkwardness that can come with it so she likes to help you in any way she can.
â If you're stressed about a council meeting and afraid of what everyone's going to think about the new perspective you'd like to bring to the table, she'll reassure you and tell you she's right by your side.
â If she can't physically with her hand on the small of your back, she give you nods of encouragement, raise her brows proudly, and look at you with that sense of pride and admiration in her golden eyes.
â After the meeting goes well, which she knew would, she'll congratulate you with your favorite drink and a night in doing all your favorite things.
â Even if there were parts in the meeting that were rocky, like the council people asking questions you weren't prepared for or getting rowdy, she'll say you did an excellent job and what you presented will help the people of Piltover.
â Oh, and don't think for a second that she wasn't sending glares and daggers to those who stirred up your anxiety even more. If looks could kill.
â Mel sees that sometimes your awkwardness and anxiety result in people-pleasing and she would shut that down real quick. She's fallen into that dangerous pool before and knows how hard it feels when you disappoint others and how much harder it is to get out of that mindset.
â She can get quite spirited with her encouragement...
â "Well, if they don't like it, that's on them! They don't know something good when they see it." "I've learned that hard way that you can't please everyone. You might as well say what you have to now. They can get over themselves later."
â It's actually quite attractive to see her stand up for you, even if she was standing up for the possibility.
â Always keeping her words in your mind, you find yourself navigating through life easier and you only have her to thank.
WC: 1,705
#pastel-peach-writes#pastel peach writes#gender-neutral terms#gender neutral terms#lesbian#arcane fanfiction#vi fanfic#vi x reader#caitlyn x reader#caitlyn fanfic#caitlyn kiramman#vi#vi x you#caitlyn arcane#caitlyn x you#jinx x reader#jinx fanfic#jinx lol#jinx league of legends#jinx#sevika#arcane sevika#sevika x reader#sevika x you#mel x you#mel x reader#mel fanfic#arcane fanfic
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But Daddy I Love Him - Tyler Owens
Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem!reader
based on the song but daddy i love him by taylor swift
word count: 2,131
warnings: mentions of storm/tornado, like one swear word, also not edited at all lol
summary: Tyler Owens has a reputation around town for being reckless. People call him wild for going into storms the way he does. They think Y/N is just as, if not crazier, for falling for someone like him. Her father is no different than them, fearing his daughter may one day be hurt or even killed by Tyler's wild excursions. That is, until he has a change of heart when he does just the opposite.
a/n: it's been such a long time since i've wrote, especially x reader. over three years! shoutout to @bright-molina for letting me spout off fic ideas until i finally decided to actually sit down and write one. also, my knowledge of tornadoes is very very slim, so iâm not sure how accurate my portrayal is. i hope you all enjoy!
The adrenaline was coursing through her veins. The chase had gone well, and Tyler and his crew had been able to pull off their latest wild stunt with ease. As Y/N looked over to the driverâs seat of the truck, Tyler still had a huge smile plastered on his face. She could tell he felt the adrenaline as well. He always did, no matter how many chases he had gone on.Â
Y/N wished they could stay like this forever. But, as they turned into the downtown square of her hometown, she knew what awaited them. Eyes turned immediately to the truck as it made its way down the road. Tyler had a reputation in this town. Everyone knew what he did for a living, and they thought he was crazy for it. When they found out Y/N had fallen for him, they thought she was even crazier.Â
As they pulled into the long driveway of the farmhouse Y/N called home, a man was seated in a chair on the porch reading a book. Y/N sighed as she looked down at her fingers intertwined with Tylerâs. She knew what was to come when she got out of the truck. She knew her father didnât like Tyler, and he made sure to make it clear. When the truck reached the end of the driveway, Tyler got out and headed to the passenger door. He opened it and Y/N hopped out, fingers once again intertwined with his. She smiled as she reached up to plant a kiss on his cheek. He bent down to plant one on the top of her head, whispering, âSee you later, sweetheart.â Y/N dropped Tylerâs hand as she made her way to the porch. Tyler glanced over at Y/Nâs father who was still sitting on the porch, tipping his hat in his direction as he moved to get back in his truck. Y/Nâs father gave no response other than pursed lips.Â
Tyler pulled away as Y/N made it to the top of the steps. âHey, daddy,â Y/N said with a smile as she faced her father. He let out a sigh, setting his book on the porch table, âWhen are you going to let that boy go, huh?â Y/N pursed her lips. She sat down in the empty chair next to him, feeling defeated, âI really wish youâd give him a chance, daddy. Itâs been almost a year. Heâs not as bad as the town makes him out to be, really. If you just got to know him -âÂ
She was cut off by her fatherâs sharp reply, âI know all I need to know about him, Y/N. Come to your senses and see whatâs really going on. Heâs crazy with all these stunts.â Y/N smiled slightly. Everyone said the same thing. She tried again to get through to her father, âI know heâs crazy, but heâs the one I want. I just wish youâd just have one conversation with him, then youâd see he really isnât that bad.â Her father was not having this. He stood up angrily, âY/N, youâre going to get hurt, or worse. One of these days youâre going to go out on one of these chases,â he emphasized âchasesâ with air quotes, âand youâre not going to come home. I wish you could see just how dangerous this really is.â Y/N stood up to face him once again. The adrenaline from the chase was still running hot through her veins. Tears began to form in her eyes as she yelled, âDaddy, I love him! I wish you could see that!â As the tears began to fall, she made her way into the house and to her room, putting her fatherâs pleas behind her.
