#and than you cut to the “So how did you end up scoring this emerald tablet?” scene

[heliads]

lorenzo berkshire x reader? where it is just fluffy and both of them are hopeless romantics and the slytherin gang is getting annoyed with how much they are pining?

BTW LOVE YOUR WORKS!! SERIOUSLY YOU WORK SO INCREDILY HARD YOU DESERVE A LOT MORE THAN HEARTS ❤️❤️

'like nobody else' - lorenzo berkshire

masterlist

To be a Slytherin is to simultaneously want for everything and give up nothing. You wish for the top grades of your classes, but skive off studying to hang out with your friends. You desire glory, but ignore the burden of playing by everyone else’s rules. And, most pressingly of all, you want Lorenzo Berkshire to love you, but never want to say a word to him about it. 

It is the wanting, you think, that will finally do you in. You want Lorenzo more than you’ve wanted anything before. Every conquest before this, every clutch at a legacy, all fades to grey in the face of a boy like that. And what a face indeed– you’ve seen it smile at you, wink across a crowded room, whisper your name under a caught breath, and you never want to stop looking at it, at him. You have known Enzo since you were small. If all goes well, you’ll be with him until you’re old and grey, too.

The problem with Lorenzo is that he’s your friend. It would be easier if you had never known him at all, you think. If he was a stranger, you might never have fallen for him in the first place. You could have seen him walking down the street, admired him momentarily, and then been able to move on with your life. Once you met him, though, you couldn’t help but love him. You were trapped from the day he introduced himself.

If he was a stranger, even if you did love him at first sight, you wouldn’t have been afraid to lose him. You could have offered up a pickup line like Pansy or Astoria on any boy they thought halfway decent, knowing that the price of rejection would only be a lost opportunity with someone they didn’t care about. Your friends can laugh in the face of boys they would normally ignore, but you can’t pretend you don’t think about Lorenzo. That would be even more impossible than being able to give him up.

This, in the end, is what stops you from confessing your feelings. If Enzo liked you back, he would just smile at you like he does when you get a perfect score on a project you did together for school, or when you choose to walk next to him instead of anyone else in your emerald friend group. He would love you, and you would know it, and for once in your life, the thought of Enzo hooked on a girl wouldn’t cut you to the core because that lucky girl would be you.

If, however, Enzo didn’t feel the same, that would change everything, and make what had once been glorious a terrible thing indeed. Everyone says that you can ‘just be friends’ with someone even if a schoolgirl crush is one-sided, but they’re lying through their teeth. Lorenzo would slowly but surely drift away from you, and instead of running to him on bad days and long nights, your only comfort would be the ghost of the time when he used to trust you unconditionally.

Telling Enzo you loved him could destroy you. Lorenzo is your best friend, your favorite. He knows you better than anyone here, holds more of your secrets locked away in his chest than even the girls in your dorm. All of your secrets, that is, except one, the worst of them all:  even when Enzo offered you the best friendship in your life, you only ever wanted more. Call it a Slytherin’s fatal flaw, call it greed or ego or anything you please, but in the end, no amount of self reflection will save you from the fact that you have finally craved more than you could ever have.

Enzo may not know, but your friends apparently caught on a long time ago. They say it’s insane how he hasn’t picked up on it yet, then pause and look at you with these know-it-all stares. You’re aware that you’re rather hopeless, as Blaise put it one day after getting sick of you daydreaming about the boy you’ll never have instead of working on the Transfiguration essay the two of you were supposed to be completing together, but if you could cut off your feelings, you’d do it in a flash.

The only problem, of course, is that it’s impossible to get your heart unstuck from Enzo. He’s ridiculously charming, always offering you his coat or scarf whenever there’s even the slightest hint of snow, or just so happening to take you by the hand whenever he needs to show you something. He’s flirtatious, but never insufferable. Confident, but never cocky. He walks the fine line of being larger than life and coming off as far too much, and he does so perfectly. You’ve never met a boy like Lorenzo Berkshire before, and at this point, you doubt you ever will.

This does, unfortunately, tend to mess with your head more than a little. It’s one thing to dream of floppy dark hair pushed back to reveal a brilliant smile, or deep brown eyes that always search the crowd for you, but it’s another thing entirely to have to deal with all of his charm turned towards someone else. You’re not completely unrealistic, you know all too well that Lorenzo is perfectly capable of falling in love with any other girl at this school, you just can’t seem to convince yourself that such a thing would be okay.

For instance, just this morning at breakfast, you walked into the Great Hall with your friends to find Enzo already there, avidly talking up a girl from one of your classes. His eyes were alight with enthusiasm, and when she made him laugh with what was no doubt a terrible joke, your entire body felt consumed with desperate jealousy.

You must have lost track of what you were saying, because Pansy had followed your line of sight to see Enzo still locked in conversation with the girl. She had sighed dramatically, and turned to you with an exasperated expression that is slowly becoming quite familiar the more you vex her with your inability to get over your feelings. “Don’t tell me you’re lovesick again. Are you physically capable of going more than five minutes without thinking about Enzo?”

You feel your face heat up and swat her on the shoulder. “Feel free to say that any louder, maybe he’ll hear you.”

“Good,” Pansy mutters, “Maybe then the two of you could finally talk to each other about this.”

Theo swings by, grinning. “Are we making fun of Y/N for her crush on Enzo again? Good, let’s do it some more.”

You turn to him, eyes wide with surprise. “Theo, you insufferable git–”

Theo leans away when you try to swat him, too. “Don’t shoot the messenger! I’m just trying to help you two, I swear it.”

“You’re doing a right awful job of it,” you tell him, pushing closer to him so you can exact your vengeance.

“Hey, hey,” Theo complains, “Don’t hit me too hard now, your loverboy is looking.”

You whip back around to see that Theo is right, Enzo has gotten up from where he was sitting to walk over to your group. This time, though, he looks distinctly annoyed, and whatever good mood he was in while he was talking to the other girl has evaporated from his face. His eyes keep cutting between you and Theo in quick, curt movements, and his hands are tight at his sides.

You move away from Theo unconsciously, like you’ve been pulled into Enzo’s orbit. Lorenzo manages a weak smile to you, then allows Draco and Blaise to coax him into a discussion of the upcoming Slytherin Quidditch game. You’re left to stumble back to the Slytherin table with your friends, constantly glancing over your shoulder in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, he might look back at you even one more time.

Pansy and Theo take seats on either side of you, exchanging hopeless glances over your head. “At this rate, I don’t think they’re ever going to make it,” Theo says gloomily.

Pansy snorts. “Have some faith, Theo. A miracle might happen.”

A miracle would be lovely indeed. Forget turning water into wine or getting all of your end-of-term exams cancelled, you think your brightest hope for a miracle would be Enzo actually feeling even half as strongly about you as you do about him.

You end up floating through that day much as you do any other, zoning out in lecture to think about the boy seated just next to you. Although your little group of Slytherins tends to sprawl across the back rows of any classroom, Enzo always seems to pick the desk right next to you, no matter who he walked in with or what conversation he’s in the middle of entertaining. It’s like all thoughts of sports or other friends go right out of his head the second he gets the chance to sit by your side.

By the time the last class of the day rolls around, you feel just about ready to give in. Whoever scheduled History of Magic in the late afternoon was absolutely insane. In the dark room, lights dim and windows half shuttered, the overwhelming urge to sleep presses in on you, unavoidable and all too compelling. You try to pay attention, really you do, but the material is so dry and Binns is so boring that closing your eyes even just for a few seconds is far too tempting.

The only thing keeping you from passing out is the uncomfortable desk in front of you. You’d think that decades of students falling asleep in this class would have worn down the surface at least a little bit, but the hard edges of the desk keep poking into you, keeping you from relaxing completely.

Enzo laughs quietly after you rearrange yourself for what feels like the hundredth time that class period. “Trouble falling asleep? I thought Binns would have knocked you out half an hour ago.”

“I’m almost asleep, I just can’t get comfortable,” you complain. “This desk is harder than a rock.”

He grins, then shuffles closer to you. Both of you share one long table meant for two students, so Enzo isn’t barred off from you by individual desks. Sitting together on one bench as you are, Enzo can reach out and pull you against his side. “You can fall asleep on me,” he says, “I’d like to think I’m much more comfortable than a desk.”

You giggle faintly. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” he tells you. “One of us should be able to get some rest, at least. I’ll wake you when it’s over, don’t worry.”

“Never,” you assure him, but already sleep is coming to claim you. Leaning against him, your head tucked against his shoulder, the last barriers to your slumber have been removed. You can just sense his arm curling around your waist, keeping you close, and then you’re asleep at last.

It feels as if no time at all has passed before Enzo is gently shaking you awake at the end of class. “Sleep well?” He asks, grinning.

You sit up slowly, absentmindedly rubbing one hand against the side of your tired face. “Very.”

Enzo smiles, then adjusts your tie, which has become slightly lopsided during your slumber. “You still look tired. It’s cute,” he tells you, then freezes slightly, as if he hadn’t meant to give that little detail away.

You arch a brow. “You think I’m cute, Enzo?”

“Very,” he admits. “Cuter still when you’re cuddled up beside me. You’ll have to do it again soon, I’m afraid.”

You laugh. “I think I can arrange that. Only if you call me cute again, though.”

Enzo’s smile broadens. “Sweetheart, I’ll tell you’re pretty and gorgeous and anything else you want to hear. It’s all true, anyway. Oh, and to answer your question, I feel the same way.”

You frown as you reach down to grab your bag, ready to leave this class at last for something a bit more exhilarating. “Huh? What question did I ask?”

Enzo winks as he helps you pick up your books. “You might want to be a little more careful what you whisper when you sleep. And if I wasn’t totally clear, I like you too.”

You stand stock-still. Of all the things to admit when you’re asleep on Enzo’s shoulder– but from the way he’s still smiling at you, you realize at last that he doesn’t mind it, not at all. In fact, judging by his little confession just moments ago, Enzo actually likes you back. It’s not something you had allowed yourself to fully contemplate before, but maybe you should reconsider. After all, the two of you have kept your feelings secret for long enough. You certainly have a lot of missed opportunities to catch up on now.

harry potter tag list: @rogueanschel, @cameronsails, @neewtmas, @lovesanimals0000, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @eclliipsed, @frenchgirlinlondon, @23victoria, @ilovexavierthrope

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[etruatcaelum]

All said and done. Of course. Just keep moving forward, isn’t that the way? Prepare another guardian. Come crawling back out of the charnel house again. Try to save everyone—try to save who they can—try to save anyone at all. Words mean nothing and no one wants to hear them anyway; so shut up, and fall on this sword again. They should know better by now. How do we save Vacuo now?

We don’t. We can’t. The answer is that the inevitable cannot be delayed forever and this hopeless last gasp of defiance is a bleak formality: the truth is that Ozma is scraping the bottom of their willingness to even care. They want to be done.

“There won’t be a score to settle once all is said and done,” they snap: “There won’t be anything left. Our adversary is a woman who cannot die and will not be turned aside; it is never going to end until it ends in victory for her. Even if by some miracle we defeat her now—”

Bitterness poisons the words. They whirl around, lashing out blind to split Oscar’s knuckles on the doorframe. Their aura flickers over the broken skin and welling blood like an emerald corposant: they have been a sailor before, in better lives. The ocean calls to them still. The abyss left its indelible marks upon their soul just as she did.

Ozma clasps the boy’s hands behind his back and looks up, breathing hard. “I sealed those relics in vaults I could not open for a reason.”

It never ends. It never stops.

Their fate is a circle that only she can break, and then only by sacrifice of the whole world for the thinnest chance that the gods might discover mercy at last and suffer both her and them to finally rest. Desperation has a way of eating the heart alive: the darkness she knows also sleeps in them.

“…Sorry,” they whisper. “I’ll—get over myself eventually. I always do. She just–” They used to be better; they used to be better. Ozma takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry. After the portals collapsed, we—well. I worried.” A beat. Weakly: “Best laid plans. She came to Atlas to deal with me. Because I returned quicker than she anticipated. She–” Bleak laughter wrenches out of them, cut with hysteria. “Would you like to hear a joke? I told her there is no plan and I think she was actually disappointed in me.”

alive does not meant alright does not mean living rides a train of thought still derailed and repairing in qrow's mind, but another tie sinks itself deep into his soul at Oz's immediate response. palms tense, too, and shoulders lift again, but only to remove the allergen of his touch and allow that space. he knows that fitful face too well from the mirror.

now who's overstepping and too ignorant of what the other has been through and who they are now?

praise sounds more like sarcasm, and probably for the fact that he'd rather hear the finally of it from Summer's voice, but she's still not here (and was there ever an apology for that either?), so all he gets is Oz's best. which - too mirrored now to opposite reflection - sounds hollow of that very optimism the man used to give.

"yeah, well," the grit of Vacuo sand covers qrow's voice - a whetstone to the weapon forged by the tribe and sharpened by Oz, but straw from within softens the blow. he lets more of it poke through seams of cotton and figurative flannel these days. he busies his hands instead with tracing gaps between bricks in the wall as his red beryl gaze travels back out the window again. all he can give is his own still-slogging best, too. both parties yet clawing up the walls to escape self-made prisons within their souls, "...i'd rather no sayin' sorry 'til it's all said an' done. can't exactly settle th' score when th' ante's still goin'."

the war's still on. the wounds still bleed. platitudes place like a mere band-aid atop an amputation.

qrow offers a feather's-width away from full acceptance, yet neither the angry force pushing back and away from responsibility so desired. but hey, at least Oz can knock one person off that list of his concerns, because qrow won't be looking to him for absolute advice anymore. turning away from Oscar's body pulling back makes the rift between them palpable, a perfect picture of the split qrow just attempted to suture over.

neither hold strong enough yet.

Oz's not alright and qrow can't say it's fine.

"...better t' say nothin' but make it all mean somethin'."

Robyn and her huntresses rally refugees and resources outside. something about knowing there's another honest soul around does help him feel better in the overwhelming bleakness of it all. if Oz wants a real conversation with his friend before the full merge, he's going to have to put in some work; not treat this like some sort of distant formality over a termination agreement, then run off behind the curtains for another indefinite.

"...anythin' else y' wanted?" it may not be the second chance Oz looks for, but it's the one he gets. qrow turns to open up towards the man/child again, head and hopes betraying him as ever, still a fool with too much weakness wetting his eyes. ...or have i always been just another box to check to you?

[almosttenaciousmoon]

That emerald tablet scene was the moment I started to ship drukarri

[ragingbookdragon]

All The Small Things...That Show How Incredibly Pissed She Is

Batboys x Reader HC/Imagine

Word Count: 1.2K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: Here's some humor for y'all at the end of the semester. Enjoy! -Thorne

Dick:

Dick wasn’t a fool. He might seem like that to some people, certainly anal-retentive supervillains and seasoned superheroes who weren’t particularly impressed by him, but even if he paraded a bit of thick-headedness (Batman’s influence) every now and then, Dick wasn’t a fool. And he sure as hell realized when she was angry at him.

Well, angry wasn’t the particular word. She wasn’t angry, and honestly, in the entire year they’d been dating, he’d yet to see what would even made her fume. But sure as shit, if she didn’t get annoyed at things, and right now, he knew it was at him. And really, the only reason he did realize it was because she didn’t stick a note in the thigh pocket of his suit before he left on patrol.

It was something foolish, she’d said when he came home and asked her about it the first time she did it. A simple little folded paper, the same kind that hung on their refrigerator for the grocery list. All it had said was, “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee—good luck out there, Dickie!”. When he found it, he about busted himself at the seams from laughing so hard, but at the same time, he found it endearing that she had left it for him to find. That had been on a Friday night and every day of the week leading up to it, she put a piece of candy in his pocket, saving Fridays for the little notes. And this Friday he didn’t find a note—he knew she wouldn’t forget, and that was all the clue he needed that she wasn’t happy about something.

And so, to remedy it, he picked up a bottle of red wine and a dozen red roses—sue him he’s a romantic—ready to do whatever she wanted to fix what he’d messed up.

Jason:

He didn’t hate the color pink, but he didn’t wear it unless it was a particular occasion, or unless the shirt he liked was pink. Most of Jason’s outwear wardrobe consisted of black and blue jeans, dark and white shirts, combat boots, and leather jackets. His outfits screamed, “I’m the epitome of ‘Bad-Boy’.” And most of his leather jackets were dark, so he typically wore white or light gray shirts, so it didn’t blend.

They shared chores in the house—he cooked most nights, and she did laundry; they both cleaned the apartment. Jason looked in the dryer for a white shirt because it was white’s day the night before and found a whole load of white shirts that’d been dyed pink. Of course, at first, he thought it perhaps an innocent mistake, but when he pulled the load out and found a single red sock, Jason knew he was in the doghouse.

He pulled on a baby pink shirt and grimaced at how tight it felt on his body—so she was really mad because she must’ve washed these in hot water because they’d shrunk two sizes. The thought of asking what she was mad about crossed his mind, but he figured he’d be better off figuring it out on his own and fixing it rather than having her tell him.

Jason was a grown man; he could figure it out himself—the only bad thing was that Jason, in all his glory, was still a man—and boy did he have trouble telling what his lady was mad about sometimes. Ice-cream, he figured. Dutch Chocolate Ice-cream and bourbon was her go to when she was upset—hopefully, she wouldn’t throw his underwear in the wash before he got back from the store.

Tim:

He’d long grown used to being stared at, considering the fact that when he was a young child, and an academic prodigy at that, people liked to examine him like he was a lab rat. So, at first, her way of communicating that she wasn’t pleased with his course didn’t occur to him. Of course, when he finally turned his attention from his laptop screen and caught her cocked eyebrow and unimpressed look, Tim couldn’t stop the flush of crimson that split over the bridge of his nose as he babbled an apology.

She usually responded with a grunt of recognition, but it was anything but amused or interested. And he’d flash that dopey grin and kiss her knuckles until her eyes filled with humor rather than annoyance. And then he’d go back to his laptop and the process would start all over again when he finally realized she was boring holes in the side of his head.

The only time she wanted to prove she was mad at him was when she’d pull out her phone and do those stupid, “Which Member Of The Batfamily Are You?” and she’d do everything in her power to not get “Red Robin”, typically getting “Red Hood” because she knew it’d make his jealously bubble in his chest.

And then Tim would slam his laptop shut and toss her phone off the bed with it and yank her down onto his bed, coiling his arms and legs around her like a cage, while she giggled relentlessly and teased him about being “green with envy”.

So really, while it usually started with her being mad, it became a “How Much Can We Annoy The Other Before We Blow?” game—she was winning so far…much to his dismay…and love.

Bruce:

His wife was outspoken and independent, not ever once requiring help with any task. If she couldn’t figure it out herself, she’d cut her own foot off before asking him to do it for her, because she knew he took that little pride in doing what she couldn’t. Their marriage was built on a foundation of love, for each other, and for their family. But that third peg was absolutely competition, and by God they were gonna prove who was the winner before they both died of old age.

So, whenever she got mad at him for anything, it would be obvious that she would announce it—but oh no, see, when she got mad, she was passive aggressive about it and she waited for Batman to figure it out. And she typically showed her annoyance through clothing.

Her favorite way to piss Bruce off was to wear an emerald green t-shirt around the house that said, “My favorite superheroes wear green!” and the stupid graphic tee had Green Lantern and Green Arrow symbols all over it. And that sadisti—lovely witch did everything in her power to make him look at it—at her.

And Bruce knew her plan of showing her irritation was working because that maddeni—gorgeous smirk always crossed her lips when he glared—stared at her. He still didn’t know what she was mad about though. Her purpose only served to show she was upset with him—so much for the World’s Greatest Detective.

Unfortunately, Bruce knew the only way to appease her would be to submit to her the entire night and let her know that she was now in the lead for their competition. Darn…and he’d just leveled the score too, and now she was one ahead…again.

[justanotherteentitansblog]

Bbrae Week Day 3 Into the Woods

There are giants in the sky! There are big tall terrible giants in the sky! 

The changeling had his nose buried in the score as he attempted to read the music in front of him. ‘Funny’ Raven thought, ‘I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen him reading something other than a comic book’ 

When you’re way up high and you look below at the world you’ve left and the things you’ve known, little more than a glance is enough to show you just how small you are! 

Raven hated admitting it to herself but dear god she loved his singing voice. He had this sexy tenor that was like honey to the ears. She could listen to him sing for hours and never get bored. Her favorite music was anything he sang, but she’d rather die than ever let him in on that. 

When you’re way up and you’re on your own 

In a world like none that you’ve ever known

Where the sky is lead and the earth is stone 

You’re free to do whatever pleases you

Exploring things you’ve never dared 

Cause you don’t care when suddenly there’s a big tall terrible giant at the door. 

Stupid Robin and this stupid theater that’s closing down. If Robin hadn’t made such a huge deal out of trying to save the theater Raven would never be in this mess. 

A big tall terrible lady giant sweeping the floor 

Raven was just glad she could keep her cloak on for the role at least for most of the first act, she didn’t know if she was ready to face an audience without it. 

And she gives you food and she gives you rest and she draws you close to her giant breast and you know things now that you never knew before 

A Teen Titans production of the show, into the woods. Super. Raven didn’t even know she could sing up until auditions. She had never really tried before and once she did, she kind of blew everyone away, herself included. 

Not til the sky

“Ok good work, you’ve obviously been practicing but next time hold out sky for a little longer, you’re cutting it short and you should be taking a big enough breath after before to be able to sustain that.” The music director, Dan, reminded Garfield. 

“Thanks dude! I’ll work on it!” 

“I know you will, that’s why I don’t hate you,” Dan nodded. 

Raven liked Dan, he didn’t pussyfoot around. 

Dan turned on the piano bench to face Raven motioning her to come forward with his fingers. 

Nevermind, she actually hated Dan. 

She sighed and slumped her shoulders trudging to the piano like a child being sent to timeout. She threw her hood over her face to hide the blush coloring her cheeks before Dan interrupted. 

“Your character doesn’t have their hood on at this part of the show!” 

‘Fuck you Dan’ Raven thought pulling her hood down. 

“Ok top of measure 55, here is your starting note and…..go” 

Careful the things you say

Children will listen 

Careful the things you do children will see

Gar regarded Raven’s tense form. She was nervous, and she didn’t want to make a fool out of herself in front of an audience. 

And Learn

Too bad she had probably the biggest role in the whole damn show, The witch. 

Children may not obey

But children will listen

The role really was very fitting for her. Maybe not the rap about produce but everything else about the role was very...Raven. 

Children will look to you for which way to turn

To learn what to be

If only someone could just show her how to relax into a character and just be natural in it, then it wouldn’t be so painful for her. 

Careful before you say, Listen to me

Wait! He was someone! He could definitely show her how to get into character, and you know a little extra alone time with her wouldn’t be such a terrible thing now would it? 

Children will listen….

Dan turned to Raven, “How do you think that went?” 

“Well I was pitchy on measure 75 and I think I got off tempo towards the end, also my voice cracked at measu-” 

Dan raised his hand to silence the girl, “No, you’re singing was perfect, the real issue is that you need to relax. You know what you’re doing so just let yourself do it without judgement.” 

Raven glowered at the music director, “Easier said than done, Dan.” 

After rehearsal, Raven gathered her things in her bag and was headed towards the stage door when a familiar voice called out. 

“Hey, wait, Raven!” 

“What do you want, Gar?” 

“I think I know how to help you with your stage fright, that is if you want my help.” 

Raven breathed a sigh of relief, “You don’t know how much I would love that, thank you” 

Gar chuckled, “Well you’re gonna love the means of how we’re gonna do it even more.” 

Raven was amused, “Oh?” 

“Yep, I’m gonna show you how to meditate like an actor.” 

Later in Raven’s room she had sat on her floor cross legged waiting for instructions from her teammate. 

“Ok start with deep breaths in and out. In….Out….In” 

Raven smiled despite herself, for him to give her instruction on deep breathing when she meditated everyday, it was almost laughable, but she complied. 

He guided her through a simple grounding exercise and once she was fully grounded he began speaking again, “Now I want you to imagine you’re in a cottage in a forest…” 

Ah, so this was a guided meditation, this she could handle easily. 

“Now this is your cottage and your home, understand? Around your cottage is a huge garden, full of beautiful greenery. Can you see it?” 

“Yes” 

“Spend a few moments admiring your garden, truly soak it in.” 

She did as instructed. 

“Now I want you to imagine you hear a sound somewhere in the garden, I want you to move towards the sound.” 

Raven found herself wandering a maze of vegetation in her mind’s eye until she found the source of the sound. A man in her garden. Not just any man but her neighbor stealing her vegetables! She tended that garden with every fiber of her being and the fact that someone she said hello to every morning was stealing from her, it felt violating. She was furious, she could’ve laid a spell on him right there! She could’ve turned him into stone, or a dog, or a chair…

Raven popped an eye open realizing what was happening, “Is this guided meditation based on the witch’s story in the show?” 

“Yes, now get back into it!” 

Raven shut her eyes and let her mind sink back into the story. 

Her neighbor was begging for forgiveness but she knew it would happen again if she didn’t do something to keep him away. She had been lonely and barren all her life and having always wanted a child of her own, she was envious of the baker’s pregnant wife. She offered the baker a second chance at life for the baby growing in his wife’s womb. The baker reluctantly agreed before climbing over the garden wall, but as soon as he had left the sanctity of her walls...BANG FLASH, LIGHTNING CRASH! She watched as her hands shrunk and withered into the hands of an old crone. Raven ran to a small stream that ran through her garden to look at her reflection and much to her horror and dismay a 90 year old woman’s face stared back. 

