#anyways. Send me a prompt and I’ll write a bit of fic!

[magpiesbones]

mayhaps a Witch Hat/Howl's Moving Castle fusion?

Ooooh not only is this a FUN one but it is one I have thought about before!

—

Before Coco got herself cursed, she’d always thought she’d live and die a tailor in that little town, where nothing exciting actually happened. The most interesting thing to ever happen to Market Chipping was when the train station got built ten years ago, and when people come out from Kingbury and Kahln. Coco is willing to believe that interesting things happen, of course, but interesting things don’t happen to her— they happen to interesting people. Like witches!!

This is what she tells herself, to keep herself from getting too bored.

Actually, the most interesting thing to happen in Market Chipping happened three months ago, when the girl down the street saw the Wizard Agate’s castle in the fog creeping about the hills— but that’s terrifying, not not interesting at all.

They say the Wizard Agate eats the heart of any pretty girl she finds out on her own, that she peels the magic from other witches, that she does all manner of madness in her quest for power.

But, well, Coco isn’t a pretty girl anymore, now that she’s nineteen-going-on-ninety, and she was never a witch to start out with. And she can’t bother her poor mother with all this, not after that business with placing her sisters in nice apprenticeships. Maybe the Wizard will even feel like breaking her curse! Maybe the Wizard will teach her some magic! Not wizardry, since you have to be born with the talent to be a wizard, but maybe a bit of witchcraft!

Probably she won’t, but being an old lady is good for hope! What’s the worst that will happen, anyways?

—

“Who the hell are you?” The woman— Wizard Agate, since it couldn’t be anyone else but her— said. She was, shockingly, wearing trousers. Coco couldn’t imagine ever being so scandalous, but she figured one must get used to it after some time. 

Oh no. 

“I’m your new cleaning lady!” Coco said. 

Wizard Agate took a long drink of whatever was in her mug. “Why,” she said, but not like a question. 

“Because you need one,” Coco said, and since Wizard Agate hadn’t eaten her heart yet, she dared a little further. “Really badly.”

Wizard Agate pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, dramatically and showily. “Fine, whatever.”

Coco would have danced in joy if her bones didn’t protest to the thought. “I promise you won’t regret it!” She said. 

“I already do,” the Wizard said, and reached behind Coco to shut the door. She was taller than Coco, as she was, and probably would’ve been taller than Coco as she had been, too. Her outfit made her look even taller, long straight pants with pin folds that went all the way up to a long blue and silver vest over a fine shirt with flounces on the sleeves. 

[moonstruckme]

apple pie - send a character + a prompt off this list and I’ll write a drabble

congrats mae!! love the new theme and all your fics xx could i get sirius black and 10?

Thank you angel <3

¹⁰⁾ a six pack of beer and an apology

cw: alcohol, reader is implicitly introverted and/or shy

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 744 words

Sirius finds you on the roof of his building. It’s a nice roof, not because of the roof itself—that’s pretty disgusting, actually, scattered with beer cans and smelling of piss from parties gone by—but because of the view. The trees and bricks of his neighborhood, giving way after a few blocks to city lights and black sky. 

You’re silhouetted against it all, sitting on the edge of the roof with your feet dangling over the pavement. You have a six pack of beer sitting beside you with one missing. 

“Are you planning to drink all of those by yourself?” Sirius asks as he sits down on your other side, the beers between you. 

You startle a little, and his muscles tense, ready to snatch you away from the edge. Sirius sits there like that all the time, but it makes him twitchy when you do it. When you realize it’s only him, your sigh is half relieved and half exasperated. Maybe there’s a little bit of fondness in there, too. 

“No,” you reply, “but I wanted to have the option.” 

“Sound.” Sirius grabs one for himself, popping the tab with a hiss. 

You keep looking out into the distance while he takes a couple of slow sips. He never knows what exactly you’re doing when you get like this. Sometimes you’ll be quiet for so long he thinks you must be entirely in your own head, but then you’ll say something like “I think that couple on that stoop has just been on their first date. See how nervous they are?” and he’ll realize you’ve been paying attention all along. 