Tyler had a reputation around the town before the two had even met. Everyone knew of the infamous âTornado Wranglerâ and the crew that followed him around. Being from an area where storms were common, they made multiple appearances in local bars and motels to celebrate chases and rest up after them. That was how the two met. Y/N bumped into him - quite literally - as she was leaving a restaurant next door to a bar he and the crew were just entering. He invited her along for a drink, and the rest was history. When someone found out they were together, the news spread around the town like wildfire. No one could believe it. Y/N Y/L/N was a quiet, introverted local girl; Tyler Owens was chaos, he was revelry. The two were polar opposites, and according to this small town, that should never work. Whenever that red, overly-modified truck rolled into town there were whispers and stares, and they were only amplified when Y/N began appearing in the passenger seat. But the whispers couldnât be heard over the loving stares and the screeching tires of the truck.
The news of the storm scheduled to hit in a town about an hour away was plastered over every news station. They said it was supposed to be one of the biggest the town had seen in a decade. This just piqued the interest of Tyler and the crew. And, of course, Y/N wanted to tag along. She darted through the house, getting a small pack of supplies ready for the chase. It didnât take long for her father to catch on to what she was doing. He stood in front of her in an attempt to block her from packing any more, âY/N Y/L/N, donât tell me youâre seriously thinking of going out there.â Y/N huffed as she slipped through an opening between the man and the wall. âDaddy, Iâll be fine. You may not realize it, but Tyler wouldnât let anything happen to me. He wouldnât get us into anything he knew he couldnât get us out of.â Her father turned to face her once again, crossing his arms. âY/N, I just want whatâs best for you. Iâm tired of hearing about this boy and his stuntsâŠâ The girl tuned him out as she could hear the familiar purr of the engine pulling up the drive. She grinned and hoisted the bag she was packing up onto her shoulder, headed down the stairs. Her father, of course, followed her, voice becoming more frantic.Â
Y/N swung open the door, and there he was, the man she loved, standing at the bottom of the porch steps. He grinned back at her, once again tipping his hat at her father. âIâll take good care of her, sir,â Tyler said, hoping to ease the manâs mind. It, of course, did not. He once again tried to plead with his daughter, but began directing his anger toward Tyler when he realized she still wasnât listening. Tyler gave a subtle sigh, pursing his lips, as he extended his hand toward Y/N, who followed him to the truck. When the two were settled in, Tyler turned to Y/N, âYou ready, baby?â Y/N gave a grin, âFloor it, Ty.â And then they were off.
The news channels got one thing wrong, the storm was much worse than they had expected. The crew were only a couple miles outside the town they landed in when they realized it. They turned right around, they had to make sure they got everyone they could to safety. They split up when they got back, in order to cover as much ground as possible. Tyler would not let Y/N out of his sight; he promised her father heâd keep her safe, and he knew her father would never forgive him if anything happened to her. He wouldnât be able to forgive himself.