Raven sat up and screamed out of the meditation jolting Beast Boy backwards. 

“Raven, are you ok?”

“Meditation is supposed to relax you Gar, not send you horrific images.” 

“Yeah sure but...how do you feel about the baker now?” 

Raven’s eyes glowed red at the mention of the name. “Oh I don’t care what it takes, I’m getting my face back and somehow making him pay for it in the process!” 

Raven paused, confused at her own words, “What was that?” 

“That was you finally being in character.” Gar smiled up at his friend. 

“Ok but you said that you were going to help me with stage fright, not character development.” 

“I did, Rae. Now when you go on stage, you’re not going to be thinking about the audience, you’re going to be thinking about what a rat bastard that baker is and how you’re going to make him pay. You’re going to think about how everyone sees you as the bad guy because you’re the witch when really you’re the victim in the show. You’re going to think about how much you love Rapunzel and you’re not ready for her to grow up yet. All the characters on stage, they’re not in front of an audience they’re just living their lives, it’s our jobs as the actors to give a venue to tell their stories.” 

Raven was floored, since when did he get so...wise? 

“That was a very impressive speech, Garfield.” 

“Yeah well, you know, can’t be stupid all the time,” he shrugged. 

“A slotted spoon can catch the potato..” 

“See? Now you’re in the spirit of the show.” 

Color flooded Raven’s face as she stood to meet her friend at the door. 

“Thank you Gar, I don’t know what I would’ve done without your help.” she leaned up and planted a kiss on his cheek. 

Gar’s emerald skin met red as he flushed at the contact, “Uh, wait. What? Did you just?” 

“Best to take the moment present, as a present for the moment” she said, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him in for another kiss. 

[omgrachwrites]

Tell a Tale of You and Me - Chapter Five

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: You knew that  making a bet with Sirius Black was like making a deal with the devil  but you just couldn’t help yourself. You had never been a heavenly  woman.

Warnings: fluff, soft angst, denial of feelings, pining

Words: 2189

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this part! Also, I’ve literally just realised that I’ve passed 300 followers so thank you guys so so much! Let me know what you think and let me know if you would like to be tagged! I love you all xxx

Chapter Five

You rolled your eyes at Lily with a lazy smirk as the both of you waited for the boys to stop stuffing their faces in The Great Hall. Right about now they would most likely be stuffing their pockets full of snacks to have in Transfiguration that afternoon, they’d probably get detention for eating their snacks. Again. Finally, the boys came traipsing out of The Great Hall as if they had all the time in the world. Sirius was scoffing a vanilla cupcake.

“Bloody finally guys,” you giggled as you and your friends walked down the crowded corridors, “Merlin, how many snacks have you got in there?” you asked, gesturing at their bulging robes.

“Want one Y/N?” Sirius asked innocently around a mouthful of cake, you smirked at him before gathering up some vanilla buttercream on your finger before sucking it off, keeping your eyes on Sirius the whole time. He watched, his cheeks deepening to a bright red flush and he made a funny strangled noise in the back of his throat.

Giggling, you punched him in the arm and hung back, fully intending on speaking to Lily. However, before you could get a word out you found yourself face to face with a group of Slytherin girls who were all staring at you.

“Good morning ladies,” Sirius smirked as he walked past them while Remus looked back with a faint blush on his scarred face.

“Run along, Evans, we need to talk to Y/L/N alone,” the tallest one sneered.

Lily looked at you, chewing her lip, she had a worried expression on her face, “I’ll be fine Lil, really can you just tell McGonagall that I’m hung up?” you asked with a brave smile, though you really did feel nervous. Lily nodded before reluctantly walking down the corridor.

You turned back to the Slytherins, your hand gripping the wand in your pocket in case you needed it. You noticed that all of the girls were very pretty. Though, one girl was at the back of the group, she looked very bored to be here.

“You think you’re pretty smart don’t you Y/L/N?” the tallest one snarled again, she was presumably the leader, “you’ve ruined our last year at Hogwarts.”

“Excuse me?” you laughed as you tightened your grip on your wand, “I honestly have got no idea what you’re going on about.”

“This stupid bet that you’ve got going on with Sirius is what we’re on about,” another girl piped up, her brown eyes flashing menacingly, “you want him all to yourself don’t you?”

You seriously couldn’t believe that you were having this conversation right now, if you weren’t so confused it would actually be really amusing, “oh no, you see,” you giggled, “you’ve got the wrong end of the stick entirely. This whole bet thing is just a bit of fun,” and it was but you knew that Sirius was stubborn and he couldn’t resist a challenge.

“Still, I tried to come onto him the other day and he rejected me, he’s never done that before,” the leader said with a note of hurt in her voice, “there’s only one reason why he would do that and it’s not because of some stupid bet. He’s in love with you, haven’t you seen the way he looks at you when he thinks that no one else sees?”

That had to be the funniest thing that you’d heard all year. Surely you would know if one of your best friends was in love with you, wouldn’t you? You sighed as you rolled your eyes, you shouldn’t have had to explain yourself but you did anyway.

“Sirius is not in love with me, I don’t even know if he can love anybody, we’re just friends. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to class,” you shook your head, feeling completely bewildered at the conversation.

“You’d better watch your back Y/L/N, especially at the Quidditch match tomorrow,” one of them called after you.

Thankfully, you arrived at Transfiguration only a couple of minutes late, McGonagall looked at you sternly, her thin lips were pursed but she didn’t say anything. Sirius smirked at you as you sat down next to Lily. McGonagall announced that they were going to be starting human transfiguration, beginning with changing their hair colour. The class murmured with great interest as McGonagall taught them the incantation and the correct wand movement.

Your spirits were not dampened despite the fact that you – and the rest of the class – were only able to change the length of your hair, rather than the colour. You giggled as Lily’s hair was now a pixie cut, “hey, that really suits you.”

“Thanks Rapunzel,” she grinned at you. Your hair now reached the floor, you didn’t know what to do with so much hair but you kind of liked it.

Just as you were about to get to work on changing your hair back to its original state, you heard a couple of girlish giggles a few desks over from you. You gazed over to the other side of the classroom to see what all the commotion was about and your breath got stuck in your throat. Sirius was cockily smirking at his reflection in the hand mirror that he was holding and he was running his fingers through his hair. It was quite a lot shorter and it was more tousled than it usually was.

The surrounding gaggle of girls were all gazing at him adoringly, causing you to roll your eyes, he never missed a chance to show off. Almost as if he could feel your eyes on him, he turned to face you and winked, it was stupidly unfair how he looked even more handsome with the short fluffy hair he was currently sporting.

“Like what you see Y/N? Are you finally ready to admit that you fancy me?” he smirked, resting his hand on his chin as he stared at you.

“Mr Black,” McGonagall began in a warning voice.

You ignored McGonagall, scoffing at Sirius’ words, “pur-lease, me have a crush on you? No way.”

At your words, the group of girls gasped, Remus and Peter snorted while James just looked uncomfortable. Sirius laughed it off and if you hadn’t turned away you would have seen the pained look that flashed across his face. McGonagall sighed as she looked at you both, unbeknownst to you and Sirius; she had an ongoing bet with Slughorn on when you would finally get together. They’d first made the bet in your 5th year.

Later on that evening, you and Lily were sitting in front of the roaring common room fire as you told her about the Slytherin girl’s ambushing you.

“So, let me get this straight, they had a problem with you because they think that Sirius has a thing for you?” she recited and you nodded.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much the gist of it.”

Lily’s emerald eyes scanned your face, “well, maybe they have a point Y/N,” she held up her hands in mock defence as you glared at her, you couldn’t believe that she was taking their side, “just hear me out, okay? He’s been pouting all afternoon because of what you said in Transfiguration,” her voice lowered as the boys came to join you; she smiled as James kissed her.

Sirius sat in the armchair opposite you, it was true enough that he’d been in a mood all afternoon but it wasn’t your fault, not when he could have any girl he wanted.

“Lighten up Sirius, are you seriously in a mood because I told you that I don’t have a crush on you?” you wanted to make light of the situation, it would certainly make you feel better, “I thought your ego needed a bit of deflating,” you giggled.

“This has got nothing to do with my ego,” he muttered, staring into the fire, “but don’t worry, I’m just being silly,” he shot you a smile that didn’t quite reach those pretty eyes.

You sighed as guilt swirled around in your stomach.

-------------------------------------

The following day, the morning of the first Quidditch game, Sirius was walking down to breakfast on his own, he had woken up late to find that his friends had gone down to breakfast without him. He didn’t realise that he had fake friends. Sirius was so hungry; he was craving something with chocolate or an extremely sugary cereal.

On the way down to breakfast, he ran into something twice as sweet, Y/N. He felt a funny fluttering feeling in his stomach as she smiled at him prettily, though he blamed it on the fact that he was so hungry.

“Hi Y/N,” he grinned and noticed that she was carrying a covered tray, “how are you feeling?”

She grimaced, it didn’t look like she was feeling too good, “nervous, I’ve been up for hours,” she laughed weakly as she chewed on her lip, “these are for you by the way,” she blushed as she uncovered the tray to reveal the most delicious looking chocolate brownies that Sirius had ever seen, “I made them this morning to say thank you for helping me get onto the team.”

Sirius chuckled nervously, running a hand through his hair as he took the tray from her, “you really didn’t need to do that but thank you so much,” he blushed, it was an incredibly sweet gesture, “and hey, you were an absolute pleasure to teach,” he smirked. She rolled her eyes but still leaned up to plant a kiss on his warm red cheek anyway.

At breakfast, Sirius helped Lily and Remus finish off the banner that they had created for the match; Remus had drawn a picture of a lion devouring a snake. Remus also stole Sirius’ brownies, pretending not to notice the way that Sirius was glaring at him.

“I’m not hungry James, please I know you mean well but can you stop it? It feels like I’m going to be sick,” Y/N mumbled with her head in her hands. James sighed sympathetically as he rubbed her back. Even though Sirius knew that Y/N couldn’t see him, he smiled at her. No matter what the score came out as, he knew that she would be great.

It seemed like all too soon for before they were walking down to the pitch, Y/N had a sickly tinge to her skin and she wasn’t talking to anybody. Sirius smiled at her before going to sit in the stands with the others, “don’t worry, Y/N. You’re gonna be so great, I know it,” she smiled weakly at him, giving him a quick hug before she followed James into the changing rooms.

“Oh, could you get any more obvious? It’s revolting,” Regulus smirked as he stalked past his older brother. Sirius scoffed, he didn’t know what Regulus was talking about because it was Regulus who had a schoolboy crush on Y/N. He pulled a tongue at the back of Regulus’ head before running to catch up with Remus, Lily and Peter.

The atmosphere was electric as the long awaited Quidditch players finally flew onto the pitch, there were far more cheers than boos. Everybody, well almost everybody wanted to see Gryffindor win the first match of the season, a win would give Sirius and his friends another reason to celebrate at the Halloween feast and Hogsmeade the following day.

Sirius couldn’t see Y/N properly but he could tell that she was smiling; he imagined that her eyes were alight with excitement. He knew that she was completely comfortable now she was up in the air. The game was very exciting, even to begin with, in the first few minutes James scored an amazing goal.

Lily was so happy as she screamed, “that’s my boyfriend!” Sirius just knew that she would be rewarding James for that later on.

Halfway through the game, the crowd gasped in shock as a Slytherin beater aimed a bludger at a Gryffindor chaser, causing him to drop the Quaffle. The Gryffindor’s nose exploded but he soldiered on, refusing to let James call time out. Y/N was certainly pulling out the impressive moves as she looped and swerved, in search of the snitch. Sirius hated to think it but Y/N had her work cut out for her, Regulus was also an excellent seeker.

The young man gasped his heart in his mouth as Regulus and Y/N very nearly collided in the air, he shouted out his admiration, feeling extremely proud when Y/N expertly swerved to avoid Regulus. It was a very close match, Slytherin was leading by fifty points, Sirius was silently praying for Y/N to catch the snitch soon.

After ten more extremely tense minutes, Y/N’s nimble fingers closed around the tiny struggling ball. Sirius whooped and cheered along with Remus and Peter when he realised that Gryffindor had won while Lily sobbed on his shoulder. He looked up and grinned when he saw James and Y/N celebrating with their team, Y/N looked so young and beautiful as she hugged James. Sirius knew that she would always stay that way, for as long as she lived.

------------------------------------- 

@approved-by-dentists @thefuturelawyer @a-miserable-hufflepunk @firelordmillie @seriouslysiriuss @sleep-i-ness @play-morezeppelin​ @pregnant-piggy @sleepingalaska @smiithys @blisfvll​ @rexorangecouny​

[saki-chan16]

Empty Bottles - Chapter 1 (the rest)

Here's the rest of chapter 1 of Empty Bottles! I hope you enjoy ~

CW: Self-harm implications, parental abuse, anxiety

Pale green eyes stare at a form she doesn’t recognize.

Papa was angrier than usual.

The night prior, Sakura had been subjected to a punishment because of her low physical exam scores. When she had gotten the sheet from Iruka-sensei and saw the number, her face paled. Sakura knew what her parents were going to say. She knew they wouldn’t be happy. She knew she would be punished.

It didn’t stop her from going home.

Sakura had been correct; she had been treated to a vicious punishment. Her Papa made sure to cover her stomach and back in crimson, plum, and coal. The cuts were deep enough to need bandages, but not stitches. Last night, her Papa drew lightning into her. He made sure to stomp, punch, and wale first though – a ‘prep for what’s to come’ as he would say.

Her thin fingers trail the marks on her stomach. A faint apple glow coating her fingers as she went. They closed the wounds while leaving raised pink in their wake, a twisted sort of road map. Sakura looks up and catches her pale eyes once more, unsure of who is looking back at her.

The dull pink strands cling to her person like a second skin. Her parents won’t buy her real shampoo and conditioner, they give her a strawberry scented dog two-in-one because it’s “cheaper” and they don’t want to spend the extra cash.

Her once hopeful and lively eyes are the equivalent of a corpse now. From a bright apple to a dull emerald, they don’t shine anymore.

Her pale skin is a reminder that she doesn’t get to be outside like other kids her age. When other students leave for the day and run around the park or their homes, Sakura is sequestered into her home and held captive. The place she should want to return to is her own hell.

Sakura can almost forgive the stranger in the mirror. She can tell the stranger is surviving, and she was proud of that survival until today. Besides her usual badges of honor, Sakura looks at her betrayal. They are leaking slowly, drops of scarlet falling to the tile below. Her lines are precise, careful. One for each year of her captivity.

“Happy 12th Birthday to me.”

. . & . .

By the time Sakura graduates the academy, she and Iruka are aggravated.

Iruka has spent the last two years trying to figure out his student to the best of his ability. It became much harder to do so once his adoption of Naruto went through. He couldn’t focus on the seemingly abused girl when he had an abused orphan who needed his attention.

Sakura spent the last two years avoiding her sensei. It didn’t take her long to realize Iruka was paying too close attention to her. The attention had caused a panic attack or five and she worries he’s getting close to the truth. Sakura isn’t sure what he would do if he found out the truth; she’s more worried about what will happen to her though. If Mama and Papa found out their secret was out…shudders wrack Sakura’s small frame.

That’s why she’s slightly relieved when the man shifts his focus from her to the loud mouthed blonde in the class. She had felt his indecision, his want to keep up with his routine, but Naruto proved to need more work.

It’s alright; Mama always says no one would believe me anyway. And if they did, they’d be ‘dealt with’ quickly.

Things look up.

Until:

“Team 7,” Iruka calls out, “Uzumaki, Naruto. Uchiha, Sasuke. Haruno, Sakura.”

Sakura POV

What did I do to deserve this?

I clench my fists as tightly as possible. Small pools gather between my fingers before I let go. My heart is hammering against my ribs. It feels as though Papa is giving me one of his punishments, but there isn’t anyone in front of me. Swiveling my neck, I notice that Iruka has called all the teams.

The Uchiha run the police force – Mama and Papa aren’t going to like this.

“You guys take lunch. After, you’ll be meeting your Jounin sensei. Dismissed!”

As usual, everyone leaves the classroom. Some stick with their normal cliques and others who are braver approach their new teammates, asking to eat together.

I know better than to try that. Sasuke, like every good clan kid, only associates with other clan kids. It isn’t too hard to do in our class – most of them are clan kids with a few exceptions like myself. But even so, Sasuke only has eyes for his older brother and cousin when it comes to really spending time with other people. The only exception for our age group is Naruto. I don’t doubt that he went outside to eat, hopeful that his brother would be out there waiting to eat with him. Naruto has Iruka. They go to the teachers’ lounge together and eat lunch every day. Once Iruka adopted Naruto, he took it upon himself to tutor Naruto during lunch.

It’s hard for me to admit, but with Iruka’s extra lessons and tutelage, Naruto grew leaps and bounds. He still pulls pranks and acts a bit immature, but he stopped failing and improved as the years went by. His smiles are more genuine and he started making friends. He even stars as half of the most well-known rivalry in the Leaf – him and Sasuke.

My teammates have people who support them. They know each other well and are leaps and bounds ahead of me. I don’t understand how I ended up on this team besides to become the spare wheel. A clan heir (the spare) and a boy who houses an almost endless red chakra stuck with a pathetic civilian.

How fitting.

. ~ . ~ . ~ .

Our Jounin sensei seems…interesting.

His name is Hatake, Kakashi. I’ve seen his face in Mama and Papa’s bingo book. With gravity defying silver hair and a mysterious persona, I’m not quite sure what to make of him. He keeps smiling at us, but I can tell it isn’t genuine. They’re smiles like the ones I give Iruka-sensei when he asks if I’m doing okay.

Kakashi-sensei must be hurting.

“Why don’t you introduce yourselves to me?” he suggests.

“Why don’t you introduce yourself first sensei,” Naruto says, “so we can see how it’s done!”

The Jounin seems to think over Naruto’s request for a moment before he concedes.

“Alright,” he starts, “my name is Hatake, Kakashi. I like many things, and dislike about twice that amount. I don’t have any dreams, and hobbies…well, you wouldn’t be interested.” He ends with an eye crinkle smile, even though he’s obviously smug about his answers. “You go first, blondie.”

Naruto and Sasuke both huff for a moment before Naruto goes.

“My name is Uzumaki, Naruto! I love ramen and my adopted dad. I dislike waiting for instant ramen to warm and mean people. My dream is to become Hokage like Jiji!”

That’s a nice dream.

Kakashi-sensei nods at Naruto before turning to Sasuke next.

Oh no, that means I’ll be next.

“My name is Uchiha, Sasuke. I like training and learning my clans’ techniques. I dislike wasting time that could be spent training. My dream is to be strong.”

Kakashi takes his answer in stride, something like ‘expected’ radiating from his person; he must know something Sasuke hasn’t explicitly said out loud. Then he turns his single eye my way.

I slide my eyes down to his chin, keeping away from that eye that seems to see through people. I don’t have to look at Sasuke and Naruto to know they’re looking at me – I can feel their eyes. I’m sure they’re curious as to what I’ll say seeing as I rarely spoke in class. I wouldn’t be surprised if Sasuke doesn’t even know what my voice sounds like.

My heartbeat picks up again as I feel their eyes on me.

They shouldn’t be looking at me, I’m nothing.

They don’t stop.

“M-My name is Haruno, Sakura,” I manage to say. My voice is horse even to my own ears, so I try to clear my throat before I continue, “I don’t have many likes.”

Suspicious.

“I dislike…people.”

You’re fucking blowing it.

“And my dream…my dream is….”

To survive

To make it all stop.

To make it to my next birthday.

Not to die.

Make Mama and Papa happy.

Get out of my home.

To live.

“My dream is to make my parents proud.”

I can feel a piece of me shrivel and die with that lie.

[weasleymalfoypotter]

i hate you (but not really) pt6

masterlist

summary : summary: draco malfoy and harry potters twin sister have hated each other since they met. but in 5th year he comes to find that maybe he doesn’t hate her and the reasons he did end up be the things he loves

word count : 2.6k

warnings : mentions of abuse, fluff, angst, ron and hermione being in the outs which is a whole warning

A/N : sorry this out so late i’ve been so busy and i’m on this retreat but i’m so excited to get this part out and thank you so much for all the love on this series and we’re at 50 followers and i want to cry omg also if there are spelling mistakes i’m sorry

“hey princess” draco said while kissing the crown of my head before sitting down in the seat next to me in the back of the library. princess is still his favorite nick name for him a year after he called me that for the first time. i swear he says it 100 times a day. i’m not complaining.

“helloooo” i said smiling at him as he sat down.

“how was today? i heard snape gave you a hard time”

“oh you know the usual. he likes to remind harry and i that we’re not as important as the rest of the wizarding world thinks we are” i said light heartedly with a smile. snape actually used to be fond of me. i asked him why in my third year because he hated my brother so much and he explained by saying i reminded him of my mother. it was a soft side to snape that no one thought existed. all he said was that he knew her in their years at hogwarts but after harry told me about the memory he saw in the pensive i knew there was more to it. that was the same time he started giving me a harder time, treating me like the rest of the gryffindors, if not worse. i confronted him after class one day after he made a comment about harry and i, and he said i was becoming more like my father as i grew up. that’s what remus and sirius would tell me too. they said harry and i looked just like james, except for the eyes, but personality wise, he was all lily and i was all james. i stormed out of his class after that and any kind of friendship or comfort i found in that class dissipated and his past kindness became an afterthought.

draco and i spent the rest of the day in the library studying before we went to dinner. he still sat at the slytherin table during meals and i spent the time with harry and my best friends. although, today i’m sitting with just hermione so she’s not alone because harry sits with ron and hermione and ron are on the outs...again. it hasn’t happened a lot but it’s always about the same thing and they can’t even realize it. i wish they’d just get together already because i don’t know how much more “won won!!” i can take from lavender without punching her square in the jaw. and she really doesn’t like me. i think she doesn’t like any girl at hogwarts, as if they all pose a threat to her and won won’s relationship.

hermione looked down the table to see her leg on his lap while her hands moved up and down ron’s arm. he looked irritated. hermione chuckled loud enough so only i could hear.

“it’s funny that he picks the girl who doesn’t know not to mess with him while he’s eating” i laugh.

“the whole thing is ridiculous. i swear he can’t stand her anymore, it won’t last long, she’s way too clingy and they don’t mix well at all” she chuckled but i can tell it still hurts. “hey listen, he’s an idiot. one day he’ll realize how stupid he is and it’ll be him pining” she gave a half hearted smile. the whole thing has been hard for her. i hate to see her cry so much.

“yeah yeah, i just- i don’t know. i just can’t do this anymore.”

i nod along while she rants for the rest of dinner before we have to leave. afterwards she heads to the library and i head to the gryffindor common room for scheduled harry and ron time. it’s hard keeping up with school work, quidditch, prefect duties, and all my friends that can’t be around each other. i have to managed to spend time with draco away from harry and ron and hermione, but also spend time with hermione away from with harry and ron, and i also have to spend time with harry and ron without hermione or draco or lavender. it’s a mess. so now we’ve subconsciously gotten into a schedule. during breakfast i sit with draco and harry sits with hermione and ron is with lavender, if i’m in a class with gryffindors i sit with hermione, when i’m in a class without them, i sit with draco, at lunch i sit with harry and ron while hermione sits with ginny, during breaks i bounce between each of them depending on the day and whether or not i have quidditch, and before dinner i’m in the library with draco, during dinner i sit with hermione, and afterwards i hang out with harry and ron, and after that it’s cuddling with draco. it’s exhausting. not the cuddling part, that’s pretty great. everything else is just so confusing and it doesn’t give me a second to breath until the end of the night. but if i’m being honest, everything distracts me from thinking about sirius or cedric or anything along those lines. so i’m not really complaining.

i’m plopped down on the couch on the verge of passing out while ron and harry talk about harry’s potions book. i’m complete zoned out until ron asks

“hey, you guys are coming for christmas right?” i totally forgot christmas existed. it was only a few days before break and i had no idea we were invited to the burrow.

“are we? i didn’t know that was an option” harry said. he looked at me as if asking if i was up for it or not. of course i was.

“well yeah of course, mom wants to give you guys the sweaters in person this year” ron said excitedly.

“i’m totally down, is charlie gonna be there? i wanna hear about the dragons” i say the last part with so much joy. i loved charlie. he was so cool. honestly i think i just loved the dragons but same thing. charlie and i always talked forever about his work whenever i was with his family.

“i’m not sure if he’s coming or not, but either way you’re going to be there, you don’t have a choice” ron said.

“that’s true. molly might just hunt us down if we don’t show up” harry said. ron nodding along pursing his lips. he didn’t lie.

-

i totally forgot to tell draco that i was going to be at the weasleys for christmas until today which is the day before we leave. we’re sitting cross crossed on my bed across from each other, hands tangling with each other’s, and talking about our day.

“okay so should i leave your christmas present here and spell so you can’t open it until the day of, or should we wait, or open them now, or...?” draco rambled.

“well i’m not gonna be here on christmas, harry and i are going to the burrrow” i said. his face showed his confusion and i remembered i forgot to tell him.

“since when? not complaining, it’s better than you being here by yourself but i’m positive fred has always had a crush on you” he said with a laugh.

“okay one, since the other day, and two, fred does not and has never had a crush on me” i said laughing at the thought of me and fred. he was like my big brother.