Now, he knows you’re only waiting for him to own up. 

“I’m sorry,” Sirius says, “for luring you here under false pretenses.” 

“You told me it was a small dinner.” 

“There is food down there, if you go looking…” 

“This is a party, Sirius.” 

“You wouldn’t have come if I’d told you it was a party.” 

You take a sip of your beer, looking like you might be trying to hide a smile. “No,” you agree. 

“Then I lied.” He tests his luck, tossing you a grin meant to coax out your own. “I’m not sorry.” 

“I knew it,” you mutter, but there’s no real malice in your voice. Sirius leans over, bumping his shoulder into yours. 

“I wanted to see you.” 

You give him a look. “You could see me any night.” 

“I wanted to see you tonight,” he amends. “I had to get you here somehow.” 

You sigh, leaning into him in turn. “I’m sorry if I’m keeping you from your party.” You cringe. “Or being rude to your friends.” 

“Don’t be silly, nobody minds. They all love you anyway, and now that I’ve been gone for more than five seconds James will have seized the opportunity to change the music. They’ll all be having a grand time.” 

You smile, turning your face down so your hair almost covers it. But Sirius won’t be robbed of the sight; he hooks your hair on a finger, slotting as much as he can behind your ear. 

Your eyes meet his. “I like your music,” you tell him. 

Sirius beams. “And that’s why I like you, gorgeous. Well,” he hedges, “part of why. There’s also your personality, I suppose.” 

“Stop.” You give him what he supposes is meant to be a stern look, but it’s only heart-wrenchingly cute. 

“And your lovely ass, can’t forget that.” 

You turn your face entirely away from him, but your shoulders shake silently. Now that Sirius has you laughing, he decides to push his luck one more time. 

“Do me a favor?” He asks. You look over, still fighting your smile. “Come back inside. You can sit with Remus—he adores you, and he’ll be happy to have someone he doesn’t need to make small talk with. In an hour I’ll kick everybody out, and it’ll be just us for the rest of the night. Okay?” 

You tug on your bottom lip with your teeth, mulling it over. “Yeah,” you say after a minute, “okay. Just give me a minute and I’ll head down.” 

“Thanks, sweetheart.” Sirius leans over, capturing your lips with his. He makes it good and persuasive, but in all honesty he’s probably as wobbly as you are when he pulls away. “And will you do one more thing for me, please?” 

“Um.” You look a bit dazed. “Sure.” 

“Get down off the edge. You’re freaking me out.”

[morgana-larkin]

Haii okay here’s my angst request! I love a good regretful jealous Mel hehehe. I was thinking you’re both teachers and she likes u but is like “I’m too cool for pining” so she does the extreme opposite and is kinda standoff-ish or blunt w u at school. When you’re alone she’s a little better but still not super lovey dovey. You “take the hint” and move on, and someone new comes into ur life (can you PLEASE for the LOVE OF GOD name this rando new person joy??). And then one day Mel’s like “let’s be official” And you’re like what? Why? I thought u didn’t like me also I have Joy now. And then Mel’s like wtf and she gets rlly jealous when she sees u w her now and then she tries to sabotage y’all’s blooming relationship. In the end maybe no happy ending pls?? If ur comfortable writing that :)

Hehe I LOVE a good heartbreak. Also I’m obsessed w joy Huerta (hence my username) and have been asking everyone to use it in fics AND PPL DONT ALFJKS. lmao anyways. I hope this is sumn ur comfortable writing!

OMG! you’re really testing me here! If I’m honest, it was hard to write. I rewrote it a few times, it hurt a little, might make a part 2. Honestly if even one person requests a part 2 with a happy ending then I will write one. As always, not edited in the slightest, I hope you like it!

On another note: keep sending prompts for one shots! I decided to write one shots about Chessy from parent trap played by our favourite redhead, Lisa Ann Walter, so you can send prompts for her too!