Tyler and Y/N had gotten everyone they could to safety, now it was time for them to get there themselves. They ran towards one of the shelters they had ushered people into. The closer they got, the more the wind picked up. Objects began to fly left and right. Tyler did everything he could to block them from Y/N, earning himself a few cuts and bruises. Finally, they made it to the shelter. Tyler helped Y/N in then climbed in himself, shutting and securing the doors behind him. Y/N was shaking as she lowered herself to the floor and took cover. Sure, she had been in storms herself, but nothing to this extent. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that would somehow make time go faster. Tyler, who had just taken cover next to her, reached out to try and give her some sort of comfort. He pulled her close, trying to give her more protection with his own body. They listened to the roaring sound, like a train was passing right above them. After what felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, the sound quieted down. It was over, they were safe. Tyler gave Y/Nâs shoulder a squeeze, planting a kiss on the top of her head. âYou can open your eyes now, sweetheart. Itâs done, itâs gone,â he whispered in her ear. Someone had already opened the shelter and light streamed in. Only a few buildings still stood, the rest diminished to a mass of rubble. Y/N and Tyler shared a glance before finding the rest of the crew and getting to work helping however they could.
Tyler and Y/N drove home nearly in silence. Y/N was still extremely shaken up, and Tyler knew that. He would try to make conversation here and there, but he knew Y/N was probably not in the headspace to make jokes. Halfway through the drive, Y/N spoke over the soft country music playing in the truck, âWhat are we going to tell my dad, Ty? You heard what he was saying before we left. Thereâs no way Iâm going to change his mind about you now.â Y/N had tried to call her dad numerous times, but was unable to pick up any service. Tyler sighed, reaching his hand out for her to grab, âIâm sure heâll understand, sweetheart.â As Y/N laced her fingers with his, he lifted their hands up to place a kiss on the back of hers.Â
Y/Nâs father had never once been happy to hear the roar of the engine of that truck pulling into his driveway. But today, he knew that only meant one thing, his baby girl was okay. He burst through the door just as Tyler had made his way to the passenger door to let Y/N out. The man ran down the porch, almost stumbling and falling, and wrapped his daughter in the biggest hug he had ever given her. There were tears forming in his eyes as he exclaimed how happy he was that Y/N had come back safe. She laughed a little bit as he let go, âHi, daddy.â Tyler was standing off to the side, wanting to give the two some space, but also preparing for what the man might say to him. He was well aware Y/Nâs father did not care for him much. Tyler saw Y/N gesture his way, and her fatherâs eyes found him, gesturing for him to come over. Tyler approached, ready for whatever may come from the man. To his surprise, however, the man reached a hand out for him to shake. Tyler shook his hand, relieved. Heâs once again caught off guard, however, as Y/Nâs father wraps him in a hug almost as big as the one he gave his daughter. He kept muttering thank yous as Tyler stood there, shocked and stiff as a board. Y/N giggled at the sight. But, hey, at least her father finally properly met Tyler.
A few weeks later, after Y/N had almost shaken off everything that had happened, she took Tyler and her father out to lunch. The sun was warm and beautiful, not a storm in sight. Turns out, just as she had thought, her father loved him as soon as he got to know him. The townsfolk looked at the three sitting on the restaurant patio, dumbfounded. Y/N looked at them and giggled, adjusting the strap of her dress that had started to fall slightly, âOh my God, they should see their faces!â Tyler and her father joined her in laughing, and Tyler reached for her hand. The two laced their fingers together. Tyler gave a glance at their audience and then back to Y/N, âFuck âem. Youâre my lady, and thatâs all we need.â He placed another kiss onto the top of her hand.Â
Y/N smiled back at him, âMe and my wild boy.â
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chocolate-coated hearts | r.l.
àšà§ series masterlist
barista!remus x shy!reader
summary: you go to a new cafe to order donuts for your friend, immediately enamoured with the barista
tw: nothing? reader takes literature as a major, also kind of has social anxiety
a/n: might make this a series! iâve got a few ideas <3
An anxious sigh escapes you as you stand idly outside the cafe, peering inside through the mosaicked windows. It was jam-packed, people pushing past each other and snake-like queues forming throughout the space. You wriggle your phone out of your coat pocket and glance at the message that your friend, Madison, had sent in a half hour ago.
hey gorgeous!! mind picking up a few donuts for me at Beanieâs before you come over? a few of the pbj ones, and some chocolate ones too. thanks xx
She was expecting, and you went by whenever you could to help her out after her asshole of a boyfriend left.