“okay okay but if he gets handsy i will hex him into oblivion and lace his apartment with his own products” he said faking seriousness

“fred will not get handsy, i promise” i replied with a huge smile on my face. i don’t think fred has ever gotten handsy with me.

“alright well, i guess we could do presents now” he said with a very excited expression. i nodded excitedly. i was so unbelievably excited for him to see what i made him. that’s right. made. i spent forever on it trying to get every detail right but i managed to figure it out. with the help of astronomy records i found an image of what the sky looked like the night we had our first kiss in the astronomy tower. i enlisted the help of flitwick and told him it was for a personal project to figure out the charms to put the pattern from stars from that night on a ring. it looks so damn cool, i honestly want it for myself. after a few moments of getting situated, we were sitting across from each other with the others presents in our hands.

“okay you first?” i smiled and handed him his present. it was wrapped carefully in a small package.

“open it” i said softly while he looked at me with a questioning look. he took of the paper and opened the box on its hinges. his face lit up and he didn’t even know what it really was yet.

“oh wow” he said while eyeing it “this is beautiful”

“wanna know something?” he looked up at me “you see the stars on it?” he nodded “that’s what the stars looked like on the night of our first kiss” i said with a huge smile and his face dropped...but in a good way.

“you’re kidding” his eyes backs glossy

“nope” i said with a smile. he immediately slipped it onto his left ring finger. he then leaned in to kiss me. i smiled as we pulled away. points to me for the really awesome gift.

“okay okay time for your gift because if i look at this any longer right now i will cry” i eyed him jokingly “okay maybe not cry but you get the idea” he handed me the box as i laughed. it was small, almost the same size as the one i gave him. i opened it to find a small black velvet ring box. huh. when i opened the box on its hinges i gasped. a gorgeous emerald pear cut ring with small diamonds surrounding the green stone with a silver band. it was gorgeous. tasteful, classy, simple yet fancy. i was crying and i didn’t know it until his hand was on my cheek wiping away tears.

“you kind of beat me to the ring idea but i still think i scored” he was smiling so wide. a put it on my left ring finger and i jumped over to kiss him as he pulled me into his lap.

“i love you so much. i need you to know that” he said looking up at me after we broke away

“i do. and i love you too. more than you know” i replied, nudging his nose with mine.

-

christmas break at the burrow so far has been just as amazing as i expected. hermione wasn’t there obviously, but i still got to hang out and room with ginny and we were having a blast. quidditch games with the twins were fun because this time i was on their team which was definitely refreshing. they were way too damn good, and just because we were friends when they were on the gryffindor team doesn’t mean they’d go easy on me. quite the opposite actually. in third year i was in the hospital for two days after a really rough bludger from fred knocked me unconscious after hitting me in the head and taking me off my broom. he felt bad but it still hurt like hell.

it’s christmas eve and we were all in the living room cuddled up with tea and coa coa talking about fred and george’s shop and school and everything except the order and or voldemort until a knock came from the door. it was late so the room was full of confused faces while arthur and molly got up to get the door.

“oh goodness draco what happened?” i heard arthur say. i immediately sat up and everyone’s attention was glued to the interaction at the door.

“i’m so sorry Mr. Weasley, i- uh- i just, i didn’t have anywhere else to go” a voice i recognized all to well trailed off. i got up quickly making my way to the door to see a concerned molly standing next to a confused arthur with his hand on a bruised draco with a bloodied lip. my heart sunk and they all looked at me.

“oh my God draco what happened?” i said while closing the space between us and putting a hand up to the bruises on his face. he stuttered and molly looked around to find everyone zeroing in on the conversation.

“let’s go into the kitchen dears, i’ll make some tea for you draco and get you some ice and something for the bruises and your lip” draco nodded while we moved to sit in the kitchen. i could faintly hear molly telling everyone else to mind their own and we’ll let them know what was going on if we felt like it.

“draco what the hell happened to you?” arthur was waiting to hear the answer to my question while draco tried not to meet my eyes.

“m- my dad. he um, he found out about us. he told me that i could either be a true malfoy and follow in his footsteps and leave you or not be a part of the family at all. i told him i wouldn’t do it. i told him i wasn’t going to work for you know who and that you were my family now. that’s when he did this” he said gesturing to his face. my heart hurt. this was my fault. i knew it was better for him to be out of that house and not working for voldemort but i can’t help but think that the pain was because of me.

“draco i’m so sorry” i said with tears running down my face while squeezing his hand.

“well y/n isn’t your only family now son” arthur looked up at molly who seemed to have been around the hear the whole thing. she nodded. at him “there’s space in ron and harry’s room, if you’d like to stay with us. we’d love nothing more than to have you hear draco” draco was crying now. he’d been trying to hold it in. but hearing these words come from a father, hearing loving words, was his breaking point.

“i’m so sorry. for everything my family has done, for everything i’ve done. i- i- i could never truly tell you how much i loathe what my family is” draco said to arthur. “i’m sorry i showed up here so late i know i shouldn’t have i just, i had no where else to go” he looked down. molly came behind him and ran her hands on his shoulders.

“nonsense draco. we know you’ve changed, we’ve heard all about it” she said smiling “y/n is our family and that makes you family too”

the rest of break was actually great. it was cramped but i wasn’t upset about it. draco was feeling so much better after being around a loving family for once. he and harry and ron were actually getting along so well it was scary. i would actually say their friends considering he’s been spending more time with them than me. i actually saw them laughing together once. it was weird. but honestly i couldn’t have been happier to have him here. he was able to give the order information about voldemort and his connections to certain families and their plans. no one thought draco heard as much as he did but his information was valuable.

the rest of the school year was perfect. everyone was getting along, draco was out of his house, the rings on our fingers were a representation of hope for the two of us, and i knew this was the boy i would spend the rest of my life with.

TAGS: @idkmanicantenglish @dracoswhore007 @lordlodge

[ask-rwby-multishipper]

((Response to accidentally deleted dare sent by @kr-xero: “Mass dare—everyone randomly swaps clothes with someone else, even the guys”

For this dare, Jaune, Ren, Sun, Neptune, Flynt, Fox, and Yatsu have been added!

And for the purposes of this skit, everyone has to wear their new outfits for an entire day!))

Name Randomizer (these pairs swap with each other):

Emerald & Penny Flynt & Neo Sun & Pyrrha Ruby & Yang Blake & Nora Yatsu & Elm Cinder & Ren Jaune & Neon Neptune & Coco Ilia & Velvet Ciel & Fox Harriet & Weiss

Team JNPR’s dorm...

Nora: Jaaaaaaune, come on! The mall is gonna be closed soon.

Jaune, from inside the bathroom: I’m not going.

Nora: Jaune, whoever you swapped clothes it, it can’t be that bad. Like, Ren swapped with Cinder, and he actually looks pretty good.

Ren, nodding: Who knew thigh-high socks were so comfortable?

Nora: And I got Blake’s, and can I just say, this bow is cuuuuute.

Jaune: Good for you two. I’m still not going.

Nora: Who did you swap with anyway?

Jaune: Neon.

Nora: ...

Ren: Now we get it.

Nora: So what though? You’ve worn a dress before.

Jaune: Yes, and it was elegant and beautiful. This? This is not elegant at all!

Nora: But Jaune, it’s mall day!

Pyrrha, walking in from the kitchen: Uhm...

Nora, looking over and gasping: Ohhh my gods.

Ren, blushing: Let me guess. Sun?

Pyrrha, chuckling: Indeed. I tried to be as authentic to the original as I could, but I couldn’t quite pull off the, uhm....Sun’s unbuttoned look, without a sports bra underneath.

Nora, slamming her fist against the bathroom door: Jaune get out here, Pyrrha abs! I repeat, Pyrrha abs!

Jaune: So what?! We’ve all seen the Pyrrha abs!

Nora: *gasp* Blasphemy!

Jaune: FINE! *the door swings open, revealing Jaune in a blue crop top and pink skirt* There! Happy?!

Ren: *stifles laughter*

Jaune: Oh fuck, even Ren is laughing?

Nora: Jaune, you look good.

Jaune: Do I? Do I really, Nora? I look good in this?

Nora: Yeah!

Jaune: Then why do I feel so ridiculous?!

Pyrrha: It does show off your more...shapely features...

Jaune: ...Oh.

Nora: The gang’s all here, let’s go to the mall!

Pyrrha: Mall trip!

Nora: Woo!

Jaune: Wait! *getting dragged along by his team* Pyrrha, what was it you said about my shape—?

Blake, Sun, and Neptune hanging out at a downtown Vale cafe...

Blake: Wow, Sun. For once, your titties are concealed.

Sun, proud of his shiny chest plate he got from Pyrrha: I’m cool with it.

Neptune, looking over Coco’s sunglasses and nodding: That skirt really works for you, too.

Sun: Bro, that’s kinda gay.

Neptune: So what if I am?

Blake: Boys, focus.

Neptune, chuckling: On what?

Blake: I dunno. Something besides flirting with each other right in front of my salad.

Sun: You’re just mad because for the first time in your life, your weird knees are showing because you’re wearing Nora’s skirt.

Blake: My knees are not weird, they’re normal!

Sun, glancing under the table: I dunno...

Blake, crossing their legs: Watch it, monkey.

Sun: What?

Neptune: Did you just try to look up their skirt, bro? Not cool.

Sun: If I catch you trying to look up my skirt later, I will snap those glasses in half and tell Coco it was your fault.

Neptune, suddenly terrified: You wouldn’t.

Sun: Try me, bro.

Neptune: But I like having all ten fingers.

Sun: Then you better keep things above sea-level, got it?

Blake: Ha. I get it.

Neptune: Was that a hydrophobia joke?

Sun: Maybe... *reaches towards Neptune’s face* Those shades look a little smudged, lemme get that for you—

Neptune: NO! *smacks his hand away*

Ruby, Weiss, Penny, and Ciel at the arcade...

Ruby: YEAH! HIGH SCORE!

Ciel, tugging on the collar of Fox’s top: You know you can use the mallet to whack the moles, right?

Ruby: Why bother when I can punch them?!

Weiss: Just because you’re dressed like Yang doesn’t mean you have to—

Ruby: H’YAH!

Weiss: Punch...so much. Where’s Penny, by the way?

Penny: I’m behind you.

Weiss: AHH!

Penny, a blanket over her head: My apologies for startling you.

Ciel: Why do you have that blanket over your head? And where did you get it?

Penny: Uhm, the prize counter? And I’m using it to conceal myself. Emerald’s top is very revealing... *whispers* My joints are showing. Even the abdominal ones...

Ruby, taking a break from whacking moles: Here, Penny. *takes off Yang’s jacket* Put this on instead.

Penny, peeking out from under her blanket: Oh, thank you, Ruby. *puts on the jacket instead*

Ciel: How did you get enough tickets to win a blanket like that? That must have cost thousands of tickets.

Penny: The movements of the enemy characters on a lot of these games are really simple. I simply have all of their patterns memorized.

Ciel: Woah, that’s really cool...

Weiss: Not to mention, that combo of Yang’s jacket and Emerald’s jeans is...actually a really stylish look.

Penny: Oh. *poses* You think so?

Ciel: OMG...yeah...

Weiss: *blushes* Oh...

Ruby: *nosebleeds* So cute...

Yang, Flynt, Neon, Elm, and Harriet on their way to one of Neon’s parties...

Neon: Geez, does Jaune Boi not have any fashion sense? The bunny rabbit hoodie is cute, though.

Flynt, tugging on Neo’s top: Man, speak for yourself, I feel like I’m being slowly hugged to death. Seriously, who’s decision was it for me to have to trade with the smallest adult person in the world?

Yang, gesturing widely, doing her best Ruby impression: It’s but the will of the universe.

Flynt: The fuck does that mean? *coughs* For real, one flex and this thing’s gonna be ribbons.

Neon: And then Neo will turn you into ribbons for ruining her outfit.

Flynt: This thing’s stretched to all four corners of fuck by this point. It’s already ruined.

Neon: Oh well, Neo will understand, I’m. *glances back at Elm and Harriet* How are the two newbies feeling?

Elm, in Yatsu’s outfit: Pretty good. Kinda glad I traded with someone...not tiny. Sorry, Flynt.

Flynt: Riiiight.

Harriet, practically glittering in Weiss’ dress: I swear....I hate this.

Yang: Why? It actually works for you.

Harriet: That’s just the thing. I feel so...girly. If one of you makes a joke and I giggle, like, full-on giggle? I’m ripping this dress off and jumping out the nearest window.

Neon: Depending on where this party goes tonight, we might all end up doing that.

Yang: Atlesians are weird...why can’t Weiss be more like you guys?

Team CFVY studying in the library...

Coco: I’ll hand it to Neptune, he doesn’t have the worst sense of style, but... *takes the goggles off her head and glares at them* It’s not great.

Fox, in Ciel’s outfit: I’m certain I look great. Right, guys? I know I feel great.

Coco: Come on, Fox. You know you love it. Though the blue beret on red hair doesn’t quite click.

Fox: How embarrassing...

Coco: Velvet’s feeling herself, it seems.

Velvet, taking selfies: Hey, Ilia’s got good taste. I’m taking advantage.

Yatsu: Didn’t we come here to study? Rather than debate fashion?

Coco: It’s like you don’t even know me.

Cinder, Emerald and Ilia waiting in the hallway...

Cinder: Ugh, Neoooo! *knocks on dorm room door* How long does it take to put on a tux?

Emerald: I’d guess a little while. Lotta buttons.

Ilia: Sh—he did swap with Flynt. He’s probably trying to do his own quick tailor job so he doesn’t look like he’s wearing something insanely huge.

Cinder: Ren’s outfit is big on me and I’m dealing just fine.

Ilia: Yeah, but Neo is, like, a third of Flynt’s size.

Emerald: Why are you staring at me?

Ilia: I’m what?

Emerald: You keep looking at me.

Ilia: Oh. I guess I’m just not used to you wearing a dress.

Emerald, messing with the skirt of Penny’s dress: It does feel kinda weird. But also I feel really cute?

Ilia: You look really cute.

Emerald: Aw, thanks.

Ilia: Huh?

Emerald: You said I look cute.

Ilia: Out loud?

Emerald: Yeah?

Ilia: Oh...

Emerald, chuckling: You look really cute in Vel’s outfit, too.

Ilia: Oh.......

Cinder, interrupting them by banging on the door again: NEO! Come on!

Neo, suddenly whipping the door open, dressed in Flynt’s outfit: *flips the hat onto his new short hair* Ladies.

Cinder: Oh gods...

Ilia: Woah, Neo, you look so cool!

Neo, bowing: Thank you. I try.

Emerald: Did you cut your hair while you were in there?

Neo, shaking his head: Illusions.

Emerald: Oh, riiiight. That must be really useful, being genderfluid.

Neo: It is. Glad to know I.... *glances at Cinder* I can still pull off the masculine look. *winks*

Cinder: Uh-uhm.... *turns and starts walking away* T-Took you long enough, let’s just get going before we lose anymore time...

Emerald: But the movie doesn’t start for a while, we’re good—

Cinder: I said let’s go!

Emerald, looking at Neo: How do you do it?

Neo, shrugging: I honestly don’t know. Cinder’s always been easily flustered.

Ilia: Most obvious thing I’ve heard today.

[enigmatist17]

Same Dance (Rhys Strongfork x Timothy Lawrence)

So So

Same trauma boys

--------------------------------------------

When the news of Moxxi taking over the fabled Handsome Jack’s Casino, Rhys couldn’t help but be happy for her and her crew. No one ever ventured near after several spacecraft were pulled in and never freed, and for seven years it sat there untouched and unopened by the rest of the galaxy. It sat until Moxxi had waited for the fall of the Calypso Twins to settle down, and the Vault Hunters who now resided on Sanctuary III were more than happy to help her with her vendetta. 

Now, Moxxi called in several favors. She wanted to make the casino something great, make it fair enough yet rid of the corruption that Jack had sunk into its very bones. Rhys Strongfork was one such man, having used some of her help in his early days of rebuilding Promethea. The now CEO of Atlas, still running around and rebuilding after his own War, had promised whatever he could. Part of his aid was to help reprogram the loader bots, as well as to help quietly rid or redistribute the massive army hidden in the depths of the casino. Only he and those who had helped with the takeover knew of its existence, and it was better left that way. Rhys, already on edge of entering Hyperion property after so long, as well as leaving his growing relationship, did his best to keep his nervousness and irritation on the down-low. 

Unfortunately, no one thought to tell him of a certain doppelganger. 

Rhys had drawn his gun before he had even realized, the other man slowly raising his hands as Rhys did everything he could not to start hyperventilating. Thoughts, ones he had thought long buried, were starting to creep up and into the forefront of his mind.

No, I killed him, he can’t be here, he can’t be here, he can’t be here, he ca-

“I’m not Jack.” It’s a whisper of a thing, Rhys shaking his head slightly to push his rising panic away. “I-I’m not Jack.”

“Then who the hell are you?!” He didn’t mean to scream, but Rhys had thought he would never deal with Jack, not after everything years ago.

Helios enters his mind, and Rhys feels sick as he lowers his gun.

That man isn’t Jack, he isn’t sneering and belittling and mocking his very being. No, this man sounded just as terrified as Rhys felt, and that only made his stomach churn. Well, that and remembering of how he had killed thousands of people to finally kill Jack off once and for all. It’s not until he looks at the man, really looks, and sees the crack of a mask that made his blood run cold, does he remember. Scores of men who bore the same faces, the same smiles, the same dead look behind their eyes as they were sent off to be like the man they were modeled after. 

“You’re one of the doppelgangers...aren’t you?” Rhys clears his throat, holstering his gun to the relief of both men. He gets a nod, and after an awkward pause, Rhys offers a hand. “I apologize, maybe we should start over. Rhys Strongfork, and yourself?”

“Timothy Lawrence.’ The other gives an awkward smile, holding out his left hand instead of his right. “I uh...sorry, still don’t have a right hand yet…”

“What?” Rhys moves to shake Timothy’s hand, flesh meeting flesh as Rhys zeroes in on the covered up stump on Timothy’s right arm. Whatever happened was fairly recent, glancing up when the man gave a slight cough, hiding his hand behind his back. “Sorry, it’s just, what happened? I mean, if you want to tell me.” The other shrugs, Rhys releasing his other hand and taking a step back to give him some space.

“Ah ya know...had to save this whole station.” Timothy gave a shy shrug. “Course got trapped and shit, so the only way to do it was to cut off my hand.”

“Would you believe me if I had to do something similar a long time ago?” Timothy cocks a look at the other, who just smiles and begins to regale Timothy with the story of what he had to do after Helios fell.

Conveniently he leaves out the part about Jack, figuring it didn’t matter.

It’s not until months later the subject is brought up. Rhys has had a long day of business dealings, still absorbing Maliwan and making it something better under Atlas’s hand. He’s tired and upset. His frogurt stand was closed for the day, the coffee had run out, and his back ached something fierce.  Rubbing at his eyes as he enters his penthouse, Rhys was looking forward to sitting down and just forgetting Atlas even existed. 

“You’re finally home!” Rhys doesn’t stop the smile that spreads the moment he hears that familiar voice, dropping his bag by the door and neatly stacking his shoes beside it. Spread out on the couch that had been occupying his thoughts since he left for work, Rhys spies one Timothy Lawrence cuddling up on the couch with a shy grin. Rhys spies some fresh coffee on the table beside him, and he can’t help but sigh in delight at the sight.

“You are brilliant, absolutely brilliant. You would NOT believe the utter disaster of a day I had.” Rhys pouted, taking his tie and belt off before flopping down onto Timothy with a purr. It’s a shuffle of gangly limbs before they are both comfortable, Rhys cybernetic arm grabbing the coffee and downing half of it. Timothy just hums, nuzzling the back of Rhys’ neck as he cuddles the other close. There were days Timothy didn’t say much, a byproduct of being alone for over seven years, and showed how he felt through gestures. Sometimes he would clean up the penthouse and then keep to himself, other days he would be the biggest love bug Rhys had ever seen, almost pleading for contact. It never bothered the CEO, just lying in content silence as some serial played on across the room.

“...Vaughn called today, and we chatted for a long while.” Timothy speaks softly, stirring Rhys from his slow descent into a nap.

“Is he comin’ home soon?” Rhys yawned, burrowing his face into the crook of Timothy’s neck.

“Another month he said…” The way that Timothy hesitates pulls any sort of sleep from Rhys’ mind, the other drawing back. Emerald eyes, flecked with gold are looking right at the other, and the indescribable gaze makes Rhys instantly on edge.

“What’s the matter?”

“...why didn’t you tell me about Jack?” The name, so simple and short, turns the room heavy and frigid for both men. Rhys, usually ready with a remark, can’t find the words, and Timothy just does everything he can not to have a panic attack. They sit there, Rhys eventually sitting up with a quiet sigh. It’s only to move and take Timothy into his arms, feeling the slight tremble the other was clearly trying to hide. 

“...I don’t know where to start, except with' I'm sorry.” It’s a start, and thank the universe Timothy doesn’t pull away. Timothy can hear the shaky breath Rhys takes, one he only does if he’s nervous or scared of something, and guilt starts to creep up at making his lover so uncomfortable. Rhys has to start speaking after quite a few tries, unsure of what to start with.

“It started with a deal to buy a Vault Key.” Nice and easy, just start from the top. “Vaughn and I needed access at one point, and we had found some higher clearance access from someone obsessed with...him.”  It’s better not to say that name, and Rhys just feels the words start to tumble non-stop now that he’s begun. 

“He was in the drive, and because I was stupid and plugged it into my cybernetics, he just...was there.” A breath is drawn, and Helios comes to his mind. “I had to destroy Helios to stop him...I had let him free and because of that I...I had to…” Rhys bites his lip, leaning his head into the warm palm caressing the side of his face. “I killed so many people that day...and after all of that, I killed him again. I had to rip my arm, temple connector, and eye out...god it hurt so much.”  Rhys sighed, his arm still acting out at times from nerve damage he had inflicted on himself due to the event. “He is gone...and despite the monster he was, he is always included among the names I memorized from the crash.” Timothy frowns softly, pressing a kiss to Rhys’ forehead. It had been shortly after he moved to Promethea, that he had borne witness to Rhys’ ritual on the day Helios had crashed. 

The usually bubbly man had just sat up on the roof, staring out at the city with his prosthetic downstairs as far away as he had possibly been able to place it. Vaughn merely made sure he drank something, only touching Rhys to place a blanket around his shoulders once night had fallen. Rhys just screamed guilt and self-hatred the whole day, slipping into bed between Timothy and Vaughn sometime during the night. Zer0 had taken care of the meetings the next day, and the entire day had been spent in bed with every comfort food that could be grabbed from their kitchen. 

“I’m sorry.” Timothy presses another kiss, then another as Rhys just gives a weak sigh. “I am so sorry you had to go through that.”

“You and me...stupid young kids who idolized a monster...and got screwed after his death.” Timothy hums, and Rhys closes his eyes as he takes in the others' warmth.

“I’m just glad it opened our doors to each other. I mean, what were the chances you would give me a chance?”

“I don’t know, but after seeing you smile for the first time, you had me.” Timothy feels a blush creep up his neck, and Rhys just cuddles up as close as possible. The air is no longer heavy, instead filled with a familiar warmth as they just take in each other. 

A monster Jack may have been, but his reign, in the end, had united those destined for each other.

[heliads]

What We Are

You’ve hated Draco Malfoy from the moment you met him at the Sorting Ceremony all those years ago. However, you have the strangest feeling that things are changing between the two of you- like just maybe, you like him more than you thought.

masterlist

You are eleven years old, small and swallowed up by the dark cloth of your school robes. You’re filling through the main aisle of the Great Hall, surrounded by a cluster of other anxious first years. Four long tables stretch down the room, two on each side of the hall and each filled with chattering students. Four banners hang at the end of the hall- ruby, emerald, gold, sapphire. One for each house. You’ve been briefed on the houses and their qualities by a newly formed friend, one Hermione Granger, but you’re still nervous. You don’t entirely know which one you belong to, although you have an inkling as to which one should be avoided.

Professor McGonagall begins listing off the names one at a time, and the subsequent first-years file up to her, place the worn Sorting Hat on their head, and receive their assigned House. After a while, your name is eventually called, and you make your way to the front. The Sorting Hat considers for a time, then a smile crawls across its weathered fabric features. “SLYTHERIN!” The word is shouted across the hall, and you feel a sinking pit yawn open in your stomach. Slytherin? That was the one house you were supposed to avoid.

You make brief eye contact with your new friend Hermione, who looks about as stricken as you feel, before settling into a place at the Slytherin table. The emerald-clad students around you clap you on the back, issuing congratulations, but you still feel uneasy. Wouldn’t it have been better to go to Ravenclaw, where all the smartest students belonged? Or brave Gryffindor, or dedicated Hufflepuff? Anywhere would be better than ambitious, cunning, snakelike Slytherin.

A boy seated one space down looks at you, taking in your glum expression. He has striking platinum blond hair, and appears to be a first year just like yourself. “Don’t look so upset. You got into the best house there is, you know. All of the students who go to Slytherin end up being the greatest lot here.” For some reason, the condescendingly arrogant tone of the boy gets to you, and you shoot back a haughty reply. “If all Slytherin students are like you, I don’t fancy staying here at all.” The boy’s expression changes into a glare, and he glowers at you for the rest of the dinner.