Part 2

Green Isn’t Your Colour

Warnings: (where do I start lol) Jealous Mel, upset Mel, a bit of toxic Mel, angst and no comfort, no happy ending , good luck lol

Words: 3.2k

You walk in through the entrance of Abbott Elementary. You’ve been here for a year already and you’re finally feeling like you’re settling in. You’re a third grade teacher, you helped Melissa out as she wouldn’t have another split class again and that made her happy from the day you got there and hearing the news.

You walk into the break room, hot chocolate in hand, you don’t like coffee that much, but nothing could beat a good hot chocolate. You go and sit on an empty table, taking some tests out and start marking them. Melissa looks over at you from her table. She looks at the way you’re flawlessly marking, glasses on and concentrating on what you’re doing.

You glance up as you feel like you’re being watched and see Melissa looking at you, but then she quickly looks away when you notice and you smile. You liked her since you first set eyes on her and it only grew from there. But lately it seems like she’s off and you’re unsure why. She was nice to you when you started but now it’s like she’s the opposite and you don’t know why. You asked everyone else if they could answer why she’s different but no one noticed the change.

You got up and picked up the tests and decided to just carry them to your classroom. You passed by Melissa on the way out. “See you later Melissa.” You told her with a smile. She just nodded her head at you and went back to her phone. You looked at Barb and she just shrugged, not noticing a difference.

During your second period prep you finished marking the tests with a breath of relief. Just then Melissa knocks on your door and you look at her and smile. “Hey Melissa.” You tell her and she just has a neutral face and you drop your smile.

“I found the book you were asking for. The little eagles liked it last year and I’m sure they’ll like it again.” She said and handed you the book.

“Oh perfect, thank you.” You told her and smiled at the book. Melissa looked at you and couldn’t help the small smile forming at your excitement of the book. And you looked up at her to see the small smile on her face. “Hey Melissa, can I ask you something?” You asked and she looked at you confused.

“You can but it doesn’t mean I’ll answer.” Melissa said.

“Um ok. Well I was just wondering why you’re acting differently around me?” You ask and she looks at you with a neutral face again.

“I don’t know what you mean?”

“Well you were nice to me last year but now you’re acting distant and I don’t know why.” You asked her. “Did I do something wrong?” You added and that took her by surprise. She doesn’t want you to think you did anything wrong because you didn’t. Melissa has a crush on you and she doesn’t want to show it or let anyone know, and her acting nicely to you last year definitely raised suspicions, so she went back to how she acts with everyone else.

“You didn’t do anything kid. This is just how I am with people.” She said.

“You’re not like that with Barb.” You said.

“Barb is my best friend, so of course I’m nice to her.”

“What about Janine? Jacob? Gregory? Or when Ava at times? You’re nice to them.” You told her, getting a little frustrated.

“That’s because they’re my friends.” She said and you were taken back by that and it definitely stung. Melissa looks at your expression and knew she shouldn’t have said that. She does think of you as a friend but it just slipped out.

“Oh ok, well glad to know where we stand then, just co workers. Thank you for the book Ms. Schemmenti, I’ll return it tomorrow.” You tell her and go back to your desk. “If that was all then if you don’t mind, I have a lesson plan to do.” You told her and she nodded her head.

“See ya around kid.” She said and left. She knew she fucked up there. She’ll have to start being a bit nicer to you to get back in your good graces.

Back in your classroom you took a big breath. You thought you and Melissa were friends but I guess you were wrong. No wonder she’s always short and blunt with you.

The next day you were at the coffee shop, receiving your hot chocolate like always, turning around to leave and bumped into someone, spilling your hot chocolate all over them and a bit on yourself.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I just wanted to talk to you and didn’t expect you to turn around.” The person said.

“Oh well I feel like I should be apologising, my hot chocolate mostly went on you. Wait, you wanted to talk to me? Why?”

“Because I see you in here everyday and I think you’re pretty.” She said with a blush and you blushed at her compliment.

“Oh uh th-thank you.” You stuttered a bit, not used to compliments.

“Can I buy you another hot chocolate? As an apology?” She said and you looked at her.

“Oh you don’t have too.”