Normally, you wouldnât bother. You hated crowded places, and Beanieâs was the definition of crowded â an old-style cafe which had blown up overnight because of its scrumptious donuts and vintage aesthetic. But who were you to deny the cravings of the woman bearing your goddaughter?
You take a deep breath and push the creaky wooden door open, cringing at how the bell rang and signalled the whole cafe to your presence. But no one so much as looked up, busy trying to buy or sell food, or find a table.
You push your way through the sea of people, joining the queue in front of the counter. It was long, you noted, and would probably take another fifteen minutes or so until it was your turn to place an order. You fish out your crumpled book from your bag and turn it to the page you had stopped on yesterday. It was the second classic of the term â Pride and Prejudice. Taking literature as a major meant you spent more time reading than anything else, but you werenât complaining.
As you read, you scribbled down plot points to take note of and quotes which meant something worth writing about. Your eyes stayed glued to the page, trying to work out hidden meanings and flowery language. Once you were back home, youâd have to compile all your analysis onto that worksheet Professor Ragnarsson had given out, write the 10-page long review, and then â
âHey! Shut the damn book and order, will you?â
Your heart jumps in your chest at the sudden harsh tone. You close your book and whip your head around to see a middle-aged man glaring at you before peering down at his watch. âThereâs a long queue, and we donât have all day.â
The heat rushes to your cheeks as you open your mouth to apologise â but before you can say anything, you hear an oddly soothing voice from behind you. âHey, donât be a jerk. She didnât know the counter was open.â
You glance back towards the counter, and you swear your heart stopped beating for a second. Angelic was an understatement to describe the man standing in front of you, tall and lanky and absolutely fucking beautiful.
His chestnut brown hair perfectly framed his pale face, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance as he glanced at the rude customer behind you. There were pinkish scars tracing from above his eyebrows to right below his lips, but they looked golden under the orange light â he looked like some kind of heavenly being.
When his eyes dart back to you, his expression instantly softened, lips tilting upwards in a smile. You thought you would melt into a puddle right there and then just by gazing into his warm, honeyed eyes. âHi, gorgeous. What can I get you?â
You blink, your mouth involuntarily falling open slightly. Gorgeous? Was he talking to you? Maybe he was referring to the man behind you.
His smile widens, and that does absolutely nothing to calm the feeling of your heart bouncing around in your stomach. âItâs okay if you canât choose just yet, I know the number of options can beâŠâ he chuckles, âoverwhelming. Take all the time you need to decide.â
Oh my god, you thought. His laugh sounded musical, like the tender feeling of being enveloped in a warm embrace. Youâd put it on a record player and play it on loop for hours if you could.
âHurry the fuck up ââ
âOne more word from you and you wonât be getting your coffee today, buddy,â the godly-looking barista snapped in a slightly louder tone at the man behind you, face contorted in irritation.
You hear silent cursing behind you, a twinge of embarrassment turning you red. You quickly glance back up. âSorry, hi, hello. Iâll um⊠IâŠâ the words were on the tip of your tongue, but seemed to dissolve when he glanced at you with those agonisingly pretty eyes and kind smile.
Snap out of it, you internally curse as you open your mouth again. âIâll get three peanut butter-jelly donuts, and four chocolate donuts.â
âOkay. Which chocolate ones?â he asks, tapping his tongs against the display dome with stacks of donuts. There really were a lot of options â chocolate sprinkles, belgian chocolate, chocolate glazed, double chocolate â your mind seemed to freeze up for a second. Which one would Madison want?
You quickly look behind you, seeing the manâs face twisted up in what looked like rage. It seemed to be taking him all his willpower not to lash out at you, and the customers behind him didnât look much far off.
You turn back to the counter, eyes wide with panic as you feel the blood rush to your head. You had never been good at this; thinking and choosing on the spot. Thatâs why Subway was always a no-go for you, thatâs why Madison had specifically told you what to get her â just that she hadnât been specific enough. âI⊠Iâm not sure. I think, umâŠâ
âHey, take it easy,â you look back up to see Remus giving you a reassuring smile, a slight hint of concern on his face. Your despair must have been embarrassingly evident, then. âItâs alright if you canât choose. Do you want me to pick for you?â
You ought to have been humiliated, the way you immediately nodded and gave in to his offer. But he just gave you an easy smile and nodded, picking up one of each type and placing them in the box.