That boy would turn out to be Draco Malfoy, Slytherin House’s most famous elitist. The two of you would hate each other ever since that night, and that feeling of utter loathing would continue for years. You’re now far older than you had been as a wee little first year, and so is Draco, but your attitude towards him hasn’t changed a bit. He’s just so conceited, so full of himself- and you’re no better, you know that, but at least you try to hide it.

However, you were lucky enough to score yourself a bunch of friends who knew exactly why you hated Draco, and happened to feel the exact same way. Hermione had been your best friend ever since that first day on the Hogwarts Express, and you had introduced yourself to Harry and Ron around the same time she did. Now the four of you were a regular fixture on the grounds, and you wouldn’t change it for anything, even a few of the haughtier Slytherins (read: Draco Malfoy) made sure to mention that one of their house shouldn’t be mixing with the Gryffindors.

However, you didn’t really care what they thought. Yes, you were a Slytherin, and that meant a good many things: pride, ambition, and a thick skin in terms of others doubting you. So you became even better friends with Harry, Ron, and Hermione just to spite them. You often found yourself with them at the Quidditch games, walking across the grounds, sneaking out of your dormitory late at night for a couple of misadventures, or now, with you and Hermione studying together at a table out in a corner of a stone hall. 

One of the problems of being a Slytherin friend of three Gryffindors is that they could never go back to your common room to study with you, and you certainly weren’t allowed into their common room. Fred and George had offered to sneak you in loads of times, and you technically had been there before under Harry’s invisibility cloak, but for right now, you and Hermione were content to stay away from the roaring fires and plush red armchairs of the Gryffindor common room to work on a particularly gruesome Potions essay. You both wanted to finish it early, Hermione especially so she could then go teach it to Harry and Ron, so you stayed out of the lion’s dorm until you were adequately prepared.

Hermione sighs at the paper in front of her, wrinkling her brow in consternation. “Honestly, what does all of this even mean? I swear, Professor Snape’s directions get worse and worse with every assignment.” You nod fervently. “This prompt makes no sense, and I’ve been staring at it for the last fifteen minutes.” You drum your fingers on the table, thinking, then stand up. “I’m going to get that Potions primer from the library. You know, the one we were reading earlier? I thought I saw some similar wording in one of the chapters, and at any rate, I need an excuse to go stretch my legs. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Hermione waves goodbye as you head off down the stone corridors. The walk towards the library takes you across the courtyard, and you’re glad for the refreshing bite of the wind, even if it leaves your cheeks raw from the chill. You traipse inside the halls once more, twisting around corners until you reach the library, and gratefully slip through the doors to reach the towering bookcases crowding the room.

You stride purposefully through the shelves until you come to the row you’re looking for at last. Your eyes scan the titles in front of you, and you think you’re almost at the book until a familiar figure steps into the space right next to you. You don’t even have to look up to recognize him. You’ve seen his unwanted presence too many times for a case of mistaken identity.

Draco speaks first. “I’m surprised to see you, L/N. I didn’t think reading was one of your strong suits.” You raise an eyebrow, still perusing the books on the shelf. “Those are strong words coming from somebody who hit his peak academic performance as a weasel in the fourth year.” Draco rolls his eyes. “Ferret, not a weasel.” You look over at him at last, but can’t help a small grin. “Does it really matter? It was still a small animal, and it was still you.”

Draco heaves some dramatic and egotistical sigh, but folds his arms over his chest and stays put. He’s not looking for books, just standing there. In fact, his eyes keep flickering over to the corner of the library, near the door. You straighten up, following his gaze in confusion. “What are you doing?” You ask him, still trying to figure out what he’s looking at with such unease. “You don’t usually go out of your way to enjoy my company and you also keep staring at the door.”

Draco starts to mutter something about how not all of the library belongs to you, but you cut him off with a gasp of delight. “You’re hiding from Pansy Parkinson! She’s over there looking for you, and you’re trying to make sure she can’t see you by hiding behind all the bookshelves!” You laugh, and then start to raise your voice, as if you’re about to call her over. Instantly, Draco leans over you, pushing you against the bookcase and holding his wand against your throat.

“Don’t say a word.” His voice is cool and low. A teasing grin flickers across your lips, and you push his wand away with one finger. “What, you going to hex me, Malfoy? In the middle of the library? I think that would draw your favorite girl over here more than anything.” Draco just stares daggers at you, breath coming harshly in his chest. He stares there, unmoving, until you jerk your chin towards the doors. “Pansy’s gone. Now can you please let go of me?”

Draco waits a moment just to spite you, and then releases his grip on your wrist. You snatch your hand away from him with an air of disgust, and grab your potions book off of the shelf. “Never do that again.” You hiss at him, and stalk away. Who does he think he is, that lout? You’re still storming over the incident the whole way back to the table, and barely notice that Harry and Ron have joined you until you throw yourself back into your seat.

Hermione looks up at your abrupt arrival. “What’s wrong, Y/N?” You heave a sigh of irritation. “Draco Malfoy, that’s what’s wrong. I ran into that lowlife in the library. I just can’t stand him.” Harry nods knowingly, but Ron, who appears to be in an even worse mood than you, rolls his eyes. “Oh, stop complaining. You’re a Slytherin, he isn’t as bad to you.” This is entirely the wrong thing to say, and you know you should just ignore him but you’re still fired up from the confrontation in the library.

“Are you saying that Malfoy’s not as mean to me because I’m from his house?” Ron nods, ignoring Hermione pointedly shaking her head at him in an attempt to get him to stay quiet. “Yeah, I am. You keep pretending like he’s such a jerk to you, but you don’t have it half as bad as the rest of us. Honestly, you need to stop making such a big deal out of nothing.” You know you’re overreacting, but you can’t take Ron’s griping, not today. You stand up, slamming your books shut and sweeping your parchment and quills into your bag. 

“In that case, I suppose you don’t need my nothing when it comes to your potions essay. Good luck figuring that out.” You glance over at Hermione. “I’m sorry to leave in a rush, but I should be on my way. Swing by later if you need help.” Hermione says her chagrined goodbyes, and as you stalk away from the table, you can hear her laying into Ron already. The sound brings a smile to your face.

You’re still fuming over Draco and Ron and the god-awful Potions essay the next day, and your irritation must show because Pansy takes advantage of the opportunity to cross paths with you as you’re walking through the halls. She’s chattering with a group of her friends in the courtyard, and as you hurry past, you hear her call something out to you. “Oh look, there’s Y/N. You know, she looks surprisingly proud for someone who’s father is a mudblood-lover. Maybe she’s alright with it.”

Your footsteps slow, and you turn back to face Pansy. You know that this is just what she wants, but you’ve got a burning feeling in the back of your head that tells you that if you let one more person walk all over you you’ll never be able to deal with yourself again. You eye Pansy coolly. “What was that, Parkinson?” Pansy smirks, victorious. “I heard a rumor that your father was getting a little too close to some Muggles. That would certainly tarnish your reputation, wouldn’t it? And here I was, thinking that the L/Ns were an upstanding wizarding family, but I guess not. It looks like-”

You feel like you’re a couple of seconds away from punching Pansy right in her arrogantly prissy face, but before you can try to argue yourself out of violence another boy steps up beside you. You groan inwardly when you realize it’s Draco. Great, another person to make fun of you, because this day wasn’t going badly enough already. However, he doesn’t join in the laughter. In fact, he shoots a glare at Pansy. “Amazing, Parkinson. Did you finally realize that your own family was so low that you had to make up rumors to get anywhere? Although, you might want to stay away from the Muggle story. I think it might be a little too true on your end.”

Pansy’s face blanches, and she starts stammering something about how that couldn’t possibly be true and she has no idea what Draco’s talking about. You stare at Draco in amazement, and he turns back to you. “Let’s go. I don’t feel like wasting any more of our time.” With that, the two of you strut away across the courtyard, leaving Pansy behind to make up excuses to her group of friends.

Only when you’re out of hearing distance from Pansy do you finally let yourself relax. You look over at Draco, unable to stop yourself from laughing. “What was that about? Is it really true about Pansy’s family?” Draco, surprisingly, is grinning as well. “I don’t know, but she didn’t seem like she could deny it.” The two of you carry on in hilarity for a while, but then you turn to him, grin slipping away from your face. “Why did you do that?” Draco frowns. “Do what?” You gesture idly behind you with your hand. “Defend me against Parkinson. I would have thought you’d join in instead of having my back.”

Draco shrugs, looking down the hallway. “We’re supposed to be enemies, aren’t we? I don’t feel like having my rival limited by false rumors. It would lower me too.” You look at him askance. “You publicly insulted Pansy Parkinson just because you think that me being called names hurts you as well?” Draco shrugs. “Why did you think I did it?” You sigh, furrowing your brow. “I don’t know.”

Even after you and Draco turn down separate hallways, you find yourself still thinking about him. Why would he defend you? It makes no sense. You even think back to that moment in the library, and realize that he wasn’t really as cruel as you had thought. All he had done then was exchange the usual retorts, although those had the same joking tinge as always. And wasn’t it strange that of all the places to hide, he had chosen your aisle? It could have just been a coincidence, or maybe he was seeking you out intentionally.

You’re not sure how you feel about this. You’ve grown so used to thinking of Draco as an enemy, someone to be hated, that you don’t quite know what to do when he is nice to you. You find your eyes flickering his way in the common room, or your gaze constantly catching on his silhouette as he walks past you in the halls. You usually never spend this much time thinking about him, but now, he seems to be everywhere.

One night, you can’t focus on your homework. Between the smoky atmosphere of the Slytherin common room or the mind-twisting Transfiguration tasks McGonagall’s set for you, you just can’t seem to get your thoughts in order. Eventually, you close up your books and decide to head to the Astronomy Tower. The cool night air will clear your head, and you’ll still technically be doing homework because you’ll be studying the stars.

You’re grateful for the still emptiness of the tower. You prop your arms up against the stone edge of the balcony, letting your shoulders slump as you consider the dizzying drop to the grounds below. You tilt your head up slightly, letting the wind trace patterns against your skin. You’re just beginning to feel peaceful once again when you hear the door to the Astronomy Tower open and a figure joins you on the turret. You sigh inwardly when you recognize the familiar shock of white-blond hair. Of course- Draco always goes to the Astronomy Tower as a place to unwind. Then you’re surprised as to why that fact popped so readily into your head, and how you even knew that in the first place.

Draco’s steps falter for a second when he realizes he’s not alone. You start to move away from the balcony. “Here, I’ll go. You can have the tower to yourself.” You turn around to find yourself caught in Draco’s gaze, those storm grey eyes pinning you in place. Draco shakes his head just slightly, and his voice echoes across the stone room. “No, don’t go. It’s alright.” You hesitate for a moment, then turn back to the view before you. Your eyes follow the line of trees dotting the grounds, the twisting snakes of rivers that feed into the Black Lake.

After a moment, Draco joins you at the balcony. He leans up against the stone, just a few inches away from you. You both stand there in silence, unable to say a word. At last, Draco turns to you. “What are we?” You return his gaze, slightly confused. “What?” Draco looks away for just a second, and then his eyes return to you. “When we first met, we hated each other. We’ve been rivals for years, and now-” He breaks off. “I don’t think we dislike each other anymore. I don’t think we have for a while.” You stay silent for a second, taking in his words. Then you nod.

“There’s something else, isn’t there? It isn’t just me?” For a moment, you think you’ve gone too far, spoken too rashly. Draco stares at you, then he leans forward and kisses you. When he breaks away, panic and regret flash through his eyes when you don’t say anything. He starts to move away, but you step towards him and kiss him again. This time, he doesn’t break away, not immediately. His hand slides up to the small of your back, the stone of the balcony cool against your legs.

You can still feel his hand on your waist when he breaks away. You look away, sure you’ve made some mistake that you’ll regret in the morning, but then his fingers are lightly pressed against your cheek, guiding you back to look at him again. He looks less sure of anything than you’ve ever seen him, but all of a sudden that doubt is replaced by a calm determination. “This is right. This is what we were supposed to be.” You nod quietly, letting your hesitation break free with a smile. He’s right, isn’t he? No matter how it felt to win all the arguments or competitions with him, this moment right now feels far better than anything before it. This is what you always wanted, and what he wants as well.

[mikauzoran]

Lady Noir/Platonic Alyadrien: Drunk Ladybug on My Balcony? Yeah. This is Fine.: Chapter Six

Read it on AO3: Drunk Ladybug on My Balcony? Yeah. This is Fine.: Chapter Six: The Confession

“Your girlfriend is trying to call you,” Plagg noted lazily from his comfy nest in Adrien’s sock drawer.

Adrien stopped in the middle of practicing Chopin’s Ballade No. 2 in F major to look up curiously at his kwami. “Marinette is?”

Plagg had been teasing Adrien about Marinette supposedly being his girlfriend almost as long as they’d known her, and Adrien had long ago given up on getting Plagg to stop.

“No,” Plagg replied disinterestedly. “The other one.”

Adrien blinked, momentarily confused. At first, he thought Plagg was being sarcastic. It took his brain a second to process that Plagg really did mean the other one.

“Wait. What? Ladybug?!” Adrien rose from the piano bench hastily, nearly tipping it over backwards. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I’m saying something right now,” Plagg yawned, giving a decidedly feline stretch, arching his spine before settling back into the sock pile.

“Sooner,” Adrien groaned. “Plagg, transform me.”

The call had already gone to voicemail by the time Adrien’s transformation sequence ended, but he wasted no time in calling her back.

“Sorry. Plagg didn’t tell me you were calling right away,” he spit out in a rush. “What’s wrong, My Lady? Akuma?”

“Oh,” Ladybug’s voice came out startled and uncertain. “Sorry. No. Nothing’s wrong.”

Chat Noir frowned, picking up on her unease and nervousness. “Are you sure? You sound a little flustered, Buguinette.”

“What?” she laughed awkwardly, her tone sounding forced. “No. I’m not flustered. I just…”

Chat could swear he heard someone in the background whisper, “Deep breath. It’s just Chat Noir. You’ve got this.”

“Ladybug, is someone there with you?” His thoughts swung rapidly between “kidnapper” and “another man”.

“Sorry,” Ladybug sighed and then made herself inhale slowly. “It’s just my friend. Look. I’m really sorry to bother you, Chat Noir, but are you busy? Would you be able to meet up and talk for, like, twenty minutes?”

Chat looked back to his piano and smiled bitterly, knowing no one would be in to check on him until it was time for breakfast at the very earliest.

“No worries, My Lady,” he assured, injecting a warmth into his voice that dispelled the chill of his empty room. “I can meet up. Just say where.”

Ladybug bit her lip, considering for a moment before tentatively inquiring, “Do you remember a long time ago that night you planned that romantic rooftop picnic surprise for me?”

Taken aback that she even remembered, he didn’t reply right away. When he did, his voice was soft and a little unsteady. “Sure. Yeah. I—uh—yeah. I remember. I’m surprised that you do, honestly.”

She pursed her lips and looked down at her spotted feet. “I’ve never forgotten that night,” she replied sadly. “See you there in a bit?”

“Yeah,” he promised. “See you there.”

 When he arrived ten minutes later, she was pacing the rooftop in question, talking to herself and gesticulating wildly with her arms.

“Practicing a speech?” he chuckled fondly as he soundlessly touched down on the railing.

Ladybug jumped, squeaked, and would have fallen over backwards if she hadn’t pinwheeled her arms to somehow regain her balance.

“Ack!” she squawked, eyes round like marbles.

He couldn’t help an affectionate laugh at her expense as he shook his head at her antics.

She cleared her throat and attempted to reclaim some semblance of an air of dignity. “Sorry. Yes. I was practicing a speech…in a way.”

Chat nodded, easily accepting her vague response. “I’m sure you’ll do great when you give it. So. What’s up? What was it you needed to talk to me about?”

Ladybug took what was probably her tenth deep breath of the evening.

“I’m in love with you!” came out with the exhale, shrill and squeaky and not at all how she had intended to broach the subject.

Chat’s luminescent eyes went wide in shock for a moment before settling into abject confusion.

Meanwhile, Ladybug clapped both hands over her mouth, emitted a high-pitched noise, and stared at him in terror.

“Sorry,” he replied carefully. “What did you say?”

That seemed to break the spell, causing Ladybug to groan and look away.

“I am so sorry,” she quickly apologized to the roof shingles. “That is not what I meant to say. Ignore me. I’m sorry. I’m such a mess.”

“It’s okay,” he granted magnanimously, trying to contain the confusion and pain and elation bubbling up inside of him. “Just…start over. Please.”

She sighed gravely. “I was talking to a friend of mine, and she made me realize I’d screwed up, Chat Noir. I’d really, really screwed up.”

“Mistakes can be fixed,” he comforted, lowering himself off of the railing and onto the roof proper. “Tell me about it. Maybe we can figure this out together.”

She held out her hand to him, and he crossed the roof, readily taking it and giving it a squeeze.

She tugged him down to sit on the roof with her and shot a brave smile his way.

He returned it patiently, revealing no external sign of the maelstrom of emotions he was feeling inside.

“Chat Noir, you know you’re one of the most important people in my life, don’t you?” she started softly, searching his face.

His emerald eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t look unduly surprised.

“I knew I was pretty important to you,” he confessed. “I mean, you’ve told me before how much our friendship means to you and that I’m irreplaceable, so I knew I was important, but I was never vain enough to think I could score a top spot.”

She gave a little snort. “Please. You’re easily top five.”

“You do me a great honor, My Lady,” he chuckled, giving her hand another squeeze. “I’m happy to say that you made my top five too.”

It became easier for her to smile at that. “Thanks, Chaton. So…you know I care about you deeply and that I’d never hurt you on purpose.” There was a hint of a question in her voice as she glanced up at him for confirmation.

“Of course,” he affirmed.

She took a breath and blew it out, her brow crinkling in disquietude as she looked down at their joined hands. “I was talking to a friend tonight, and she brought it to my attention that even though I’ve been telling you for years that I could only be friends and partners with you, I may have been unintentionally leading you on with my actions.” She looked up at him again. “Chat Noir, have I ever done or said something that made you think that I had changed my mind about just being friends?”

This time, he looked away, forehead furrowing, cat ears flattening. “I…No…. I…”

“Please be honest with me,” she begged. “I kind of need to know if I’ve done something to give you the wrong idea. I never meant to play with your feelings like that.”

“I know,” he sighed softly, training his eyes on the little row of chimneys not far off in the middle distance. “I know you didn’t mean it, but…yeah. Your friend was right,” he begrudgingly admitted. “It seems like every time I’m about ready to give up on you for real, you’ll do or say something that gives me just enough hope to make it another couple weeks, another few months, another year.”

She inhaled audibly, a sharp little gasp, and her grip on his hand tightened. “I am so, so sorry, Chat Noir,” she breathed, seemingly struggling to draw air into her lungs. “I didn’t mean—”

“—No,” he cut her off, turning to meet her gaze intently. “Ladybug, don’t. It’s not your fault. You explicitly told me about the other guy and how you only felt platonic love for me. I’m the idiot who took the things you said and did the wrong way even after you were extremely clear about where we stood with each other. Don’t blame yourself, Buguinette. This is on me,” he assured, gently, smiling with warmth, affection, and clemency as he raised her hand to his lips. “Don’t worry about it. I always knew deep down that you didn’t have feelings for me. It was stupid to let myself think otherwise for even a second, but…you know me. Always thinking with my heart rather than my head.”

She couldn’t help the way heat rose up in her cheeks unbidden at his touch, staining her face red like a sunset.

Her heart flipped as his lips brushed the back of her hand. Even though the pressure was much too light to be felt through the suit, it tingled all the way up her arm.

She swallowed hard. “About that…”

He quirked an eyebrow, waiting patiently for her to go on.

She bit her lip, prefacing, “I don’t want to give you the wrong idea.”

His eyes narrowed slightly in puzzlement. “…But…?” he prompted.

She gulped again. “I don’t see a future for us as a couple with things the way they are, and you can’t change my mind about that, so don’t even try. There are so many reasons we can’t be together right now; plus, I’m still in love with the other guy, and I think I’m finally about to make some progress, so…”

His features became more and more perplexed as she went on and he struggled to follow where the conversation was going. “…So?” he urged her to continue.

“So we can only be friends while Papillon is at large and we have a job to do, secret identities to protect,” she summarized, gathering up her courage to reiterate what she had initially blurted out at the beginning of the conversation. “And I don’t want us putting our lives on hold until this is all over. It’s not fair, and it’s not healthy. We deserve happiness and love now.”

Chat nodded in agreement, remembering what Alya had told Adrien about letting go of his feelings for Ladybug and moving on so that he could live life to the fullest in the present.

“So, what are you saying?” he inquired curiously, still not sure what exactly they were talking about or why.

She looked at him with determination burning in her cornflower eyes. “I’m saying that I do have feelings for you,” she revealed, voice gentle and warm.

He inhaled long and slow as his eerie green eyes went wide, stretching the edges of his mask along with them.

“I realized it about six years ago,” she explained wistfully. “You’re wonderful, Chat Noir. You’re one of the best, most amazing people I know. How could I not fall for you?” she laughed at herself.

His mouth opened and closed repeatedly, half-formed questions dying on his lips as new ones sprang forth and withered in rapid succession.

Ladybug shook her head sadly. “I love you, Chat Noir, and I’m afraid my feelings have been slipping through the cracks, even though I’ve tried so hard to keep them hidden. I’m afraid I’ve been giving you false hope because, even though I love you, Chat Noir, nothing can ever come of it.”

His brow furrowed with choler, and he opened his mouth once more to protest, but she gave him a pleading look and squeezed his hand.

“Not now. Not like this,” she entreated. “Not with secret identities in the way. Not while a romantic relationship could get in the way of our teamwork and affect our performance.”

He paled as the logic behind her words set in.

She smiled lachrymosely. “I’d like to think that we’d be perfect romantic partners and never fight or even have disagreements, but…I know that’s not realistic, and I’m afraid we wouldn’t be able to set personal matters aside in battle. I’m scared we’d let our romantic relationship distract us, and we’d be a split second too late in reacting. You know how split seconds often make the difference between victory and getting blasted off the plain of existence. We can’t risk it. Not while we’ve still got a job to do, people’s lives depending on us.”

He dropped his head, his shoulders, ears, and tail drooping in defeat as he let out a weary sigh. “I wish I could say something to change your mind, but…deep down, I know you’re right, My Lady,” he grumbled in emotional exhaustion. “I already let my feelings distract me in battle enough as it is; I know being in a relationship with you wouldn’t do anything to help the problem.”

He looked up at her with baleful, watery eyes. “This just sucks so much because we would be epic together.”

“Yeah,” she laughed through her own tears, giving his hand a squeeze in solidarity. “We really would be…. Maybe we will someday.”

His eyes widened, his breath catching as hope flowed back into him. “You mean…?”

“Maybe, when this is all over and I’m just me and you’re just you…maybe we’ll both be single, and maybe it will finally be time for us,” she replied, giving the thought form and sending it out into the universe.

“Yeah,” he whispered, praying that that day would come soon.

She took a deep breath and seemed to regain her composure. “Until then, though, we shouldn’t cheat ourselves out of the present moment.”

“What do you mean?” he asked as if pulled suddenly out of a dream.

“I mean, we should try to be happy, give other people a chance.” She shot him a teasing grin. “Like that girl you talk about sometimes? Your cute, compassionate friend?”

“Oh,” Chat chuckled, cheeks turning crimson around his mask. “Yeah. My one friend has really been pushing the idea of me asking her on a date. I guess my crush really isn’t all that subtle, is it?”

“Nope,” she snickered. “You’re obviously into her, and she sounds like a good person. If it can’t be me, I want you to be with someone who treats you right and makes you happy. She sounds sweet.”

“She is,” he affirmed with a smitten grin as he averted his eyes, thinking of Marinette’s laugh.

“Ask her on a date, then,” she urged, nudging his arm playfully with her own.

“Okay. But what about you and your mystery guy?” he pressed, reasoning that turnabout was fair play. “Are you finally going to tell him how you feel? I want you to be happy too, Buguinette.”

She bit her lip, mentally going over her recent decision to give up on Adrien…for what was probably the fortieth time.

“I don’t know,” she responded pensively, worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth. “I’m pretty sure he’ll tell me he just sees me as a friend, but…I’ve wasted so much time fretting and planning elaborate scenarios with which to confess my feelings…maybe I just need to go up to him and say, ‘Hey. I like you. Would you want to go on a date and see how it goes?’ It seems stupid to give up without ever telling him, and it seems pointless to waste any more time stressing, so…”

“So, walk up to him, tell him he’s hot, and ask him to go get coffee with you,” Chat coached. “No big deal.”

“No big deal, he says,” Ladybug snorted.

“It isn’t,” he stressed. “You’re the one making it into this seven-year-long soap opera of unrequited love and evil twins and aliens and all that garbage. Tell the guy you’re interested and move on if he says no.”

She arched an intrigued eyebrow at him. “Do you watch soap operas?”

Chat rolled his eyes, grumbling, “Plagg watches trashy TV, and I’ve picked up some things.”

She gave a snort of amusement. “Tikki likes rom coms.”

“Can we switch?” he begged, giving her the sad kitten eyes. “Please?”

“Pft. Nope. My kwami is objectively better.” She stuck out her tongue playfully.

He contemplated crossing his arms and sulking, but that would necessitate letting go of her hand, and he was not keen on the idea.

“Mean,” he accused petulantly instead.

She giggled, and he shortly thereafter joined her, their combined laughter creating a lovely duet.