“I want to though. Please, I insist.” She said and you smiled at her. She bought you another hot chocolate and handed it to you with a smile. “And there we go.” She said.

“Thank you.” You told her and saw the time. “Oh I gotta get to work.” You told her.

“Oh that’s alright I understand. I’ll see you again tomorrow?” She asked.

“Ya, I come here, same time every day.” You said with a smile and began to leave but turned around to her. “I never got your name btw.”

“It’s Joy.” She told you.

“I’m y/n.” You tell her and she smiles.

“You have a lovely name, it suits you.” She tells you. You blush and leave the coffee shop. You get to the school and immediately go to your classroom instead of the break room. You put your stuff done and see the book that Melissa gave you yesterday sitting on your desk. You might as well return it now, you got a few minutes before the students get here. You picked up the book and walked to the classroom next to yours and knocked on the open door. Melissa was stapling something and looked up at you and gave you a little smile.

Your heart fluttered a little at the smile and you remembered what she said yesterday. “Hi Ms Schemmenti, I came to return the book.” You told her, and held the book up.

She looked at you and remembered what happened yesterday and sighed. “Thanks y/n” she said and got up and walked over to you to take the book. “Did the little eagles like it?” She asked.

“Ya they did.” You said confused at her using your actual name

“I knew they would. You can borrow it whenever you want.” She told you and you offered her a small smile and nodded your head.

“Thanks Ms Schemmenti, I’ll keep that in mind.” You told her and left. She stared at you as you walked back to your own classroom and did a huge sigh and leaned back against her door.

A month goes by and you run into Joy everyday at the coffee shop. She took it upon herself to order you a hot chocolate and have it ready by the time you get there. You kept offering her the money for it but she always refuses, saying your company was payment enough. You exchanged numbers after a couple days and started texting for hours on end. By the second week she asked you out on a date and you said yes. By the third week she asked you to be her girlfriend to which you agreed excitedly.

At school, you noticed that Melissa has been a bit friendlier with you. You took her sudden change with caution though, you don’t want to get hurt again.

For Melissa, she wants to ask you out but she keeps getting scared. But after a month of being friendly with you, she decides to bite the bullet and just do it. She went to go see you at your classroom after the students left on Monday.

“Hey y/n, can I ask you something?” She asked you as she stepped in your classroom.

“Sure Melissa, what’s up?” You said and she smiled. You’ve been calling her by her first name again for about a week, and after you calling her Ms Schemmenti for 3 weeks, well she still smiles when you call her Melissa now.

“I wanted to ask you on a date.” She says and you look at her and freeze.

“What?” You ask, confused as hell.

“I wanted to officially ask you on a date.” She says and you look at her confused.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“I thought you didn’t like me.” You tell her and she looks a bit guilty.

“I never not liked you, when I realised I liked you near the end of the last year, I didn’t want to give away my feelings so I started acting distant towards you.” She says and looks down for a second then back up at you. “So will you go on a date with me?” She asks again.

“No.” You told her and she looked upset. “I did like you but I have a girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend? I thought you were single.” She says confused and still hurt.

“I was, until 2 weeks ago, her name is Joy.” You said with a smile. And Melissa looks at you with a bit of fire in her eyes. “If she’s real then I would like to meet her.” She tells you, crossing her arms,

“Oh ok, ya sure. I can ask if she can come meet everyone tomorrow morning if you want.” You tell her.

“Ok, I look forward to meeting her then.” Melissa says and leaves disappointed.

You asked Joy if she wanted to meet your coworkers tomorrow morning and she excitedly agreed immediately.

So the next morning, you meet Joy at the coffee shop as usual and she hands you your hot chocolate then you drive over to the school and walk in with her. You head to the break room with her and enter and all eyes look up at you and her.

“Everyone, I would like you to meet Joy, my girlfriend. Joy, this is Janine, Jacob, Gregory, Barb, Ava.” You said, pointing to everyone as you said their name. “And this is Melissa, the one who asked to meet you.”