âThank you,â you mumble sheepishly as you move to the payment counter, fishing in your bag for a wad of notes.
âOf course,â he grins, and it was so bright you thought it could probably light up the whole cafe. âThatâll be $15.90.â
As he waits for you to pay, he takes a quick look down and begins to brush crumbs off his apron. You look up at the wrong moment, eyes immediately fixing on the curves of his biceps visible through his T-shirt, and his slender fingers.
He glances back up at you, catching a glimpse of your flustered look and instantly smirking. You look away abashedly, counting the money and handing it to him.
The brush of your fingers against his calloused palm sent a jolting shock through you as you quickly pull back, not missing the way his smile widened as he cashed the money into the register.
âThanks for visiting, sweetheart. Hope to see you again soon.â
You donât reply, afraid youâd crumble into a blushing, gooey mess. Flashing him a brief, nervous smile, you pick up the box of donuts before turning around and heading straight for the exit. Sweetheart.
You huff as you open the door and step outside, pulling out your phone to complain to Madison all about the stupidly handsome barista at her favourite cafe. God, he really knew what he was doing.
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I am not the asshole, and I think this whole thing is stupid, but I was promised that if I sent my side of things to this blog I could pick the hotel for our honeymoon, and I am marrying a man who once tried to take me BACKPACKING of all things, so this ask has become a necessity. In light of that:
AITA (I'm NOT) for planning the seating for our wedding in a logical way?
I got engaged in June, apparently in part because of my partner writing in to this blog (I don't know how to find or link to his posts, but I'm the man who got the cat to bite him, if that rings any bells?). At any rate, for the past ten weeks, I've been in the beginning stages of planning our wedding with my fiance, whom I have been secretly attempting to remove from the planning process as much as possible. I have ALREADY been given a list of his must-haves, and I AM incorporating as many of them as our budget allows. This has NOTHING to do with the emotional side of the event, and EVERYTHING to do with the fact that this is an idiot with no real planning experience or taste who thinks he knows more than me.
For the most part, this has worked very well. I'm the one who's been collating all the contact information for things, so I just replaced all the emails for the tacky companies with false addresses, responded to his inquiries as the companies to say the date was already booked or the price was outside our budget, and let him filter his way to the ones I DO like on his own. I also made a fuss about being "willing to compromise" on the few things he's picked I'm completely fine with in the hopes I can use it to make him compromise later, and have been humming portions of the songs I want on the playlist in the hopes he'll think he came up with the idea to include them himself.
None of this is the real problem. The PROBLEM is that he is deliberately ruining my seating chart, by moving our horrible friend's seat when I'm not looking.
The man in question dated both of us at one point in our VERY early 20s (both ended BADLY), is generally the messiest person we know, and will almost certainly get sloppy drunk and try to make a speech IF he does make an appearance. I'm banking on the fact that he won't, because he's also ridiculously wealthy, and will almost certainly send us some very lavish gift in lieu of coming.
He is SUPPOSED to be sitting beside my fiances aunt, at the same table as his grandmother, his work friend, and her girlfriend, because all four of these women are stone cold terrors who I believe are more than capable of keeping him in line on the slim chance he does come. My fiance INSISTS they won't be able to have any fun if they're running interference all night, and keeps moving him to sit at the head table instead. You know, where WE are. I finally caught him switching the label magnets on my planning board last night, and confronted him.
I tried leveraging how much I've been compromising already, that he's almost certainly going to RSVP no, and that I shouldn't have to deal with him on our big night. My fiance said he knew about all the fake emailing and such, and told me, and I QUOTE: "Look, the mind game shit was hot when it was just about the colour scheme or whatever, but I actually care about this. So you can suffer with everybody else, or you can do the normal thing and not invite a guy you hate to our wedding, you weirdo."
I said that if I did that, it would take out half his groomsmen, he called me an asshole and said I should go explain this to "literally any rational adult" so they could tell me I was in the wrong, and now here we are.
Would you recommend calling my fiance's bluff, since he doesn't want the man sitting near us either? Or should I focus on ensuring he'll turn down the invitation no matter what, so the matter of where he WON'T be sitting can be a moot point?
What are these acronyms?
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The update
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