The moment eventually passed, leaving them smiling contentedly at one another, hands still joined, hearts feeling much lighter.

“…Is it horrible of me?” he tentatively broke the silence. “I want you to be happy and loved, of course. You deserve that, but…I’m really hoping that we defeat Papillon in the next year or two and that you won’t be in a relationship at that point. I’m so selfish,” he scoffed at himself, averting his eyes in shame and starting to pull his hand away.

She squeezed it tighter as she leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek. “It’s okay to be selfish sometimes,” she assured as she pulled back, smiling like a lighthouse beam in the fog.

He stared at her for a moment in wonder before a warm smile spread across his lips once more. “Thanks.”

“…Are we okay?” she asked, suddenly unsure. “I’m sorry to spring all this on you, but…when my friend told me earlier I had been leading you on, I felt sick, and she convinced me to put my cards on the table and clear up the misunderstanding. I would have lost my nerve if she hadn’t made me call you then and there.”

“No worries.” He waved away her concern with a genuine grin. “This was good. A lot, but good. Necessary. It was good for me to get some closure and real hope instead of all of the uncertainty of the last few years.”

She winced, guilt hitting her all over again like that construction worker whose arms had been turned into wrecking balls when he’d been akumatized the previous summer. “I am so sorry I did that to you.”

“No worries,” he repeated, leaning in to give her temple a whisper of a kiss. “It’s all in the past…but mind telling me who this illustrious friend of yours is so that I can thank her personally? I feel like I need to get her a nice gift basket at least to express my eternal gratitude.”

“O-Oh.” Ladybug stiffened, her ears beginning to turn rosy. “Well…um…Alya Césaire.”

He blinked, completely taken aback that she had actually told him. He’d mostly been kidding, but… “Wait. Like…Alya from the Ladyblog?”

“I accidentally got a little drunk last week and crashed into her balcony on my way home, and she was really cool about it, so now we’re kind of friends,” Ladybug rushed to explain in a single breath.

Chat Noir continued to blink in surprise.

“I don’t know. Just, today, she kind of pounced on me out of nowhere about me leading you on, and she was adamant that I tell you the truth so that you could make peace with your feelings for me and move on. So…yeah,” she finished lamely with a helpless shrug.

“Oh,” he replied loquaciously.

“Yeah,” she repeated.

“Cool,” he added, sensing that his previous response had not been adequate.

He tried not to think about what the odds were that Alya would randomly, apropos of nothing, tell Ladybug to clear up the whole leading-Chat-Noir-on-situation shortly after Adrien had admitted to Alya that Ladybug had been leading him on for years.

Mentally, Chat cursed in French, English, Chinese, Russian, Japanese, and Italian.

Italian didn’t go very well because he wasn’t completely clear on what exactly the words he knew meant, only that the person being sworn at in Italian had not done an adequate job according to Gabriel Agreste’s standards.

He figured that was close enough for his purposes at the moment.

“Alya’s cool,” he elaborated. “Very trustworthy.”

“Definitely,” Ladybug chuckled with a fond smile, and Chat calmed down somewhat, deciding to worry about possible secret identity exposure later.

Then and there, he was with the woman he loved, and she loved him in return. True, things weren’t perfect because they couldn’t be together just yet, but a new sense of hope and optimism that he hadn’t felt the equal of in years welled up within him, letting him enjoy the moment.

He gave her hand a squeeze and scooted in close to rest his head on top of hers as they sat there together, peacefully gazing up at the heavens.

 Alya was just finishing up her article when a tentative tap came at her balcony door.

She frowned and grabbed her phone, thinking that she’d missed a text from Marinette.

She’d called as soon as she’d gotten home from talking to Chat Noir, and they’d spent nearly an hour picking through all of the details, returning again and again to the romantic way the two heroes had held hands the entire time.

“It was so wonderful, Alya,” Marinette gushed. “Just having that connection, feeling like he was my lifeline and we were in this together.”

There were no texts from Marinette announcing her intention to pay Alya a visit.

Eyes narrowed in apprehension, she grabbed the lamp off of her desk and slowly approached the sliding glass door.

She threw back the curtain and came face to face with a rather surprised-looking Chat Noir, his hand raised to gently knock again.

Alya blinked.

Chat Noir returned the gesture, and then his eyes went to the lamp in Alya’s hand. His eyebrow slowly gained elevation.

He cleared his throat uncertainly. “Um…Good evening. Sorry to startle you?”

Alya smiled sheepishly, setting the lamp down and unlocking the door. “Chat Noir. Hi. Sorry. Just…never hurts to be cautious.”

“Were you expecting a burglar on the fourth story?” he couldn’t help but wonder.

“Usually, it’s an akuma,” she sighed, stepping out of his way and beckoning him in.

“Oh,” he whispered as the lamp suddenly seemed less ridiculous. “Sorry.”

“No worries,” she assured. “Come in.”

He hesitated, toing the floor of her balcony nervously with the tip of his boot. “Actually…I don’t think I need to come in. I don’t want to take up much of your time, but…Ladybug and I had a talk earlier tonight, and she said that it was at your insistence, so I really wanted to thank you, because I cannot even begin to describe to you what it means to me to have that kind of closure, so…”

He bit the inside of his cheek, mentally chiding himself to stop rambling. “Sorry. I’ll get to the point. I was just wondering if you knew…?” He tipped his head to the side, struggling to summon up the words. “Earlier, did I accidentally…?”

Alya watched him fidget for a moment before it finally dawned on her what he was on about.

She smiled affectionately and rolled her eyes. “Adrien…get in here.”

“Oh,” he squeaked. “Shoot.”

She gave her eyes another roll, took him by the elbow, and forcibly manhandled Paris’s second favourite superhero into her bedroom. “Get in here you adorkosaurus and tell me about your romantic rooftop heart-to-heart with Ladybug,” she chuckled, pulling him in and tugging the curtain closed behind him.

“You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?” he sighed, letting his transformation drop.

She gave him “the look” and then motioned for him to flop down on her bed. “Cupcake, I’m not even going to tell Marinette,” she snorted as she went back to her desk.

“How did you figure it out?” he sighed, collapsing into Alya’s throw pillows.

“It was the fact that you knew Ladybug well enough to confess your love and be turned down by her over the course of several years…and then I may have interrogated her about people who had confessed their undying love,” Alya summarized.

“Well played,” Adrien granted. “Ladybug is going to be so disappointed in me.”

“Don’t tell her,” Alya instructed, cutting the Gordian knot.

He started to argue. “But—”

“—Just don’t,” she interrupted. “I’m not telling anyone. I’d cut my tongue out first. You’re safe. Paris is safe. Ladybug is better off not knowing.”

“I like her,” Plagg snickered, floating over to land on Alya’s desk next to her mousepad. “She’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

Alya blinked at the flying cat demon. “I’m guessing you’re his kwami? I’m Alya. Nice to meet you.”

“Plagg,” Plagg supplied. “Charmed, I’m sure. Do you have any cheese?”

“Plagg,” Adrien groaned. “You are the worst houseguest.”

Five minutes later, Plagg was happily distracted with the remnants of a wheel of Brie that Alya was fairly certain no one was planning on eating, and Adrien and Alya were free to continue their discussion.

“Just. Don’t. Tell. Her,” Alya reemphasized.

Adrien frowned uncertainly. “Do you really think that’s okay?”

“It’s for the best,” she assured. “Trust me. I care about you, Sunshine, and Ladybug is my friend too, so please believe that I have the best intentions in my heart when I say just don’t mention it.”

Adrien pursed his lips, weighing his options. “Well…if you’re the only one who knows and you don’t plan on telling anyone…I guess there’s no real harm done.”

“Precisely. And I’ve already been helpful to both you and Ladybug because I knew your identity, haven’t I?” she coaxed. “This is a good thing.”

A bright, sappy smile broke out on Adrien’s lips as he thought back to his Lady’s confession. Warmth and a sense of lightness again flooded his chest.

“I can’t find it within myself to disagree,” he confessed with a giddy laugh. “Thank you, Alya.”

“Hey, us bros look out for one another,” she chuckled, saving her article and shutting down her laptop for the night before swinging around in her desk chair to face Adrien.

“Soooo?” she prompted, drawing out the vowel. “Last time I checked, bros gush about their romantic encounters with their crushes. I’m waiting for all the spicy details about your rooftop rendezvous with Ladybug. How was her love confession? Tell me all about it. None of it leaves this room, I swear.”

Adrien gave a trill of glee, hugging Alya’s throw pillow to his chest as he enthusiastically exclaimed, “Oh my gosh, Alya, it was the best!”

[gingyboo]

Mirror Mirror

A/N: Again many thanks to @booglebug

Description- Soulmates existed. People knew that much. Soulmates were rare, a handful in each generation, an unexplainable phenomenon that formed a bond closer than blood and more sacred than marriage.

Bucky finds his soulmate when he needs her most. Little does he know how much she needs him too.

(Soulmate au that slots pretty much in to the MCU but with soulmates. Set after TFATWS.)

Pairing- Bucky Barnes x OFC

Warnings- Mentions of violence and guns, but its mostly fluff, drama and angst.

This is a multi chaptered fic.

Please like, comment, reblog!

prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13

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Chapter 14

“Bucky…” she started again, Bucky held up a hand to stop her

“Don’t, please Nancy don’t.” He shook his head.”

“I am sorry though Buck.”

“Don’t be, god Nancy, I flipped in there, seeing you there, with him trying to get into your head, I couldn’t bare it.”

“You’re angry at yourself?” She asked

“You had to threaten yourself to get me to stand down.” He grabbed her, pulling her face to his. “How could I let that happen.” Nancy twisted in his grip, pressing her lips to the pulse point on his wrist. His pained expression softened slightly.

“Bucky, we got what we needed. Okay, you know what he was doing in there, you let this get between us and he wins okay. Look at me, look at us, we’re okay. We know where Kit is, the mission is complete.” Bucky met her eyes then, aquamarine bore into emerald. A shiver ran through them both and they sprung apart.

“You felt that?” He whispered, Nancy nodded. He slid his hand across to hers. The feeling was gone but Nancy felt the familiar joy of his presence.

“A soulmate thing I guess?” She responded.

“I think this thing goes deeper than either of us expected.” Bucky twirled a strand of hair through his fingers. “Shuri’s probably got some theory’s on it.”

“Maybe we should try and find out more.” She agreed.

“Yeah, probably. Do you have any idea how happy I was when I saw you looking back at me all those months ago? I knew I wasn’t alone anymore. Everything I’ve been through, the things I’ve seen, meeting you, made it seem like there was a point to it. Getting to know you, I think it was worth it.” Bucky declared.

“Bucky…” Nancy croaked. She knew what he’d told her about his past but also knew there was much more he hadn’t told her.

“Wait. I can’t give you a normal life, I want to because you deserve to be safe and secure, but trouble seems to follow me. I can only promise that I was always try to protect you from it.” He looked like he might cry navy reached her hand round to sweep across his cheek.

“Please, let me speak.” she started, steadying her voice. “I felt the same, when I found you I felt complete, I loved you from the first moments I spent with you, I can’t have a life without you, when Helmut said I was my brothers biggest weakness, I realised you’re mine, and then I hurt you, don’t say I didn’t because I saw it in your eyes. We stand together, I set us apart it was unforgivable.”

“There’s nothing you could do that I wouldn’t forgive.” He insisted, his vibranium hand against hers on his cheek. Nancy smiled, her whole face lighting up.

“And for the record, trouble seems to find me just fine, and who wants a normal life, any life with you would be extraordinary.”

“Nancy, we might not get the big house in the country, I might not get to give you the kind of life you’re used to. I don’t work nine to five, I haven’t got a credit score or a pension plan, we might not get a puppy or have some kids…”

“Oh no we will have kids,” Nancy cut him off with a laugh, shaking her head.

“How are you so certain.” Bucky smiled back.

“Because I’m as stubborn as I am beautiful, because i think you want kids, and so do I, because our life will be different, but I’ll be damned if it’s not exactly the life we both want.” She let up kissing his forehead and both his cheeks.

“Are you sure?” He pressed his forehead into hers.

“Absolutely, you don’t need a pension, or a credit score and I don’t care where we live, New York, London, Timbuktu for all I care. I have money, I know it can’t buy me those moments in our future.” She exclaimed. She looked briefly round the cabin. “Where’d you suppose Sam got to?”

“I think he’s giving us a moment.” Bucky chuckled, tilt her chin to press his lips against hers, she chuckled into it, running her fingers through his hair.

“You think a lot about our future,” he asked, kissing along her jawline.

“Yes.” She blushed slightly, biting her lip.

“Tell me.” Both hands were in her hair now, moving against her scalp as her head tilted back, giving him access to her neck.

“Okay,” She breathed in heavily, closing her eyes. “so, I think we’ll have a little place somewhere, not too busy, nice and secluded, you can go off on your missions and know there’s a safe place to come home to. We can have kids, they’ll get under our feet when we put up the Christmas decorations, they’ll sneak out of bed to see you when you come home late. A little boy with your big blue eyes, a little girl dusted in my freckles. We can have Sam round for barbecues…” Nancy was cut off by Bucky sitting back up straight.

“Don’t talk about Sam right now.” He laughed.

“So nice little place, couple of kids, what will you be doing? I cannot picture you as the doting housewife.” He tapped her nose playfully.

“Maybe I’ll be heading out next to you,” His face filled with horror, she laughed again and his face relaxed, “or I’ll finally put that degree I got to good use, start writing again.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They arrived in Cornwall under cover of night. The trio trudged sleepily across the field and made their way to a cosy Clift top B&B. The elderly lady on the desk showed them up to two rooms. Bucky and Nancy settled into their nightly routine, he lay with his arms wrapped around her as she traced the gold detailing in his left arm.

“I think Sam’s idea is good, we’ll start at the docks tomorrow, work our way down the coast from there.” Bucky said, Nancy nodded sleepily. “Sorry, were you trying to sleep?”

“No no, it’s okay, keep talking, your voice is soothing.” She smiled, snuggling deeper into his embrace.

“Okay, different topic, tell me about Thomas Gregory.” He whispered in her ear. She laughed loudly, turning round to face him.

“He was Kit’s best friend, so he was a little older, I was 11 and thought he was perfect. He was actually an arsehole. But I fancied he was my soulmate. Kit used to tease me constantly about him, why’d you ask, feeling jealous?” She asked giggling.

“No, I was merely curious.” He insisted.

“Sure sure, I do think you’re right about Sam’s plan. If he is using Thomas’s name then we can look for that. If he’s using a different alias maybe I’ll recognise it. Helmut did think he wanted me to find him. Also, if he has taken the serum maybe some locals have noticed a local fisherman with super strength.”

“You think he’s become a fisherman?” Bucky said, surprised.

“Well, I was thinking, he loves to be at sea, the navy is out of the question and if he is wanting me to find him, he’d have to stay local. Cornwall is known for its’ roaring fishing trade.”

“I wouldn’t know, but it’s a good place to begin,”

“So, we’ll do this undercover, no stars, no stripes and no metal arm.” Her eyes pleaded with him.

“I packed my gloves.” He waved the vibranium at her. She smiled as the soft light from the bedside lamp reflected off it. A yawn came over her and Bucky reached back to switch off the light. Nancy turned again, her back now pressed back against Bucky’s chest. Sleep fell over them both.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They headed out to the coast at dawn. The early morning sun beating down on them. Chatted cheerfully on along the way, he seemed to have lost his hostility from the day before. The first village they came across turned out to be a tourist hotspot, Nancy managed to hire them a car. The first harbour they found didn’t recognise the name Thomas Gregory or the picture Nancy brought up of Kit on her phone. The second harbour told the same story but once they reached the third harbour they had some hope.

“I think I might’ve seen him round here before, tall fellow,” The harbour master explained. Nancy nodded eagerly. “I think he usually mores over the ridge, wait here a moment.” The man jogged back to his portacabin and returned with a clipboard. “Here it is, Greg Thomas, stayed here a few months back, just the one night, the boat you’re looking for is the Princess Lynnette.” He smiled cheerfully at them. Nancy froze but the man didn’t notice as Sam thanked him whilst he walked away.

“You okay there?” Sam asked tapping her shoulder, “it’s good news, he might not be far.”

“He named his boat after me.” She whispered. Bucky smiled but Sam looked confused.

“Princess Lynnette?”

“Lynnette is my middle name.” Nancy explained, fondling the car keys before nodding to herself and marching back to the car. She slipped behind the driver’s seat and started the engine. Kit was close, she could almost feel it, as they drove over the ridge a large cove came into view. The harbour was a rush with activity as the boats came in from their morning runs. They pulled into a nearby car park and entered the throng of people. With everyone so busy they had to do without help finding the boat. They flittered in and out of crowds and up and down the jetty. Just when Nancy was losing hope she caught sight a surprisingly still boat at the end of one row. Every other boat had people rushing on and off loading and unloading goods. This one was silent, Nancy approached it slowly, and there were the words, Princess Lynnette, printed in blue along the side of a modestly sized fishing boat. It had curtains drawn across the window. She reached up to knock tentatively on the window. There was no response. Bucky came up and wrapped an arm round her shoulder.

“It’s his, it has to be.” She felt tears pricking at her eyes.

“We’ll give you a minute.” Bucky nodded at Sam who was admiring the docks comings and goings. They walked a little way away as Nancy stared at the boat, waiting for the curtain to twitch or the boat to rock. It just kept bobbing gently. She knocked again, harder this time, the again and again.

“Can I help you?” A voice sounded from behind her. Nancy span on one heel, her hair flying around as she did, getting whipped up in the wind.

“Nancy.” Kit was standing there, the same but different. He seemed bigger, he’d grown out his hair and was sporting a beard, his skin tanned more than it had been before. He looked different, but he was still, unmistakably, her big brother, he really was alive.

“Kit.” She said, breathless as her legs gave out under her.

[qm-vox]

Let The World Never Falter - Playing Paladins in D&D

(Pictured: Anastasia Luxan, Knight of the Tainted Cup, one of only two people in her friend group that are not evil-aligned. Her wife Aisling is not the other good-aligned person. Characters are from my novel Mourners: Scum of Shatterdown; art credit goes to J.D)

Paladins are one of Dungeons and Dragons’ most striking, and most controversial, character classes. Few character classes and character concepts capture the imagination as quickly or start arguments of such ferocity. I’ve been in this game awhile - I remember when D&D 3e was released - and paladins have been one of my most loved and most hated parts of D&D and its legacy systems that entire time. So here I am again, about to write a long-ass article offerin’ my perspective on paladins through the ages (hopefully highlighting the strongest parts of each vision of them), talk about their pitfalls and problematic elements, and offer some advice on bringing your own paladin to life.

While this article draws on my long experience with D&D and will be citing specific sources, it would not be possible without the help of some other people in my life. I mention Afroakuma a lot in the context of D&D, and our friendship has once again been invaluable here. @a-world-unmasked , also one of my oldest friends, has long been a source of ethical discussion and debate, especially about thorny questions of justice & mercy, amends, redemption, and punishment, and provided information on D&D 4e’s paladins and paladin-like classes. SSG Jacob Karpel, United States Army, brought a Jewish perspective on paladins and their themes into my life and has borne questions of faith, dogma, and tradition with remarkable enthusiasm and patience. @swiftactionrecovery provided further perspective on D&D 4e, and her current paladin (”paladin”; it’s complicated), Aurora, is a great example of a non-traditional take that is at the same time very on-brand. Emerald has long provided the service of beating my ass when I start getting stupid about my own values and beliefs, and @ahr42p‘s fascination with fantasy ethics has informed a lot of my own thoughts on the same. None of this would be possible without you folks.

This article’s title is drawn from Maverick Hunter Quest, written by Cain Labs & Hunter Command. It appears as the motto of the 10th Urban Unit; dedicated soldiers whose specialty was preserving lives, preventing collateral damage, and steering disasters away from the innocent.

None of my articles are quite complete without Content Warnings; the following will contain mentions and descriptions of violence (including state-sanctioned violence such as executions), mentions of high crimes such as slavery and forced conversion, discussion of religion in both fictional and non-fictional contexts, and discussion of fascism and fascist ideology. It is also the end result of more than 20 years of both passionate love for paladins and equally passionate hatred of the same. If you’re wondering what some of that has to do with paladins...well, you’re in for a ride.

So, without further ado, let’s get into...

The Order Of The Kitchen Table - Paladins Through D&D’s History

I hope you like walls of text because I am about to fuck you up with some.

D&D and Pathfinder have a long history with paladins, and they’ve changed a lot through the ages. The following is an overview of the different editions of paladins, what each introduced, and their strengths & weaknesses as a vision of paladinhood. Though the advice in this article is weighted towards 3.PF and 5e, it should in theory be applicable to any of these editions; I should also note that while Pathfinder 2e has its own version of paladins, I am not familiar enough with its vision of paladins to be able to speak on it in good faith. Let’s start with the oldest first, shall we?

AD&D 1e & 2e: Rise A Knight - 1e and 2e were fucking wild. The original incarnation of the paladin showed up as a sub-class of the cavalier, a warrior-group class which had an aura of courage, rode a horse, and had other ‘knightly’ abilities. Paladins had to be a cut above and beyond cavaliers, but unless they also violated the code of the cavaliers in addition to the paladin code, they would become cavaliers when they Fell rather than fighters, which was a bit of a better spot to be in. These paladins were very specifically part of the military arm of a feudal state, with all that entails, and had restrictions on what they could wear and what weapons they could use that were rooted in their social status. In point of fact, in 1e? Paladins couldn’t use missile weapons at all; bows, crossbows, and their kin were for “peasants”. These paladins had to tithe 10% of all income to a ‘worthy’ institution (usually a Lawful Good church of some kind, but other examples include hospitals, charitable initiatives, orphanages, and monasteries), had sharp limits on how many magical items they could own & of what kind, and were beholden to a strict code of conduct rooted in medieval feudalism & romantic ideals of chivalry. While the very original paladin had many of the iconic powers associated with them today (laying on hands, curing disease, an affinity for holy swords), it was not until AD&D 1e proper that paladins developed the ability to cast spells for themselves.

AD&D 2e’s vision of paladins was similar in many ways; they had the same powers, similar ability score requirements, and were similarly rare and elite. They had wealth limits, had to tithe from their income, could only own certain numbers and kinds of magical items, and had to be of Lawful Good alignment. Where things get interestingly different here is who becomes a paladin, and why. In both editions, only humans could be paladins, but where 1e required paladins to be drawn from or else become nobility (because they were derived from cavalier, which was all about status), 2e opened up many origins for paladins. The majority of these can be found in The Complete Paladin’s Handbook, just under 130 pages of nothing but paladins. Reading that book is a fucking trip; it was published in 1994, and while I am not gonna pretend that it’s woke or unproblematic, it has some stunningly modern takes. Do you expect to open up an old D&D supplement about paladins and find it defending poly relationships as valid? NEITHER DID I.

It’s important to note that in both of these editions, paladins lacked magical avenues of attack entirely; Smite Evil was a later invention, and paladin spells, in addition to coming online late in their career (9th level), were sharply restricted to a specific list that included no offensive magic whatsoever. Therefore, any paladin origin had to explain from whence one’s martial skills came, since you are in many ways a warrior more than anything else. There’s some expected ones; religious patronage, which ignores social status but requires an organized church that’s permitted to raise men under arms. Government sponsorship, generally conducted in urban areas where you can actually retain recruiters. Inherited title, if you wanna run a paladin that really hates Mom for forcing them into this. Mentors, for running paladins that are just straight-up shonen protagonists, and my personal favorite, DIVINE INTERVENTION, where one day your god starts talking to you but instead of filling your soul with martial skill she makes you sew training weights into your clothes and miraculously makes a bear live in your house so you can learn courage. It’s fucking amazing.

From those origins, anyone who manages to swear their oath and become invested with the power is essentially part of the nobility from then on; paladinhood marks them as an exemplar of noble ideals, which even in a non-romanticized culture sorta grabs the bluebloods by the short hairs. It’s a bit hard to argue divine right if you try to throw the embodiment of your supposed ideals out of your house. Since these paladins were often, though not necessarily, members of militant organizations they were generally expected to have superiors to whom they answer, a chain of command of which they are part, and to eventually construct a stronghold of some kind and put its services at the disposal of that organization in addition to utilizing it to serve the needy and defend the weak. 2e was a lawless and strange time in D&D, in which building such a stronghold and hiring followers was a class feature of warrior-group classes, and one of the paladin’s key benefits was the opportunity, but not the promise, to acquire some manner of holy sword, which which she gained powerful protections against evil that let her stand toe-to-toe with powerful spellcasters.

Tying all of this together was an in-depth exploration of the most complex and probably the most nuanced code published for paladins in any edition. Though the default was a rigid and inflexible code which defined acceptable behavior, associations, and even employees for the paladin, The Complete Paladin’s Handbook introduced an alternate method of handling code violations that ranked infractions by their severity & intent, and assigned penalties accordingly. Was it perfect? No. Not even a little. The Code was, is, and probably forever will be the most trash part of paladin. But it was a damn sight better than basically any incarnation before it, and most of them after. This code was broken down into (in order of importance), Strictures, Edicts, and Virtues. Strictures are the things a paladin must do and have simply to be a paladin; they must be Lawful Good, they must tithe to a worthy institution, they must abide by their wealth limits, and they must not associate (here meaning ‘serve, be friends with, or knowingly hire’) with evil people. Edicts are the commands of those to whom the paladin is sworn to obey; often this will be a church, a government, or both, but a paladin might instead or also swear to obey edicts given by their family, their mentor, their secular philosophy, or even their wider culture. Military commands and orders are edicts, but so are daily practices such as keeping a kosher diet, maintaining a family burial ground, or obeying a system of formal etiquette. A paladin freely chooses the source of her edicts, but once she’s sworn to obey she cannot selectively turn down a given edict unless it would conflict with one of her Strictures (for instance, if her king orders her to beat a helpless prisoner) or with a ‘higher’ source of Edicts (in general, a paladins religion or philosophy takes precedence over her liege or mentor, who in turn takes precedence over family or culture).