“Hi everyone! And hi Melissa, I’m very much real as you can see.” Joy says and Melissa doesn’t look happy, she crosses her arms and the fire in her eyes come back. She thought you were lying and would have to keep being nicer to you before you agree to go on a date with her. Barb notices Melissa getting angry and puts a hand on her arm and that startles her and then just sits there, staring at you. She sees you being all happy as Jacob and Janine got up to come say hi to your girlfriend.

She wanted to be that person, be your girlfriend and she blew it. But then remembered that you said yesterday that you did have feelings for her, so maybe you still do. Then she smiles at that thought and thinks of different ways to play it. Joy would have to go of course, she ain’t gonna put a hit on her but instead she’ll try to sabotage it, and to do that, she’ll have to be nice first and get information.

So she gets up and goes over to you two. “Hi, nice to meet you. Ya I didn’t think you were real when y/n here as been single since I’ve known her.” She says to your girlfriend then proceeds to put an arm around your back as she mentions you being single and your eyes widen a bit.

“Oh that’s alright, it was a shock to y/n too when I asked her.” Joy says, and Melissa thinks it’s a shame she’ll have to sabotage it as she seems nice. But this person is getting in the way of her happiness so she gots to go.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you two meet?” Melissa asks.

“Oh we met at the coffee shop down the street, the one you told me about and I get a hot chocolate there every morning. And then I bumped into Joy about a month ago, like physically bumped into her and spilled my drink all over her.” You say with a chuckle.

“Ya she did but it was my fault, I saw her there every morning and after a couple weeks I decided to go talk to her and didn’t expect her to turn around at that very moment. So I offered to get her a replacement one and then we started talking.” Joy said with a smile.

And you noticed how Melissa’s hand got a bit lower on your back and you subtly get out of her grip and say an excuse. “Joy, do you want to go see my classroom?” You ask her and she immediately said yes. Joy waves bye to everyone and they all tell her it was nice to meet her and hope to see her again. And Melissa thinks that if it goes according to plan then she won’t be back to see them again.

At the end of the day, Melissa visits your classroom. “Hey y/n.” She says as you’re packing your things up.

“Oh hey Melissa. What’s up?” You ask her and sling your bag over your shoulders.

“Well I was wondering if I could go with you to the coffee shop tomorrow? I haven’t been there in awhile and wouldn’t mind a good store bought coffee once in awhile instead of one from the break room.” She says and you look at her confused.

“Oh I always meet Joy at the coffee shop in the morning.” You say and Melissa smiles, she knew it.

“Well that’s alright, maybe I could get to know her better then.” She says and you agree and tell her the time that you meet up with Joy.

The next morning, Melissa gets to the coffee shop first and orders a coffee for her and a hot chocolate for you. You and Joy come in a couple minutes later and see Melissa near a table with 2 drinks. “Hey Melissa.” You say and she looks over at you and smiles.

“Hey y/n and Joy. Here y/n, I got you a hot chocolate.” She says and sees the frown on Joy’s face before smiling again. Melissa smiles at that, she knew that Joy was still getting you a hot chocolate every morning. You said it yesterday to Janine and Jacob. “I would have gotten something for you but I forgot to ask y/n here what you like.” Melissa says and puts a hand on your shoulder.

Joy looks at the interaction and gives a confused look. “That’s alright, I’ll just go get a drink for myself. I’ll be right back.” She says and you and Melissa nod.

You look at Melissa a little confused. “Why are you being so much nicer all of a sudden?” You say to her and she just shrugs, feigning innocence.

“I don’t know what you mean y/n? I’m just getting to know your little girlfriend over there.” She says and hits you, Melissa is jealous.

“Melissa, are you jealous?” You asked and she scoffs. “I’m being serious, yesterday you asked me out saying you liked me. And now you’re at the coffee shop that I meet Joy at every morning and meeting nicer to me in front of her.”

“I’m just trying to make sure that she’s right for you, is all.” Trying to cover up the fact that you were right.

Before either of you can say anything else, Joy comes back with her drink. “Hey y/n, I would like to stay longer but worked called and asked if I could come in earlier. Like right now earlier. And I wouldn’t mind the extra cash.” She says and you nod.