Virtues are where we get real interesting. Lemme quote The Complete Paladin’s Handbook, page 32:

Virtues are traits exemplifying the highest standards of morality, decency, and duty. They comprise the paladin’s personal code. Although not specifically detailed in the PH definition of a paladin, a paladin’s virtues are implied by his strictures as well as his outlook, role, and personality. Just as a paladin must obey his strictures, he must also remain true to his virtues.

Though most paladins adhere to all of the virtues described below, exceptions are possible. For instance, a paladin from a primitive society may be so unfamiliar with civilized etiquette that including courtesy as part of his ethos would be unreasonable. All adjustments must be cleared by the DM at the outset of a paladin’s career.

No system was attached to virtue ‘violations’, because they weren’t oaths to keep as such. Rather, virtues represented commitments to a paladin’s ideals and worldviews; they were the behaviors and values which someone serious about being a paladin would live by because that’s the kind of person they are. They were very Christian and very European in nature, tied up in Catholic ideas of knighthood from which paladins as a class were originally drawn, but there’s definitely a point to be made here. If you don’t walk your talk, can you call yourself a paragon? We’re gonna get into this specific topic more later in the article, when I start discussing other the virtues extolled by other kinds of warriors, but the ones listed and expanded on in this book are as follows:

Fealty - A paladin swears loyalty and service to, at minimum, a faith or philosophy that is lawful good in nature. This forms the foundation of her convictions and informs the kind of good she tries to do in the world. A paladin remains conscious of the fact that she is seen as an embodiment of those ideals, takes joy in her service, and pays respect to those to whom she has sworn her troth. Notably, this is not classic feudal fealty; a paladin swears service to institutions, not people, with some exceptions (generally in the form of paladins who swear fealty to their mentors).

Courtesy - Paladins strive to show respect by following social customs, being polite and well-mannered, and treating even enemies with dignity. A paladin responds to insults with grace, considers the feelings of others, and does not stoop to insults or slander. Remember the Kingsmen gentleman rules? That. This is just that.

Honesty - A paladin speaks the truth as she knows it. She is free to withhold information (especially from enemies), and may state that she would prefer not to answer when asked questions - or that she is ordered, enjoined, or otherwise required not to answer, if that is the truth - but does not intentionally mislead or deceive others. If you ask your paladin friend a question and they say they would rather not answer, think real hard about how bad you want their opinion.

Valor - Paladins display courage in battle. Given a choice between many enemies, a paladin chooses the most dangerous. If someone has to take a risk to defend the innocent, cover a retreat, or ensure the success of the mission, the paladin volunteers for that risk. A paladin only retreats from battle to fulfill a higher part of her ethos.

Honor - A paladin conducts herself with integrity even when no one is watching or when it is of no benefit to herself. She shows mercy, refuses to inflict undue suffering even on such wretched beings as demons, does not cheat or cut corners, and does not compromise her principles. The description of the virtue of honor contains the rawest line in the entire book: “It is an admirable act to comfort a dying friend, but an act of honor to comfort a dying enemy.”

The above are the ‘universal’ virtues a paladin is meant to embody. The book briefly touches on the idea that a paladin might also choose to uphold other virtues and work them into her Code of Ennoblement, the ceremony by which she is invested with the power of a paladin...or isn’t. The sample ‘bonus’ virtues provided are humility, chastity, celibacy, and my absolute favorite, industry, in which you swear to have no chill at all, ever, until the day you finally die, and instead spend all of your waking moments in some effort of self-improvement or work such as reading, building houses for the needy, repairing tools & equipment, and otherwise being completely incompetent in the art of self-care. It’s great, I absolutely love it.

Together, this code and the paladin’s abilities present a vision of classical knighthood, something like, oh...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=35GUTY_Gr14

That. A defender and paragon of medieval virtues, who lives to help others.

“Alright Vox, surely you’re reaching the end of AD&D 2e now?” you ask. “We’ve been through the mechanics, we’ve been through the vision of paladins as members of feudal states who are figuratively and legally ennobled by righteousness, we’ve even gone into more detail about the code than was strictly necessary. 3e time right?” AFRAID NOT, MY WILD RIDE DOES NOT END. AD&D 2e didn’t have feats, didn’t really have spell selection in this context, and while it had a sort of skill system (the Proficiency system, greatly utilized and suggested by The Complete Paladin’s Handbook) that was hardly a way to make one paladin feel mechanically distinct from others. So how did players do that? Ability score rolls and loot drops?

Nope! We had Kits.

Kits modify a class or multiclass combo (not relevant to this article, but as a f’rinstance, the original Bladesinger was an elf-only Fighter/Mage kit found in The Complete Book of Elves); they give it additional features and additional restrictions. They could, but did not always, have ability score requirements above and beyond the typical ones for their class, and they might also have backstory or roleplaying requirements. A kit might who your character is in the society of the game world, the abilities they brought to the adventuring party, or both. Like Pathfinder’s Archetypes, some kits would strip abilities from the standard class, but not all of them did so.

So what did paladin kits do? In short, they changed the kind of knight you were. An Errant, for instance, is kept on a long leash by their liege and does not often have to fulfill edicts - but in exchange, she’s on her own and cannot expect funding from the state. Ghosthunters, who specialize in the destruction of the undead, gain the power to dispel evil, immunity to paralysis, turn undead just as well as a cleric does, and get access to a holy sword a minimum of 2 levels earlier - but they can’t lay hands, cure disease, cast priest spells, or enjoy immunity to disease. Inquisitors (I know) are paladins who see magic as a good and benevolent force, which is corrupted - profaned, even - by the practice of evil magic; they’re similar to ghosthunters in a lot of ways, but also represent an organized philosophy. The Complete Paladin’s Handbook has 22 pages of kits for standard paladin alone, which you can mix and match to create your own unique take on the concept, plus information on “demi-paladins” - non-human fighter/clerics who slowly gain paladin powers in addition to their own. This was back in the day when certain races just could not be good at certain classes due to level restrictions or being unable to take those classes in the first place, but here was the first glimmer of D&D confronting some of its own bullshit; before this book, the implication was that no non-human race was moral enough to be a paladin.

There’s so much more in this book but I’m not gonna get into all of it or this article’s just gonna be a review of one supplement; if you can get your hands on a PDF or even a hard copy, I highly suggest it as a read. It’s not that I endorse its vision for paladins as being the best or as being objectively correct, because I don’t; the potential of paladins is much broader than this narrow vision of Christian feudalism. It’s that no other book, before or after, has paid such loving attention to who paladins are in the game world, including thought given to details like their mortality rate (paladins that manage to survive to 40 are forcibly retired in the hopes that they can teach the youngbloods to do the same), the economics of knighthood, meta-commentary about how the class’s aesthetic and presentation is built to enhance themes about the game and the setting, and even a chapter on weaving faith into your game world and thinking about your paladin’s relationship to her own. The great strength of AD&D 2e’s paladins is that they, more than any others, have this loving care devoted to them that makes them feel like a real part of the worlds in which they live, and their great weakness is a vision that is more narrow than it wanted to be. You can see the author grasping for something broader, something more inclusive, only for it to slip between his fingers.

D&D 3.5: Up From The Gutter - Ah, D&D 3.5, the demon that will not die. This game spawned a million spin-offs and heartbreakers, love for it contributed to the rise of Pathfinder, and it remains incredibly popular and played. It’s also garbage, but c’est la vie, c’est la morte. Its vision of paladin is not as detailed as AD&D 2e’s was, and its main innovations were mechanical in nature. However, 3.5 did offer some in-depth explorations on what it means to be Good-aligned that previous editions did not, and given the context that’s about to be important to talk about.

3.5′s vision of paladin mechanics was remarkably similar to 2e’s, with the most notable change being race selection (anyone can now be a paladin as long as they’re Lawful Good) and the addition of Smite Evil, which can be used a certain number of times per day to gain more accuracy and damage when attacking evil-aligned creatures. Paladins are still warriors, they still cure disease, lay on hands, detect evil, and own a horse; in other words, they barely changed. Unfortunately, the game changed, and this left paladins high and dry. I’m not gonna mince words: for most of 3.5′s run, paladins lagged so far behind in terms of combat prowess, skill selection, and general utility that they were essentially unplayable, including and in some ways especially against classic foes such as demons and dragons.

I’m not gonna get into why, because that is a separate and much angrier article that will spark a lot of controversy due to people who run their ignorant mouths like they know what the fuck they’re talking about, not that I’m bitter. The relevant part of this is that over 3.5′s run, paladin did in fact slowly improve. The Serenity feat, published in Dragon 306, (and much more easily available to you in Dragon Compendium) helped clean up the dizzying amount of attributes upon which they were dependent. Battle Blessing (Champions of Valor) made it easier to incorporate their native spellcasting into their play (though nothing ever quite solved their sharply limited spell slots), and Sword of the Arcane Order (Champions of Valor again) both opened up an alternate vision of paladins as a different kind of magical knight & offered broader utility in paladin’s spell list. The Prestige Paladin in Unearthed Arcana converted paladin from a base class to a prestige class, which let you build it off of more mechanically viable classes - further enhancing your ability to customize your paladin, especially since as a PrC you could stop taking Prestige Paladin at any time you felt you were sufficiently knightly. Access to these and other options eventually made paladin, if not good, at least viable, able to be played in most campaigns and pre-made adventures without undue worry or getting chumped out of basic encounters.

In all of their forms, these paladins still had a code. Observe:

Code of Conduct

A paladin must be of lawful good alignment and loses all class abilities if she ever willingly commits an evil act.

Additionally, a paladin’s code requires that she respect legitimate authority, act with honor (not lying, not cheating, not using poison, and so forth), help those in need (provided they do not use the help for evil or chaotic ends), and punish those who harm or threaten innocents.

Associates

While she may adventure with characters of any good or neutral alignment, a paladin will never knowingly associate with evil characters, nor will she continue an association with someone who consistently offends her moral code. A paladin may accept only henchmen, followers, or cohorts who are lawful good.

Ex-Paladins

A paladin who ceases to be lawful good, who willfully commits an evil act, or who grossly violates the code of conduct loses all paladin spells and abilities (including the service of the paladin’s mount, but not weapon, armor, and shield proficiencies). She may not progress any farther in levels as a paladin. She regains her abilities and advancement potential if she atones for her violations (see the atonement spell description), as appropriate.

Like a member of any other class, a paladin may be a multiclass character, but multiclass paladins face a special restriction. A paladin who gains a level in any class other than paladin may never again raise her paladin level, though she retains all her paladin abilities.

You know all the horror stories you’ve read of DMs maliciously making paladins Fall, or miscommunications in groups leading to alignment arguments? The ones about youth-pastor paladin characters sucking all the fun out of a party? Meet the culprit. 3.5 did not have The Complete Paladin’s Handbook’s discussion on same-paging with your group to prevent these problems, and this vague code wording paired with immediate and extreme consequences didn’t do it any favors. That’s not to say that this code is unworkable, exactly, but trying to sit down and agree with 4-6 other adults on what ‘gross violations’ actually means is essentially the world’s shittiest round of Apples to Apples and your reward for it is resenting the character you just built.

And that’s the paladin part, which means we have to get into the “being good-aligned” part. Lemme tell you about Book of Exalted Deeds, a historically significant garbage fire of a book that is somehow both the best supplement released about Good and the worst supplement released about Good at the same time.

For those of you with the fortune to have never played 3.5, its books are like that a lot.

So, bad parts first: all the mechanics. Just all of them. The prestige classes? Bad. The feats? Generally bad. The redemption rules revolving around Diplomacy? Sloppy. Magic items? Bad. Spells? Look up an online discussion about sanctify the wicked and then get back to me on that one; they’re bad too. Ravages and afflictions (good-aligned poisons and diseases) were a bad idea that were also a case of stunning hypocrisy from a book whose stance was that dealing ability score damage is ‘needless cruelty’. Even the write-ups for the planar NPCs kinda make them into these basic bitch pushovers, which, you guessed it, is bad. There’s a lot to say against this book and you can find someone saying it in most open web forums if you want to take a journey into the godawful design of the liminal space between 3.0 and 3.5.

But the good stuff was real good. D&D had/has long been stalked by ‘ethical dilemmas’ such as the so-called Goblin Baby Problem, where players would ask if it’s good to let goblin children live since they would only grow up to become goblin adults. Book of Exalted Deeds was the first D&D publication to make a hard stance against racial genocide (hell of a sentence, I know), and it doubled down on The Complete Paladin Handbook’s implied stance that all forms of romance and sexuality are valid as long as they’re between consenting adults that respect one another. BoED strove to define Good not just as the avoidance of evil (”The utter avoidance of evil is, at best, neutral.”) but as actively striving to respect life, practice altruism, and make the world a better and more just place. While its take on ideas like forgiveness, redemption, and justice were not necessarily perfect, it went out of its way to try to offer nuanced takes on those ideas and to note emphatically that practices such as slavery and racism do not become good just because certain historical cultures thought they were at the time.

The other notable thing that Book of Exalted Deeds did for the idea of a Good alignment was firmly state on the record that NG and CG are just as valid and Good as LG is. The existence of paladins and their alignment-locked nature had long implied that Lawful Good was the “best” Good, or the “most” Good, but Book of Exalted Deeds didn’t just introduce material for characters that were paragons of other Good alignments, it provided examples of such characters in action. D&D is still somewhat stalked by that “Law is Good and Good is Lawful” problem, but BoED and other books in its niche (notably including Heroes of Horror - I know, it doesn’t sound like it but trust me - and Champions of Valor) helped push back against that problem and open the floor to other heroes.

I wouldn’t be wholly done talking about 3.5 paladins without mentioning Unearthed Arcana, which introduced the paladin of freedom (CG), paladin of tyranny (LE), and paladin of slaughter (CE). Their hearts were in the right place here, but all three of them were...better ideas than executions, as it were, without much to talk about for them. Still, they make good examples of 3.5′s great strength in paladins: breadth of concept. Ideas that were previously impossible as paladins became commonplace, including paladin-like characters who were not members of the class and which I would absolutely consider paladins myself. It didn’t stick the landing on the mechanics, but that’s just 3.5 for you; if you weren’t a dedicated spellcaster, chances are you were gonna have some manner of bad time. This idea of paladins from all walks of life, from all levels of society and all peoples, has become a cherished part of the popular conception of paladins and it absolutely should be brought forward to other editions.

Which, honestly? It was.

Pathfinder 1e: Two Steps Forward, One Step Back - Pathfinder 1e’s baseline paladin release was essentially 3.5′s in many ways. The key mechanical differences were a revamped Smite Evil (which finally made it effective against its intended targets), the aura line of abilities that begin adding additional effects beyond Aura of Courage at 8th level and up, and Mercies - riders for the paladin’s Lay on Hands ability that cause it to also cure status effects, which in turn greatly enhances the paladin’s utility as a support class. Pathfinder also cleaned up some of 3.5′s attribute problems by orienting all of paladin’s magical abilities to Charisma instead of splitting between Wisdom and Charisma. Another small but significant note is the alteration from ‘gross’ violations of the code to any violation of the code. “Gee Vox, that doesn’t sound like it would really help code problems,” you say, to which I reply: it absolutely fucking did not.

Once we leave core, we get quite a few quality-of-life improvements. Though Pathfinder 1e lacks Battle Blessing, it replicates some of its effects by having many swift-action spells in-house for paladin, notably including the Litany line. Pathfinder’s archetype system for class customization offers options for the paladin that further customize its concept, though on the balance it’s harder to mix and match archs than it was to do so with kits. Archetypes always trade something, so in taking an arch you will lose some part of the base paladin kit and gain something which replaces it.

Narratively, things get more specific outside of core as well. Paizo’s one-and-only setting, Golarion, is one in which paladins must swear fealty to a specific god they serve above all others, and their power is derived directly from that god, who can grant or withhold it as they see fit. These gods (generally LN, LG, or NG in alignment, though certain specific CG deities sponsor paladins who must still be LG themselves) offer their own codes of conduct, which their paladins must follow. A paladin may be obligated to oppose ‘heresy’ as vigorously as chaos or evil, which is an awkward fucking feel, and paladins in Golarion’s setting can be found working for organizations such as the Hellknights, or in the armed forces of nations that practice slavery and forced conversion. That’s not to imply that they’re not also depicted in unambiguously good contexts, but when it comes to establishing paladins (or, well...anyone...) as good-aligned people Paizo has a bad habit of dropping the ball.

Like 3.5, the great strength of the Pathfinder 1e paladin is customization, and in this case a more solid mechanical base in comparison to the rest of the game. Pathfinder similarly flounders in that its vision of paladins is narrow and not fully realized in the game world.

Discussion of Pathfinder 1e’s paladin wouldn’t be complete without mentioning the Anti-Paladin, the only “alternate class” to see mechanical support beyond its initial publication. Baseline anti-paladins must be chaotic evil and have abilities that are the inverse of the baseline paladin; similarly, anti-paladin has archetypes available that change it to different kinds and methods of evil. It has its fans, and in terms of playability it’s as good, if not a little better, than paladin, but on the whole I tend to break on the side of thinking that Good and Evil are not mirror images of one another, and thus an anti-paladin is inappropriate as an idea. At least, one done in this way, as an explicit reaction to a supposed paragon of virtue, as things are about to get real interesting in...

D&D 4e: The Knight Unshackled - D&D 4e built off of the foundations laid down by the Book of Exalted Deeds and Unearthed Arcana by completely removing all alignment restrictions from both paladin and its counterpart class, blackguard. This section will also need to talk about cousin classes to paladin; specifically, the Avenger and the Invoker. Let’s start from the top, shall we?

Paladins in 4e are predicament dommes defenders; they use their abilities to place Marks on enemies, who then suffer damage if they choose to engage someone other than the paladin (all defenders in 4e force choices of a similar nature, though the penalty for failing to make the ‘right’ choice is not necessarily damage). In 4e, paladins are not granted their power by gods, nor are they empowered by their faith in righteousness alone; in point of fact, 4e paladins have no restrictions on their alignment whatsoever and are the first paladins to be open in this way. Instead, a paladin in D&D 4e is invested with power in rites kept secret by individual churches. Once invested, that’s it, no take-backs; the paladin remains a paladin even if they forsake that church entirely. The other classes I’m gonna talk about - avenger, blackguard, and invoker - are similarly invested, with invoker being the exception in how they get invested, but not in their no-takebacks status.

So, what powers a paladin after that investiture? Virtue; specifically, caring about others in some way. An LG paladin empowered by their belief in justice might be a classic knight in shining armor, defending her allies in righteousness’s name, but an LE paladin empowered by the same virtue might easily turn totalitarian, determined to establish justice no matter who has to suffer and die. In this model, evil-aligned paladins are those who care too much about something, to the point where they trample and harm others to see it fulfilled.

Paladin’s inverse, blackguard, is a striker class focused on direct damage. They gain their power through vice, inward-facing desires such as greed, selfishness, lust, or five pounds of nachos in one meal (don’t @ me). Blackguards are also not restricted by alignment. A classically selfish blackguard, out for their own power and safety, might be an amoral mercenary who kills because they can’t be bothered not to, but a good-aligned blackguard who’s selfish is, well, Tiffany Aching: protecting the world because it’s her world and how dare you fucking touch it.

Avengers have more in common with barbarians than paladins, but are notable here for their commonalities with paladin as a divine warrior concept, and also for having bones in with the later Oath of Vengeance concept in D&D 5e. Avengers are invested to smite the enemies of their church; they tap into their power by swearing an oath against specific enemies, and then dissociate until those enemies in particular are dead at their feet. Are you really into Alexander Anderson from Hellsing? Do you want to explore the terrible consequences of power, consequences that might not have been clear when you signed up to become an avenger? This could be for you.

Lastly we have invokers, the odd duck out. They are ranged controllers who fight with pure divine power. Invokers are created directly by gods, but unlike the previous three have no associations with churches; instead, their job is to look out for threats to all of existence and make sure that they don’t happen. Even evil-aligned gods create and tend to respect invokers, because you can’t conquer the world and rule it as its Dread Master if there’s no world left to rule. Because invokers are invested by gods directly, they tend to have a lot in common with the divine intervention paladin origin mentioned waaaaay up there in the 2e section; you’re minding your own business when one day God goes “TIME TO LEARN HOW TO SAVE THE WORLD” and that’s just your life now.

D&D 4e’s paladins and paladin-like classes fully realize the breadth of concepts and characters that paladins could fulfill; they offer intriguing possibilities for roleplaying, engaging character and plot hooks, and mechanically distinct interpretations of divine power. In unshackling paladins from alignment, 4e opens them up to questions of heroism, conviction, and belief that were in many ways previously closed, especially because paladins in other editions were often made to Fall for asking those questions. Their big weakness is, well, being in 4e. It’s not that D&D 4e is a bad game - in many ways it’s the most honest edition of D&D, and certainly the most tightly-designed - but rather that 4e’s context is highly specific. It can be hard to find players or DMs familiar with it, might be frustrating to gain access to its books, and once you do adapting its material requires significant narrative changes if you remove it from the context of the Points of Light setting.

D&D 5e: This I Vow - D&D 5e’s paladin is, in many ways, a combination of and refinement upon previous elements. Like 4e’s, it is not restricted by alignment (though the three Oaths in core do suggest particular alignments). Like 3.5′s paladin, it combines magical power with martial skill, though 5e’s paladin is both more overtly magical and gains access to better spells, faster, than its predecessor. Though the paladin gains some warrior-type abilities (notably including their choice of Fighting Style and the Extra Attack feature), the majority of their abilities are supernatural in nature, including Lay On Hands (in the form of a pool of hit points that can also be expended to remove poisons and diseases), immunity to disease, an array of defensive and utility spells (as well as the Smite line for bursts of damage), a Divine Smite that trades spells for damage directly, and native auras that protect the paladin’s allies as well as herself. Their defining feature, however, is the Oath they select at third level, which defines what sort of paladin they are.

Your selection of Sacred Oath nets your paladin 2 utility abilities at 3rd level, an additional aura at 7th, a strong upgrade of some kind at 15th, and a capstone at 20th that neither you nor any other living being will ever see because 5e campaigns barely get to 14th, God forbid 20th. Each Oath also provides a set of tenets that you are meant to live up to, but unlike previous incarnations of a Code of Conduct 5e’s relationship to these tenets is more...human. The following passage is from the Player’s Handbook, page 83 (”Creating A Paladin”):

As guardians against the forces of wickedness, paladins are rarely of any evil alignment. Most of them walk the paths of charity and justice. Consider how your alignment colors the way you pursue your holy quest and the manner in which you conduct yourself before gods and mortals. Your oath and alignment might be in harmony, or your oath might represent standards of behavior you have not yet attained.

Emphasis mine.

The baseline assumption for 5e’s paladins are believers in righteousness, whose faith in virtue empowers them to protect the weak, but more than any other edition, 5e recognizes that paladins are still people, who have flaws, strengths, and ambitions. Its Background system helps flesh out your character both mechanically and narratively, and material presented both in the Player’s Handbook and Xanathar’s Guide to Everything encourage you to think about the things that drive and oppose your paladin. Importantly, though the books say that evil paladins are rare, no actual alignment restriction on paladins exist, which opens up some interesting possibilities in terms of character creation. We’ll get more into that down the article a bit, when I talk about same-paging and refluffing.

Because Oaths come with both mechanics and an ethos, there is a strong incentive to create new Oaths for 5e if you want to embody a new ethos, but this may not always be strictly necessary. Additionally, the Player’s Handbook implies that paladins who flagrantly fail or abandon their oaths might become Oathbreakers (Dungeon Master’s Guide, page 97, under “Villain Options”), but this too may not be the correct move, especially in cases where a paladin abandons one set of high ideals for a different, but no lower, form of belief. We’ll get into that later too.

5e’s paladins are in the best mechanical position they’ve ever been in; they’re one of the strongest classes in the game line, easy to build and play, and difficult to fuck up. They have strong thematics with their abilities and especially their Oaths, and the way 5e encourages you to make your characters helps you realize them as people in the game world. The great weakness of this vision of paladins is customization; 5e lacks player options in many senses, and quite a few of those options are gated behind rules that may not be in use (such as Feats). It can be difficult, in many cases, to make two paladins of the same Oath feel different when the dice hit the table.

And at long last, we have finished the establishing-context section of this article, and can move on to the actual fucking article. I did warn you, way up top, that you were in for a ride.

Raise Thy Sword - Paladins At Your Table

The following section is meant to help you in making and fleshing out a paladin concept to play or even to use as an NPC. Most of the advice will be edition-agnostic; advice that isn’t will be marked as such. Also covered herein will be the related topics of same-paging, refluffing, and the common pitfalls that paladins have fallen into over the years (and how to avoid them).