“That’s alright, I understand, have a good day at work.” You tell her and she gives you a goodbye kiss on the lips and the fire in Melissa’s eyes return.

“Alright thanks for understanding, it was nice seeing you again Melissa.”

“Ya you too.” Melissa says back to her. Melissa didn’t like that kiss, and worse is that the only issue she has with Joy is that she’s with you. Other than that, Joy seems like a nice person, and she hates that fact.

At the end of the day Melissa stops by your classroom again. “Hey y/n.”

“Should I expect this to be a daily occurrence? You stopping by my classroom at the end of the day?” You say with a laugh and she gives a small laugh at that.

“Maybe.” She says and closes your door and walks up to you. You look at her confused for closing the door, but then think she probably wants to talk to you privately. “I don’t like her. Your girlfriend.” She says and you frown.

“Why?”

“I don't know, there’s just something about her that I don’t like.”

“Well you’ve only just met her. If you see her more then you might grow to like her.” You tell her with a smile.

“No I won’t actually.” She says and you’re confused.

“And how do you know you won’t?”

She looks you dead in the eyes and walks closer to you. “Because as long as she’s with you, then I won’t like her.” She says and she got very close to you and you had to walk back and you end up backing into your desk and she puts her hands on the desk on both sides of you, effectively trapping you. You look at her with wide eyes.

“Melissa, I-” and you don’t get to say what you were about to as her lips are on yours. You begin to kiss her back and then push her off. “Melissa what the fuck? You know I’m with Joy.” You tell her and she smirks.

“Then why did you kiss me back? And don’t deny it. I know you did before you pushed me off.” And you look at her speechless since she’s right. Melissa smiles at you and goes to kiss you again but you stop her.

“No Melissa, I’m with Joy now.” You tell her and she frowns.

“You wouldn’t rather be with me?” She asks and you shake your head.

“I’m happy with who I’m with. I’m sorry.” You tell her and walk out of your classroom, leaving behind a hurt Melissa who has a tear rolling down her cheek.

Taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta

@imaginesmultifandoms

@idonothingalldays-blog

@sexysapphicshopowner

@dvrkhcld

If you want to be added then let me know!

[thebestofoneshots]

Gilded Constellations | wolfstar x reader

Series Masterlist | Previous episode (backstory)

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 7.7 K Warnings: none Prompt: Of the unopened letters and your first day at Hogwarts. This IS a wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it.

Rainy days and Mondays

July 10th, 1974

Dear Sirius, 

My mom gave me your address. She feels really bad about the whole situation, but that does not justify her actions. She and Dad were awful by keeping their mouths shut, awful, and I’m terribly sorry about it. If only they’d said something, maybe then they would’ve changed the outcome of the situation. 

I tried asking her to write a letter to your parents, with the truth behind the trip, you know, that it was MY IDEA, but she refused to do it. I’m sorry I can’t do anything to help you avoid the wrath of your parents. Our families are a bunch of cowards. 

Thanks for the necklace, It’s beautiful. I put it on when I got home, it’s got a strange weight to it, but I like it, it reminds me of you. I’m writing a copy of the instructions of you know what on a letter and I’ll send it to you once we’re back in school. I’m really upset our trip was cut short. It would’ve been nice to stay in the moment a bit longer. Anyway, I really wish you’re well. Hope to hear from you soon. 

Love,

(Y/N)

July 15th, 1974

Dear Sirius, 

I hope my letter finds you alright. I’m writing again since perhaps my last letter got lost in flight, my owl Reese can be very clumsy sometimes.

 I just wanted to apologize for everything that happened. I’m sorry for having the idea to go to Xplore (not for what happened inside the park, but yes what happened after), I’m sorry your parents found out, and I’m sorry we trusted Regulus to have our backs. I’m sorry my parents were cowards and didn’t back me up when I said the truth. And I’m really sorry for whatever your parents do to you. 

It was really fun spending our break together. I get the chances of it ever happening again are zero, but it’s nice thinking we got to meet. 