Same-Paging - In Which We Communicate Like Adults

Same-paging is the practice of talking to your group in a way that helps set mutual expectations, and it’s something every RPG group should strive to do regardless of the system they’re playing in. You’ve probably done this to an extent before, as part of being pitched a game (”We’re going to do a dungeon crawl through the deadly halls of Undermountain”), during character creation, and the like. In the specific case of paladins, you want to talk to your group and DM about topics like alignment & alignment restrictions, your code of conduct or oath, and whether or not the group wants to handle things like ethical dilemmas and moral quandaries. Though paladins are famous for those last two, they’re certainly not a requirement; you can just as easily play a paladin in a campaign like Expedition to Undermountain or Princes of the Apocalypse where there is a very clear bad guy who needs to be stopped with enormous applications of violence and guile. However your group wants to play it is fine, but you want to be sure everyone’s on board for it and that you’re ready to rock. If your group signs on for a kick-in-the-door dungeon crawl and then the DM decides to make you pass a series of ethics tests, that DM is an asshole; likewise, if you agree that you want to explore the morals at the heart of your paladin’s ethos and then you just don’t do that, you’re causing the problem.

Who Is Your Deity, And What Does She Do? - Making Your Paladin

Once you and your group have communicated your expectations to each other (and, again, same-paging is something all groups should be doing regularly, not just ones in which you want to play a paladin), it’s finally time to start sketching out your concept! There’s many ways to start this, and while I personally tend to start at the roleplaying end (with ideas about who they are as a person and the themes I want to explore with them), starting with mechanical ideas, with questions, or even with specific dramatic scenes in mind, are also viable. That is to say, “I’m interested in how Aura of the Guardian (Xanathar’s Guide to Everything, page 39) can help me play a damage mitigation tank,” is just as valid as, “Kass, my character, was lifted from a life of crime by a paladin who reformed her neighborhood and campaigned against a corrupt system, and she’s striving to become a paladin in his image.” That said, if there’s one thing D&D and its related communities are good at it’s mechanical guides, so I’m not gonna try and write one here. We’d be here all day; instead, the following questions are things to consider for fleshing out your paladin’s backstory, personality, and goals.

Why did you become a paladin? The origins of your paladin will probably color how they think of their virtues, as well as how they think of evil. A beaten-down girl from the slums understands that kicking the shit out of muggers doesn’t give the downtrodden food, medicine, or roofs that don’t leak, while the third son of a noble family is in a position to understand the damage done by corrupt leaders and faithless lords. In addition to your background and home life, think about what motivated your character to become a paladin specifically. Were they mentored by an older paladin who saw potential in them? Recruited by the militant arm of a church? Did they grow up with stories of paladins and yearn to become the sort of person those stories were written about, or were they, perhaps, seemingly called to paladinhood without much conscious understanding of what it was?

Where did you learn to fight? Paladins are warriors, and even a paladin that Falls (for those campaigns that use Falling as a concept) remains a warrior. 5e paladins, the most overtly magical of all the available options, still spend a lot of time randomizing the atoms of evil with sharpened metal, and that’s a skill you only get through training and dedication. Who taught your paladin to fight? What’s their relationship with that teacher or organization, and how did it shape their ideas about violence? We all catch things off of our teachers, and your paladin’s instructor in combat will, for better or worse, be as big an influence on their life and ideals as their faith and family are. Don’t be afraid to get wild here; AD&D 2e had full-blown godly training montages where the voice of a god ran you through drills, and paladins join warlocks and sorcerers for being fertile ground for some of the weirdest shit. Did you fight daily duels against a stained glass knight only you could see? Did you find a scimitar in the gutter and pick it up to defend your friends from gangs? Were you bankrolled by an old man who later turned out to be a lich, whose motives you still don’t understand? Live your best Big Ham life if that’s the life you wanna live, this is the class for it.

How do you imagine good and evil? What does your paladin’s vision of a Good world look like? What is the face of wickedness that comes to mind when they’re asked to think of Evil? A knight from a kingdom plagued by portals to the Abyss is going to think of both of these things very differently from a gutter rat whose ascension came with a prosthetic hand to replace the one she lost to gangrene, to say nothing of differences in ideals when one factors in Law and Chaos. Your paladin doesn’t have to be perfect, or even, honestly, correct. Your classic ‘noble, but kind of a dick’ paladin (such as Corran d’Arcy in the novelization of Pool of Radiance: Ruins of Myth Drannor, who we’re gonna talk about more later because he’s a weirdly great example of an adventuring paladin) thinks of evil as evildoers, who must be Brought To Justice, which while not entirely wrong is lacking in important nuance. He may conflate manners with virtue, or allow his prejudices to color who he does and doesn’t think of as ‘good’, but that doesn’t change his fundamental desire to Do Good - a desire that could be the catalyst for personal growth. A flawed understanding of virtue and wickedness could be a great character arc for your paladin, especially if it dovetails with the themes of the campaign.

What do you enjoy? Paladins are still people (shocking, I know) and people tend to have hobbies, preferences, and goals. Xanathar’s Guide to Everything has some nice material to quickly flesh out some of those aspects of your paladin (a personal goal, a vice that tempts them, a nemesis that dogs their footsteps), and I highly encourage you to think about such things as well. Does your paladin crave glory, wealth, or revenge? What sort of things do they turn to when they want comfort, or to have a good time? Do they still practice a trade from their youth, such as painting or blacksmithing? The archetype of a knight looking for their true love (or at least a series of whirlwind romances that always seem to end in someone’s bedroom) is a staple, of course. These things don’t necessarily need to be sinister temptations that lead you away from justice; they can just be nice things you like, or comforts that sustain you in your long fight against evil.

How do you relate to your faith? Many settings (notably including Forgotten Realms & Points of Light in D&D, and Golarion in Pathfinder) explicitly link paladins to churches and patron deities, and even in ones where this explicit link does not exist you see paladins who fight in the name of their faiths, serve in the militant arm of their churches, and otherwise seek to live their lives in accordance with their religion. D&D’s history is also full of paladins whose relationship to their faith is more distant, more questioning, or even outright rebellious. In Eberron, for instance, a paladin might dedicate herself to the Kraken - an evil god embodying sea monsters and catastrophes - with her understanding of that faith being preventing monster attacks and protecting the innocent from hurricanes and tidal waves. A paladin might be retained by the Church of St. Cuthbert as a barometer for their own morality, trusted to leash his peers when their retribution grows out of hand & play the devil’s advocate against them, or a knight might simply try to live their lives in accordance with the ideals of beauty, joy, and wonder espoused by Sune Firehair, without being for or against the actual church. What or whom does your paladin believe in, and why? Remember as well that not all, or even most, faiths are particularly similar to Christianity, and as a result your paladin’s relationship to that faith might just be business as usual. A Jewish paladin arguing with God is Judaism working as intended; similarly, a paladin dedicated to the Aesir doesn’t get to act surprised when they come home one day and Freya is chilling in their bathtub with a glass of wine and a ‘small request’.

You Wouldn’t Download A Class Feature - Refluffing & You(r Paladin)

So: you’ve come up with your concept, you’ve asked yourself all the relevant questions, but damn, some things just seem to not be fitting. What do you do? It may be the case that refluffing - changing the flavor of a mechanical option to better fit your campaign or setting - may be the right move for you. Refluffing gets a lot of pushback from a certain school of tabletop gaming that believes the flavor of an option is part of its mechanical balance. These people are wrong and I encourage you not to associate with them, in particular because the first party publishers often refluff material for similar reasons. For instance, the setting of Eberron has ‘anything published in D&D has a home here’ as one of its meta-tenets, and in the process of giving many of those things a home it changed their identity. Those hordes of angry ancestor-worshiping elves? That’s refluffing elves. In 3.5 you can see explicit discussion of refluffing in Oriental Adventures, which...well...it’s a book that exists, let’s leave it at that. Oerth having an entire alternate Material Plane where all the mirror of opposition copies come from? Refluffing.

So, when do you refluff? An obvious example is when your group is comfortable with an option being on the table, but is not playing in the setting that option comes from (for instance, the Sword of the Arcane Order feat from Champions of Valor when you are not playing in the Forgotten Realms). Refluffing is also great for when the narrative you’re building for a character implies or requires certain mechanics, but the flavor of those mechanics does not fit that narrative. In the ancient past I briefly GMed a game where one of the PCs was a ‘barbarian’ - a mean-streets kid looking to make a better life for himself, whose Rage was just the fight-or-flight kicking in from living in the garbage parts of Waterdeep. The important things to keep in mind when you choose to refluff an option is to stay on the same page as the rest of your group, and also to not replace the original fluff with nothing; mechanics do help define flavor (they’re the tools with which you interact with the game world), but you still need some reason that your paladin casts wizard spells, or has the abilities of the Oath of Vengeance when the original version of that Oath doesn’t exist in this setting. A very common school of refluffing is changing the origins of one’s power; rather than pure faith, for instance, a paladin’s powers might come from her innate spiritual energy, or from the favor of kami rather than gods.

Refluffing is also great for playing paladins that don’t have levels in the class named paladin. This option is especially relevant in the context of 3.5 and Pathfinder, when it may be more suitable to the needs of the campaign for you to be playing a more powerful or versatile class. In this context, clerics especially make very competent ‘paladins’, as do wizards (you wouldn’t think so, but I’ve seen that campaign played), inquisitors, crusaders, and even druids depending on how your concept is. You don’t need Fall mechanics to follow a code, after all.

For What The World Could Be - Defining Your Paladin’s Ethos

More than almost any other aspect of the class, possessing and following an ethos has defined paladins through the ages. For many years, this was a very specific ethos based on European ideas of chivalry and Christian virtue, and there’s something to be said for it when done well (certainly the Arab warriors from whom Europeans acquired the code of chivalry were lauded for their honor and virtuous conduct, so at a bare minimum one set of folks following these ideals in the real world absolutely nailed it). This is not, however, the only set of high ideals to which a paladin might cleave or aspire, and many fine homebrewers, players, and dungeon masters out there have chosen to craft their own, or to represent their own beliefs in the game world. Many cultures throughout history and all over the world have retained elite warriors held to high standards of conduct, and those traditions are rife for representation as paladins.

I fully intend to provide some specific examples of ethea (evidently this is the plural of ‘ethos’, no I didn’t know that before I started writing this, yes it looks wrong to me too) beyond the ongoing D&D default, but before I do you may want to consider how your paladin relates to those high ideals. After all, these are virtues that your character holds dear, but not everyone does so in the same way. Does she believe that everyone would be better off if they tried to live up to her standards, or does she believe that only certain people should (or must) do so? Does she consider her virtues an impossible ideal, something to strive for rather than fulfill, or does she not harbor such doubts? Is your paladin an idealist, who believes in the power of Good in itself, or is she more cynical?

The answers to these questions don’t necessarily make your paladin less Good as a person. A warrior who believes that there’s always a selfish bastard reason to do the right thing, who sees Evil as suboptimal, could still be a paladin if they work to bring Good into the world. An idealist who still needs to learn about the real consequences of barging into complex problems in a morally complicated world is equally valid, to say nothing of just...playing a genuine in-the-bones Hero, here to Do The Right Thing. Each speaks to a different kind of virtue, and a different life that has led them to these choices, and each deserves their day in the sun. You might have a lot of fun playing someone whose view of what Good is, and why, is different from yours!

Some specific examples of ethea (god that looks so wrong) follow. For the sake of convenience I’m gonna skip anything that’s actually showed up in a paladin entry before, or I’m gonna be here until I die. I am also very much not a member of just about any of the cultures and/or religions I’m about to talk about, and while I have sought the advice and review of those who are, I’m not about to claim that I’m an expert. Any errors in what’s presented are mine, and not those of my friends & readers; I welcome correction and discussion.

Irish Celtic: Blood & Troth  - The ancient Celts were not a people shy about death, and excellence - skill, improvement, and genuine growth - in all of your crafts was one of their high virtues. In addition to excellence, a Celtic warrior was expected to be honest (to never tell a direct lie, and to keep all promises given), hospitable (to be a gracious host & and honorable guests, and defend the sanctity of the home), to be charitable with their skills and their worldly possessions (to give to the needy, defend the weak, and fight for the helpless), to display loyalty to their family, clan, and gods, and to be courageous. That last virtue is an interesting one, because it dovetails with excellence; it’s less about acting in spite of fear, and more about enjoying fearful situations and the call of battle. A paragon of Celtic warfare should love her job, perhaps even revel in it; she relishes combat and the mayhem of the killing fields. Paladins following these virtues are likely to be Chaotic in nature, skewing towards Chaotic Neutral as D&D thinks of these things, and prone to contemplation on concepts of obligation, truth, and the nature of political violence. The crows know that there is always a final answer to injustice.

Irish Celtic paladins are likely to look towards Fionn Mac Cumhaill as a role model; as warriors with magical powers of protection, defense, and healing, they would be valued as keepers of lore, wisdom, and art, more warrior-poet than berserker. If your paladin is part of a wider culture from which she derived this ethos, she was probably expected to both learn knowledge and pass it on to others, and to restrain more eager warriors in favor of cunning plans and clever tactics. Imagine the look on your party members’ faces when they meet your family and realize you’re the sane one; that’s the exact emotion you wanna look to create if you really want to bring this out in the classic vein.

Jewish: We Shall Serve The Lord  - Judaism places a lot of emphasis on the sanctity of life, restorative justice, and doing the good you can do here, and now, with what’s in front of you. Though there is no tradition of elite Jewish warriors in the vein of knights or samurai, Jewish citizens tend to serve under arms slightly more often (about 5% more often) than their countrymen, and defending the innocent & helpless is certainly one way to do good now. A Jewish paladin would be expected to uphold the sanctity of life (preservation of life is the highest calling; a Jew may do anything except deny God in order to preserve life), to practice the principle of Tikkun Olam (’repairing the world’, working actively to make the world around them a more just, peaceful, and pleasant one), to show compassion and generosity to others, to uphold and defend hospitality, to know the Torah and the Law, and, where necessary, to practice intelligent and purposed dissent and skepticism. In the context of D&D, such a character is not likely to be particularly scholarly (paladins haven’t needed a decent Intelligence score at any point in the class’s evolution), but they’re probably conversant in the techniques of reading and research, critical thinking, argument, and debate, if only through exposure. Jewish paladins are most likely to be Good, leaning Lawful, as D&D thinks of these things.

The Jewish ethos describes a set of minimum standards for a righteous person, the Noahide Laws, and greatly encourages you not to associate with any person or culture that can’t meet that standard. They’re honestly not hard to meet either; you basically have to not be a dick about God (don’t try to stop folks from worshiping, don’t spend your time mocking and blaspheming their faith), know that lying and murdering are wrong, don’t be a sexual predator, don’t eat animals that are still alive, and bother to establish a system of laws for self-rule. Though Judaism lacks an elite warrior tradition, you might look to people like Joshua, Judah Maccabee, or Solomon as inspirations for a Jewish paladin character; warriors known for their wisdom, determination, and and in many cases, self-sacrifice. Solomon is also notable as an example of someone who swore the Nazarite Oath, a promise to God to fulfill a mission or task, and to not rest until one has done so. Nazarites are held to higher standards than their peers, notably including the expectation that the object of their oath becomes their only goal until they get it done or die.

As stated before, I am not Jewish and while this information was provided to me by Jewish friends, it is far from complete. @oath-of-lovingkindness might be by to expand on it, if they’re comfortable doing so.

Kemetic Pagan: The Power Of Truth - It’s difficult to talk about how the ancient Kemetic faiths were practiced; there was a lot of strife between the various cults of the gods, sometimes backed by pharaohs who were willing to revise history to get their way about thing, and then the English got a hold of the records. The English getting a hold of your culture’s history rarely ends well for just about anyone. The modern practice of Kemetic worship places great emphasis on service and identity as a member of the community, the promotion and preservation of knowledge, learning, and education, opposing is/fet (’chaos’, here also very much including the breakdown of social bonds and the systems which sustain life), and truth. A Kemetic paladin would be expected to oppose chaos by sustaining or creating such systems (funding schools, founding a neighborhood watch, finding or creating jobs for the poor), defend the defenseless, further her own education and knowledge & teach the ignorant, to be honest and forthright in word and deed, and value strength and justice. They are likely to be Lawful, skewing towards Good, as D&D thinks of these things. For a society to be just, it must first be a society; preservation of the order (both natural and artificial) which sustains human lives comes first.

Kemetic paladins are unlikely to be priests or even to be formally part of a religious heirarchy, again because they have traditionally had issues being scholarly people; instead, they uphold ma’at (what is true, what is just, what is necessary; ma’at is the principle that establishes a community, that relates one person to all other people and defines obligations between them, and opposes chaos) by fulfilling roles that assist their community. Such a paladin might look to one of their patron gods as an example of both the behavior they wish to emulate and their role in the community. A defender and guardian who supports the rural folk might look to Sobek, whose great strength guards the Nile; a would-be hero who craves power and the glory that power might buy her could instead look to Set, who guards the sun-barge and tests the established order so that it can grow strong. This is an ancient faith with quite a few gods, and I haven’t even gone deep enough to say I’ve scratched the surface; if they’re comfortable doing so, @merytu-mrytw may be by to expand on this topic for those interested in learning more.

Samurai: Reaching For Heaven  - You knew we were gonna go here eventually. As famous as knights, and perhaps even more known for their strict code of honor, the samurai were the elite warriors of feudal Japan and members of its ruling class. A samurai was expected to be a warrior, to cultivate an appreciation for high arts such as calligraphy, poetry, and sculpture, to be a scholar or patron of scholars, and to otherwise serve their lord and establish justice in that lord’s name. Today the samurai ethos is often called Bushido (”the way of the warrior”), but that name and conception of their code of conduct is actually a relatively recent invention, dating back only as far as the 20th century. It has its bones in with a 12th century dramatization of a war between two proud clans, and the ideals embodied by the warriors of those clans. Notably, these ideals were considered unattainable; something to strive for, and in striving grow as a person, but not a realistic expectation for a living human in a physical body. I’m gonna go ahead and quote the breakdown of this code that was given to me, because I feel the long form is going to be helpful here. These were the things to strive for, if one wished to call oneself a samurai:

Your duty calls on you to die if necessary. Your honor is more than your life; to live in shame is worse than death. You are expected to be righteous - to have integrity, sincerity, and honesty. To display heroic courage - to be intelligently aware of risks, but to face them boldly, not rashly or foolishly. To be benevolent and compassionate - for you have strength of arms that others cannot fathom. To show respect, even to your enemy. Cruelty, mockery, showboating, boasting, these are against the samurai code. Your strength and stature come through how you stand in adversity, unyielding. To understand that there is no such thing as a promise, or "giving your word" - you do not speak unless you mean what you say. Meaningless words are for shameful people. To safeguard your own honor, for you are its judge - and you will know what will cause you to live in shame, which as noted above, is worse than death. To show loyalty and be dutiful - if you give your service to another, it is theirs to command, and if you set someone's life above yours, you cannot keep honor if you live and they die. To demonstrate self-control - excesses and wants are openings to great shame. Moral character lies in the desire being sublimated toward the better self and higher standing among men.

As the politics and culture of Japan evolved through the years, so too did attitudes towards, and understanding of, this code of conduct, but most dramatic and romantic depictions of the samurai ethos root back to something a lot like this. A paladin dedicated to this ethos is likely to be Lawful Neutral, bending towards Good, as D&D thinks of these things; it emphasizes the virtues of loyalty, duty, and the obligations of both lord and vassal to one another. It is particularly appropriate for characters who see high ideals of virtue as being an unattainable goal to strive for anyway, or for character-driven campaigns looking for high drama that comes from tensions between personal desires and societal expectations (you can see it used for this to wonderful effect in the Legend of Five Rings RPG, most recently published by Fantasy Flight Games).

There are of course many other potential sources for a paladin’s ethos; check out D&D 5e’s homebrew materials and the DM’s guild for just a few. If I didn’t include something here, I promise you that it’s because I’m either ignorant or not confident of my ability to speak on it even in this limited context, not because I was trying to deliberately leave anything out. As I said above, any errors here are mine, and I welcome corrections. I’m also eager to hear about other ethea and how they might be adapted for paladins, so if you’ve got some thoughts there, please, slap ‘em on! I’m quite literally begging to read your paladin takes!

That said, remember that these are real beliefs, that real people follow. If you’re looking to explore an ethos from a culture that is not your own, you should do so with respect and especially with consideration for others that might be affected. It’s one thing to realize 12 sessions into a campaign at your own house that you’ve been accidentally blaspheming someone’s religion; it’s quite another thing to realize that if you’ve been playing in a public place such as a library or a gaming store. Ask folks from the culture or faith in question about it if you can at all do so, and just...if you wouldn’t want someone to be depicting you in a particular way? Don’t depict them that way.

The Trolley Problem And Other Forms Of Psychological Torture - Paladins, Falling, & Alignment

All editions of paladins except 4e have some kind of rule for Falling; losing one’s paladin status and powers, generally because of violations of your code of conduct or a failure to maintain your alignment. 5e sorta-kinda has those rules in a “well if the DM says so” way, which is, in some ways, a worse situation to be in since it leaves the matter unclear. In particular, many editions of paladins require that you have and maintain a Lawful Good alignment, and completely strip you of all powers if you ever change alignment for any reason. If the above sections of this article didn’t make it clear already, I tend to break towards 4e’s school of thought and support unshackling paladins from both alignment and Falling mechanics for general play; they certainly haven’t been powerful enough in the meta to mechanically justify additional restrictions.

This isn’t to say that you can’t use Falling or the threat of Falling for interesting stories and excellent character moments, just that I personally feel that it’s not as necessary as some schools of thought seem to think it is. If you want to incorporate this idea into your campaign, make sure you bring that up when you’re same-paging with your group; it’s definitely one of those topics everyone wants to have a clear understanding about. From there, it’s on the DM to not be a dick about things. Using paladins to explore ethical dilemmas can be very rewarding, but putting one in an ‘impossible’ scenario is rarely any fun. For some great examples of using ethical dilemmas as a form of character growth and to explore the concept of morality, check out The Good Place if you haven’t already. Remember: it’s a game. The goal is to have fun, yeah?

Genocide Is Not An Ethical Dilemma - Common Paladin Pitfalls

This is the part of the article where I get very angry about things.

As I alluded to before, there have been some common pitfalls when it comes to paladins both in the history of their formal writing and in the way the fanbase has chosen to play and relate to them. This section is going to discuss those and what you can do about them, so without further ado:

Fascism  - Paladins have some unfortunate bones in with fascist ideology, particularly the Third Reich’s obsession with ‘will’, as well as the fascist preoccupation with the Crusades, the Crusades themselves, and with being members of social classes which are often oppressive in nature. You really do not have to go far to find some jackoff posting DEUS VULT memes about their paladin, and that’s a problem, first because fascists are bad, and second because that definitely misses the fucking point by a country mile. All editions of D&D and its legacy systems have struggled with this, but a shout-out goes to D&D 5e for publishing the Oath of Conquest, because we definitely needed to respond to this problem by creating an option that gives you heavier, more ornate jackboots to put on people’s necks.

So, what do you do about this? Well, for one thing if you find a fascist at your gaming table you throw them the fuck out into the street, and beyond that mainly you just...try not to play a fuckin’ fascist character. This isn’t really a problem you can solve at the table level, since it’s buried into the writing; all you can do is be aware of it, and not play into it. It shouldn’t be terribly difficult to not make a paladin who’s into kicking poor people and undermining the rights of sapient beings, yeah? Paladins tend to fall into these sorts of problems when they’re depicted as supporting strongmen, or as being the Special And Exalted People to whom the rules do not apply - basically the same situations that give superheroes as a genre their ongoing fascism problem. Keep a weather eye out.

Genocide - The two-for-one combo! Paladins have had a genocide problem as far back as AD&D 2e, where several had racial or religious genocide in their backstories. Sometimes those paladins Fell as a result, sure, but a disturbing amount of them didn’t. We also have such gems as, “A local paladin has started a crusade against half-breeds” (a plot hook published in Draconomicon for 3.5), that greentext story about the paladin and dwarf ‘bros’ who spend their free time murdering orc children, and everything that’s ever been written about how drow are characterized and treated by others. Now, in fairness to paladins, Dungeons & Dragons itself has problems with the themes of race and with its depiction of the morality of genocide, and paladins could be merely caught up in that. On a basic level, solving this issue is easy; don’t endorse genocide, don’t make edgy racist concepts to see if you can ‘still be good’. Even if that wasn’t already tired and worn, someone else already took that concept and went pro with it.

For more information about fantasy’s troubles with race and racial coding, I highly suggest this article & its sequel, as well as Lindsay Ellis’s Bright video.

Youth Pastor Syndrome - This one’s not as dire a problem as the other two; there’s a tendency to play paladins in a way that sucks the fun out of the rest of the group, either because you’re being a judgemental asshole in-character (and possibly out of it), or because they’re constantly having to tiptoe around you to get things done or do what they want in the campaign. In theory, same-paging should help solve this problem before it starts, and it honestly mainly stems from the various ‘association’ clauses in paladin codes through their history. An uptight paladin isn’t necessarily a bad concept, but make sure it’s the right concept for your group before you just go there. Your desire to run a particular character is not an excuse to shit on everyone else’s fun.

Sir Dumbass the Just - So this topic isn’t so much a ‘pitfall’ as something that doesn’t get talked about a lot. There has not been a single incarnation of paladin that is rewarded for investing in Intelligence; instead, they tend to crave Strength or  Dexterity, Constitution, and Wisdom and/or Charisma (depending on edition and build). Once your main three are solved, Wisdom is the next-most important ability score for an adventuring paladin, because it directly relates to detecting threats, seeing through illusions, and resisting mind control, which leaves Intelligence in the dust next to whichever one of Strength or Dexterity you didn’t pick. This means, more often than not, that paladins are going to struggle in scholarly pursuits, be bad at Knowledge-type skills, and otherwise be uneducated in many ways, which most assuredly influences both their internal culture and the sorts of people who become successful paladins. Give the matter some consideration when you’re making your own.

Lady Natasha Pointe-Claire of the Dust March - Paladins as NPCS

Related to what was discussed just above, not all paladins are necessarily adventurers. Though the image of the paladin as a knight-errant, wandering the world in order to defeat foul plots and punch demons in the asshole, is both valid and probably very relevant to paladin player characters, there are other roles that a paladin might fulfill in your campaign setting. Such paladins are still members of a warrior class, and will thus have things in common with player character paladins, but their different roles will encourage investment in other kinds of abilities and skills which might not lead to a successful adventuring paladin, but will lead to a pretty good life in the other job. The following examples are by no means exhaustive, but they should provide a good place for a DM to start if they wanna incorporate paladin NPCs into their games in roles other than fellow (or rival) adventurers. Mentor - Probably the most straightforward; this paladin was a successful adventuring paladin who ended up retiring due to age, injuries, or just to enjoy time with their loved ones/family/children rather than getting mauled to death by undead birds. Take a normal paladin build, ratchet them up into Middle Age or Old Age, call it a day. Such paladins are likely to be a lot calmer and more pragmatic than the younger set, with a combination of painful experience and perspective guiding the advice they give on how to fight evil and how to dodge the fireballs that evil be throwing.

Knight-Hospitaller - Hospitallers are healers, caretakers, and guardians of the sick, injured, and infirm. Such a paladin might help maintain a home for those who have been traumatized (abuse victims, soldiers, people laboring beneath magical curses), be employed at or run a hospital, or maintain a temple dedicated to a god of healing and medicine. Hospitallers tend to choose options that enhance their Lay on Hands ability, memorize more healing spells than attack or defense ones, and value Wisdom and Intelligence more highly than their peers, often at the expense of their Strength or Dexterity (or even their Constitution; paladins, being immune to disease, can afford to be surprisingly frail of body in this role).

Fortress Knight - These paladins have a lot in common with adventuring paladins, but are for one reason or another posted in one spot from which they do not leave. They might be the guardians of a frontier village, soldiers watching over a sinister portal, the personal bodyguards to a powerful noble, or any other role in which they take on a defensive, reactionary stance rather than actively seeking out new and exciting forms of evil. Fortress knights need a higher Wisdom and to invest in Perception-type skills, and will tend to focus on utility-type spells with a strong subtheme of attack; they need to be able to rouse the alarm, dispel magic on their allies, and keep an enemy pinned down.

Example Paladin - Corran D’Arcy

I promise you, your long journey through my article is almost over. I wanna talk about a specific paladin to kinda tie things together, as an example of some of these principles and ideas in motion and because Corran d’Arcy is just weirdly legit when he has absolutely no fucking reason to be. Corran appears in the novelization for Pool of Radiance: Ruins of Myth Drannor, written by Carrie Bebris. The book is based on the videogame of the same name, which in turn was made to celebrate the release of D&D 3.0. “Should I play this game?” you ask, to which I reply: absolutely fucking not, the game was a rough ride when it came out and it has not aged remotely well. 3.0 was rapidly updated to 3.5 because of deep and wide mechanical flaws that made the play experience almost physically painful, and converting it to a CRPG did not help that experience at all.

The book though? Excellent. Legitimately one of the best D&D novels. Spoilers for it follow, but I’d still suggest reading it if you get the chance.

The novel is told from the perspective of Kestrel, a petty thief trying to raise enough money to quit her life of crime and, ideally, die in bed of old age rather than of blood loss in some gutter. A series of poor and alcohol-related decisions leads her to volunteer to guard an evil pool of soul-stealing water, which is where she meets Corran d’Arcy, a paladin of Tyr and the third son of a noble family. The two get on like water and oil; to Kestrel, Corran is a pompous, classist piece of shit who judges her without knowing her, and to Corran, Kestrel is the exact kind of criminal and evildoer he so often fights in his day job. When another team opens a portal to beg for help while they’re being slaughtered, Corran quite literally throws Kestrel through it when she’s trying not to go, nearly killing them both.

This puts their professional relationship off to a bit of a distant start, as you might imagine.

Corran’s prejudice, as well as Kestrel’s more-justified-but-still-unhelpful resentment, hinder the party as they attempt to survive in Myth Drannor and defeat the Cult of the Dragon’s schemes there. Corran’s life of privilege has left him unfamiliar with Kestrel’s skills, and he consistently misuses those skills or forgets to ask for her opinion and expertise - to the detriment of the group. This painful oversight aside, however, Corran proves surprisingly practical; he works with the party’s wizard to create effective combat tactics, utilizes invisibility for surprise attacks against powerful foes, and coordinates well in the heat of battle; after all, the Cult of the Dragon is not taking requests for formal duels, and the fate of the world is at stake. Corran is polite even to his enemies, and openly negotiates with the minions and allies of the Cult in order to avoid combat - notably including drow houses that have made their homes in Myth Drannor. Through the course of the novel, he and Kestrel go from being openly antagonistic towards one another to developing a newfound respect, starting when Kestrel calls Corran out for endangering the party by refusing to retreat. Corran, in turn, forces Kestrel to confront the fact that she has been unhappy living her life with no purpose other than to die another day, a revelation that shakes her to her core.

Things come to a head when one of Corran’s decisions gets a man killed. Kestrel calls him out on it, accusing him - correctly - of hurting those he’s trying to protect by misusing her skills and ignoring the advice of his companions. Seeing his genuine anguish over these events softens Kestrel’s rage towards the paladin, enough that they essentially start their relationship over from the top with genuine change from both of them. A scene late in the book where Kestrel helps Corran find the confidence to attempt divine magic (a gift given only to ‘truly worthy’ paladins) cements what has finally become a trusting friendship.

Corran d’Arcy is an excellent example of a classic paladin archetype with life and humanity breathed into it. He has prejudices and insecurities; he feels pressured to live up to a long legacy of knighthood that intimidates him. At the same time, the virtues he lives up to reward him over and over again, from his bold valor (which sees to the defeat of many evildoers) to his courtesy and honor in social situations (which wins him unlikely allies in a ruined city overrun by wickedness). Though he starts out as a dick, Corran is not malicious, and it’s his genuine desire to do good by others that motivates the change in his behavior; when he learns that he is hurting his friends, he knows that he must change.

That’s the end of the article proper! I hope you found it informative and, more than anything, helpful in creating paladins for your game and campaign setting. I absolutely welcome questions, comments, critique, additions, and the like; my Ask box is open, and the Reblog button is right there.

That said, if you’re interested, Mister Vox’s Wild Ride is not yet over. I got bit by the homebrew bug halfway through this damnable thing, so here’s a paladin oath based on a family from my first completed interactive story, Dungeon Life Quest. Constructive critique of this material is also very welcome!

Oath of the la Croix (D&D 5e Sacred Oath)

(River la Croix, journeyman necromancer and demonologist, ex-mercenary. Character is from Dungeon Life Quest, art provided by Domochevsky.)

The la Croix family have been necromancers for longer than they’ve been the la Croix; they laid down much of the foundations of modern necromancy, and have, through the ages, been tyrants, villains, refugees and, these days, heroes. To be a la Croix is not a matter of blood, but of commitment to the family’s ideals; one must be willing to help those in need, to serve the community, be a level head in times of trouble, to show respect for death and the dead, and to make hard choices with a calm heart.

Though most la Croix are necromancers, alchemists, healers, or summoners of various kinds, every now and again a paladin-like warrior emerges from the ranks of the family, often by adoption. Whether or not such cousins are ‘real’ paladins is a subject of languid internal debate in the family - no la Croix has ever fallen to the point where she lost her powers, but a few have managed to go mad enough with that power to end up hunted down by the rest of the family. The question doesn’t really need answering, but it’s fun to argue about after three cups of wine.

Tenets of the la Croix The high standards expected of la Croix paladins are also expected of anyone who chooses to bear the family name. You can give up the name at any time, but most la Croix children - by adoption or by blood - try to wear it with pride.

Life is for the Living, Death is for the Dead. No one chooses to be born, and very few people choose to die. Respect these truths. Take life when you must, but not cruelly, and never for personal gain. Remember that you, too, are alive, and deserve the chance to enjoy that life as all people do.

Your Name is ‘Somebody’. If there is a call for help, you are the one to answer; when you hear ‘somebody do something’, ‘somebody help me’, you are Somebody, child of Anyone. If you can’t help directly, do everything you can anyway. None of us deserve to be alone.

Serve, Not Rule. A la Croix’s place in her community is service to that community. We are not nobles, tyrants, or generals; we dwell among the common people to protect and shelter them, and to remind ourselves of all the ways in which we are alike. Our power makes us different, not better.

They, Too, Are Victims of Life. You do not know the struggles others go through, just as they do not know yours. All are condemned to live and to die, and deserve your compassion even when you are moved to strike them down for the greater good. Bury your enemies and give them their last rites as if they were your own family.

Oath Spells You gain oath spells at the paladin levels listed.

3rd - bane, false life 5th - darkness, gentle repose 9th - bestow curse, fear 13th - phantasmal killer, shadow of Moil* 17th - danse macabre*, planar binding

*appears in Xanathar’s Guide to Everything

Channel Divinity When you take this oath at 3rd level, you gain the following Channel Divinity options.

Ancestral Protection - You can use your Channel Divinity to call upon your la Croix ancestors for protection. As an action, you suffer damage equal to your paladin level; this damage cannot be prevented or reduced in any way. Then, you and all allies within 30 feet of you gain a bonus to armor class equal to your Charisma modifier for 1 minute.

Balefire Blast - You can use your Channel Divinity to scourge an enemy with death-in-flame. Make a spell attack against a creature within 30 feet. If you hit, that creature suffers necrotic damage equal to your paladin level, plus fire damage equal to your paladin level. If it dies within 1 minute of being hit, it counts as dying of old age in addition to its actual cause of death (usually meaning that it is much more difficult to bring back from the dead).

Necromancer’s Aura Beginning at 7th level, you radiate constant necromantic wards that protect you and your allies. You and allies within 10 feet of you have resistance to necrotic damage and radiant damage, and you make saving throws against effects which would kill you outright with advantage.

At 18th level, the range of this aura increases to 30 feet.

Friend of Death Starting at 15th level, you regain 1 spell slot of 3rd level or lower whenever a creature within 30 feet of you is reduced to 0 or less hit points. You can regain a number of spell slots this way equal to your Charisma modifier; once you reach this limit, you must finish a long rest to use this ability again.

Aphrael’s Chosen At 20th level, you gain the ability to enter a state of heightened necromantic power, in which you can channel far more sorcery than usual. As an action, you suffer damage equal to your paladin level, then begin channeling raw death magic for 1 minute. While in this state, you gain the following benefits:

- You are immune to all effects which would kill you outright - Whenever you cast a paladin spell, you can make a weapon attack as part of casting that spell. You are not required to make this attack. - Creatures make their saving throws against your spells with disadvantage.

Once you use this feature, you can’t use it again until you finish a long rest.

[shambalasims]

Week 4 - Day 3 - Crystal madness

The contestants must find the most precious crystal of them all to be able to impress the Bachelorette with their generosity.

Welcome back to the Bachelorette of San Myshuno! Today is the last challenge of the week, and so we went to have a quick chat with Mango and ask how she feels on this fine day...

....

And it appears Covid-19 reached even my game Mango has the flu.

However, show must go on and theres no government in the sims to tell them to stay home.

Our challenge today takes place in the Forgotten Grotto, but to get there..

..our graceful Bachelorette had to elegantly invite the contestants in because she’s the only one with Lvl. 10 Handiness

Mango: crashes and destroys everything in her path  like a lady

And thus, with refined skill and the magic of a common hammer..

...the contestants are here.

Genki: Why are we again dressed up in weird costumes?

Mango: What do you mean? You’re three stranded pilots, on your way to have an adventure and find the most valuable crystal and bring it to your princess!

Yuuto: Is this scenario in the script..?

Hanako: At this point I think someone should speak with the organiz-

Mango: And who do you think is the organizer??

Hanako: sweats...C-costumes are g-great,y-yeah

Genki: Now he definitely has the flu

Mango: So, as I was saying: you are here to find the most expensive crystal to gift it to me as a way to show everyone that you are not greedy. You will get 20 points if you find the most expensive crystal, followed by 10 points and 5 points for the cheapest. 

Genki: What happens if we want to keep the crystal for us? I mean, we found it and all--

Mango: Simgoddess Shambs will  buy the Eco Living expansion and make you cut vertical meat.

( jk lol when did I ever buy expansions) 

The bachelors: moment of silence remembering the vertical meat and generally the whole upcoming expansion pack

Everyone started investigating the grotto, while Hanako caught on fire trying to eat some smores. (and Mango kept spreading her germs around)

First one to dig was Genki. His crystal turned to be..

..a Diamond, worth 108 simoleons! Not bad!

Genki: I might be smiling but deep down I’m crying 'cause I will have to give it away

Up next was Yuuto..

..and he found and Emerald!

Unfortunately, it was worth only 24 simoleons.

Yuuto: fml

And the last one was Hanako.

He dug out an Alexandrite ( I have a ring with this stone :) )

Surprisingly to me (because I never knew emerald was so cheaper than alexandrite) his crystal was worth 186 simoleons, which means Hanako (slightly drugged because he apparently took a pill for the flu?? ) gets 20 points in this challenge!

Hanako: ..huh..wha..mum?

Genki wins 10 points for this round and Yuuto 5 points.

Let’s take a look at the score:

So far, this week Genki seems to lead, while Yuuto had some bad luck and scores last.

After the challenge, everyone joined in to roast some smores, and even become Good Friends! Hanako and Yuuto still are enemies though after their fight.

And Genki even worked on his comedy level..

..however a facepalm was not what he expected..

...nor this text! Mango’s Papa is either a terrible flirt or he is giving his approval, we will never know.

Thus ended the day and the third challenge of the week. Since Genki scored the highest score this week, he will be the one to go on a date with Mango! Stay tuned~

[newsiegirlscribbles]

There was no mistaking it, this was the watch of Emilianna Robinson.

 It was such a fine name for such an unkempt girl, and known by most of Londinium in curt, snapping words from neighbor to neighbor or in sighs over shaking teacups. Suffice to say, the well-to-do had looked much more favorably upon charity galas and the “poor, underprivileged children” eleven years, eleven months, and a day ago; now, the beneficiaries’ pocketbooks were used more often to swat the first pint-sized terror to get close enough more than anything else. What nobody seemed to realize, Millie thought, was that Emmy was right impossible, and became more so with every other social worker that was laid off with a government-funded check that said the job was important, and a bank statement that said they weren’t. Millie had worked at Robinson’s Foster Care long enough to realize that Emmy was more headstrong than anything else and wasn’t nearly as bad as she could have been. 

The seal that came issued on all the gingham skirts, faded blouses, and pressed blazers that couldn’t have been updated since the fifties or so had long since been mended and re-mended, torn off by thorns or hedges in pursuit of some rabbit to chase or tree to climb on all her clothes; her flats were scuffed and worn from much of the same activity. Her hair was curly, the colour of wheels that have traveled a long way on dirt roads, and tied back hastily in twin pigtails. No matter how presentable she was when she left, Emmy had a remarkable talent for acquiring scraped knees, freckles, and streaks of earth, blood, jams, or whatnot on her clothes with the declaration that she’d do it again.

 (“You should have seen the other bloke.” she had quipped once with a wince and a smile as Millie had swabbed the clip that would become the faint white scar on her shoulder with the last of the alchemist’s Essence of Kingsfoil.

The social worker raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you lose this fight?”

“‘S why you should have seen ‘im, the princely genetics and shiner I gave him would make him a right poster child for this place and really bring in the folks.“) 

By some chance of fate or fair fortune, the gentleman Decennium had taken a shine to her and requested her as his apprentice. Emmy’s face had lit up with a smile warmer than the sun, kicking her heels excitedly and shaking the timekeeper’s hand with vigor, and her enthusiasm was almost--almost--enough to excuse the fact that she had broken the Most Important Rule.

 In most of Sylvaria, those with stars in their blood had a talent for magic and were destined to protect and enrich the world; in Londinium, Emillianna was destined to destroy it. She was forbidden from tinkering with timepieces by the strictest of orders, never allowed to touch the gearwing menangery that fascinated the other children so, but somehow, she had slipped and caught the notice of one of the most esteemed positions in all Sylvaria. Millie could only breathe easily in the gratitude that the girl had been entrusted with the delicate waltz of time and mechanics and not thrown to the best judgement of the people like so many others long gone to the unwound future. The watch was a gift, a contract of sorts; as Emillianna accepted it, she placed her left hand over her heart and the clock’s face lit up with a soft glow, the gears inside ticking to place. 

She had loved the watch, and she had loved Decennium and chronomechanics and the silvery glow of fluid time as it clung to her fingers and stopped every clock she touched, capturing the essence again, and again, and again. 

Which was why, when Millie saw the pocketwatch all but smashed to bits by the edge of the clock tower, and felt the minutes torn from the bells and from her day as the residuum rippled ever so slightly, she knew that something had gone very, very, wrong. 

I. In which things go very, very wrong

Emmy ducked and slipped through the crowd into the marketplace as the starchly-dressed gentleman’s shouts came to an end; once she heard the distinctive click of an unsatisfied well-to-do person’s boots stalking off, she leaned against the archway and sighed with relief. 

Catching snap-dragons was a bother; they always managed to get loose once they spotted a rose garden, which wouldn’t have been so much of a problem had the well-to-do not been so fond of fences that she always got stuck in because of course she did. 

This was the fifth garden this month.

Drat.

As she gained a better view of the scene, she saw the market larger than she had initially imagined; hundreds of people bustled from stall to stall, passageways twisted through streets, and song and chatter rang through the air. If she could just get a smidge higher, she could see more of the area and make a clean escape….and the highest vantage point wasn’t far off. 

Emmy stopped one of the nearby marketgoers, a girl with short-cropped raven-black hair tucked beneath a lavender bonnet, her corduroy skirt and aegean blazer nearly close enough to indicate a fellow Robinson’s orphan--the silver buttons notwithstanding. There was a sparkle in her eyes, almost as if she were holding back a smile. 

“Pardon.” Emmy said, tapping her on the shoulder, “Would you know which way to the gallows?”

The girl laughed, evidently amused. “Are you expected?” 

“What? No!”

“Pity.” she sighed, “It’s been so long since we hanged a thief.” 

Emmy’s face blazed scarlet. “Are you always this horrid? I’m not a thief!” 

“Well, you sure weren’t dashing like a rabbit to see this.” the girl said with a wink, gesturing to the tavern hall. She leaned in, ever-so-slightly, in a softer voice, “‘less you were hoping one of these blokes would get so absent-minded they’d take you in.” Her playful laugh cut across the market like a dog’s bark; Emmy leveled a glare, and the girl grinned back, somewhere between the sort of adorable cheer that let you get away with murder and the self-assured smirk that let you commit it. 

It was a delight to see it knocked straight off her face.

The girl raised a hand to the mark, and before Emmy could raise her a second, a sharp clip stung the side of her jaw; light hands shoved her fiercely into the archway. There must have been a clock embedded in the stone above her--she wasn’t sure how that thought sprang to mind, but she could have sworn she felt microseconds being shaken from the timepiece as the girl’s knee was driven into her chest. 

The moment was dismissed; Emmy swung her leg under her opponent’s and threw her to the ground. A swift kick bloodied the girl’s cheek; a heel to her stomach would have settled the fight ultimately, but with agility she shouldn’t have had, she rolled to her side, out of the way, stood up, grabbed the orphan’s collar, and slammed her into the archway. A hairline fracture split the clock face; Emmy raised a hand to push back, but the silvery mists of the loose time clung to her fingers as they brushed the edge of the clock. 

And suddenly

The girl moved a little bit slower. 

II. 

Emmy grabbed the girl’s shoulders and tackled her to the ground. 

Beneath the thin shine of the silver filaments, her opponent made a move to catch Emmy’s ankle with her own, but the orphan sidestepped it easily, swinging her foot out of the way and onto the raven-haired girl’s ribs. 

“Ha!” she cheered, digging her heel in just for the sake of sheer cockiness, “Not quick enough, now!” 

“Shove off.” the girl muttered, moving to sit up. “‘Sn’t fair, you used magic.”

Moments from offering her hand, Emmy resisted the urge to slap the girl. 

“Do I look like a starblood to you?” she said, laughing humorlessly, “I’d really think I’d ought to have noticed, but pardon--suppose I forgot my robes and silver spoon today.” 

The raven-haired girl sighed, accepted her opponent’s hand reluctantly, and got to her feet. Once level with her, she took her by the shoulders and shook her. 

“Are you daft? Look at the clock! Look at the time!” 

Emmy shook her head, moved away. 

“You pushed me into it in the first place! What did you think would happen?”

The girl threw up her hands, frustrated. “Well, would asking that you didn’t do...whatever you did be enough?” 

Emmy scoffed, shoved the girl back. “What are you getting at?” 

“You’re...”

She fell silent; Emmy would nearly flatter herself enough to say awestruck. Behind her, a tall gentleman, resplendent in a pressed dark suit with an emerald blazer and tie, strode closer; a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose, and all but slid off as he beamed. 

“A timekeeper.” he said warmly. 

Emmy’s eyes widened as she reflexively stepped back; by the look of the intricate elliptical badge on his blazer and the brass-lined goggles in his fair hair, he must have been one of Londinium’s timekeeping guild, all but a prince. Speak of the wrong person to cross….

She held her breath as he stepped back; his hand slowed as it neared the clock. 

“Let’s see here….there are only a few seconds missing from it that have since passed, so not much damage done there...though that fracture could cause a problem the next go-around. Can’t say I’ve ever seen that done by anything besides magic.” he remarked absently, withdrawing a tool somewhere between a wrench and a spyglass from his pocket. 

With his attention on the clock, she could probably dodge. There were enough people to cover, enough loose bricks in the alley walls to lift a foot on. Sure, it wouldn’t be proper, but there were scores of orphans in Londinium. The faeborn girl started the fight, she could finish it. 

….and her former opponent was gone. Stardust to ashes. That had been her plan. 

Before she could map out a better route, the gentleman caught her shoulder. 

“Ah--not so fast. I’m not cross, don’t worry; but magic of this sort is always best recognized by the caster. Would you like to give it a shot?” he said gently, offering the tool to her, “It’s a lenity, designed to counteract effects on tempered material.” 

She took it, glanced up at the clock warily, and extended one of the legs of it like a compass to enclose the fracture; immediately, thin tendrils of temporal energy twisted along it towards her hand. The gentleman nodded approvingly. 

“Now, just bring it together and press your hand against the fracture; it’ll help if you keep a more level head about this.” 

Emmy took a deep breath, but the temporal discharge only grew thicker around her fingers as she willed the fracture to mend, the time to recontinue; it strangled her from the inside, burning her fingers as her face grew hot. Hairline cracks spread outward from the fracture; by the most basic of Sylvarian survival instincts, she swept her foot in a protective half-circle behind her. 

Forcing her heart to slow, she drew her hand away lightly; slowly, the smaller fractures began to stitch back together, time began to resume course in the marketplace, and the silvered mists of time were drawn back towards the clock, yet the last glow of it never quite left her hand. The smallest crack, despite everything, still  remained. 

Her heart beat once, and again, andagainagainagainagain

And

A g a i n 

As the faintest, ever-so-slight shine of her own time stubbornly intertwined among the manipulative. 

That….wasn’t good. 

Emmy twisted her hand toward the presence of the clock as her heartbeat registered as if at the bottom of an ocean in her ears--

Until at last, fingers outsplayed and wrist outstretched towards the temporal charge, Emmillianna Robinson fainted. 

III.

“_ss R_ns_n? Miss Robinson, are you alright?”

There was a tight hold around her left wrist, and that more than the formality jolted her to attention. 

“I will remain silent until allowed a lawyer….” she said quickly, yanking her wrist roughly out of her holder’s grip, “As is required by...Londinium Code thirty--” 

The man’s shoulders relaxed in a sigh of relief; as his laughter broke the air in short, triumphant bursts, Emmy looked up and recognized him as a Timekeeper and cut off abruptly. Stardust to ashes, well, she was as good as done for if she’d botched it this poorly. With a clap of his hands and a boyish cheer, he swung her into a twirl.

“Brava, Miss Robinson” he chuckled, resting her back on her feet, “I dare say I’ve never seen such a display like that before.” 

She cocked her head in confusion, but as he gestured to the clock, she stepped closer. As if through the refracted glimpse of a pond, she remembered the lenity, the time as it twisted around her hands, and--

She must have fixed it. She couldn’t remember it, but she supposed that’s what happened, somehow, so a grin spread across her face. “Really?” 

The gentleman shook her hand enthusiastically. “Yours is a talent to behold. I’ve been looking for an apprentice for some time; if you don’t mind my presumption, would you be interested?”

Emmy pressed her hand to the faded Robinson’s seal on her blazer, beamed a lopsided smile with all the cheer in the world. 

“I accept.”