Also, I wanted to thank you for the necklace. I've been wearing it every day since I returned home, I really enjoy having it around my neck, it reminds me of our adventure. 

Hope to hear back from you soon, 

(Y/N)

July 25th, 1974

Dear Sirius Black, 

I’d like to be able to assume my letter was lost in the mail again, but since the lack of response from the previous two, I can only imagine you have decided to ignore my letters. 

Which, to be honest, I don’t understand. YOU were the one that decided to take the blame for yourself. If you HAD backed me up, and told your parents it had been me, then you wouldn’t have gotten in so much trouble. 

Last night I received a letter from Regulus, I did not care to read it and threw it straight to the fire. I do not want to hear his apologies, mom told me it was him that spilled the soup. Traitor, like you’d call Slytherins in the past. I guess once a snake, always a snake.  

I don’t want to sound like I’m begging, but please talk to me, if anything just tell me you’re alright. I just want to know you’re ok. 

(Y/N)

August 3rd, 1974

Sirius, 

This is the last letter I write. I’m sorry for bothering you with my insistence, I will not write any more letters. I’m sorry we met, and I’m sorry I caused you so much pain that you decided to completely cut me out of your life, or whatever, I don’t even know what happened. 

I really thought we could stay friends, even after everything that happened. But I guess we can’t always get what we hope for. Either way, a promise is a promise, and I will send you the instructions for you know what once we’re back in school. I don’t want your parents to accidentally find them by opening your mail. 

I really hope you’re alright. 

Goodbye Sirius, 

(Y/N)

After writing that letter you cried like a baby and considered burning it instead of sending it several times. But you knew writing more letters was useless –and that it would be worse if you went on without any closure– still waiting for an answer from him that you would never receive. So you tied the letter to Reese and sent him off. Once the school year started, and after you made a copy for yourself, you bent the old piece of parchment and put it inside an envelope alongside a note. 

August 14th, 1974

Sirius Black  Dear James Potter,

This is something I promised to give Sirius. He is currently very angry at me and will ignore all my attempts to contact him. But this contains something that will be very useful for him, I know he really wanted it. So I appeal to you instead, his best friend, to knock some sense into him. 

Please receive this letter and give him the parchment. He’ll recognize it. If you must, lie to him, tell him you found it in a restricted area of the school library or whatever (Hogwarts has one of those too, right?). 

Yours truly,

Someone who disappointed your best friend. -and was disappointed by him too.

You closed the envelope, waving your wand with a small spell to make sure it was properly sealed and wrote in thick black ink:

TO: James Potter

Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry

2 years later

September 1976

You walked to Kings Cross with your cart in between your hands. Your dad had left you just outside the station. The idea of moving to a new country had been fascinating in theory, but once you arrived there, alone and with no one to talk to, you’d felt incredibly lonely. 

Your mom told you about your dad getting the position in the British ministry on your last day of school, you didn’t even have enough time to say goodbye to all of your friends before going back home to find all your stuff had already been neatly packed in boxes. 

Just two days after that you were in London, lonely as ever. You spend your entire break exploring the muggle part of the city. The muggle museums were pretty interesting, but you felt alone non the less. You kept in touch with your friends through owl mail but it wasn’t the same as being able to actually hang out with someone. 

In the middle of the summer break, your mom took you to Diagon Alley, and nothing made you feel more isolated than Hogwarts students hugging their peers as they saw each other for the first time in a while. The only thing that somewhat cheered you up was the stunning Dark Nimbus your dad had bought as an apology for making the move so sudden. They did care about you, a lot, they just had different priorities than yours.

As you walked through the large corridors of the station you spotted a couple of younger kids walking beside their mother, while carrying trunks similar to your own, one of them had a huge cage with an owl in it, which was a dead giveaway that they were actually wizards, even in their attempts at a muggle outfits.  

You discreetly followed behind them and saw them walk in right through a wall in between platforms nine and ten. You imitated them shortly after and found yourself in a very wizarding-looking space. A huge scarlet train with the words “Hogwarts Express” painted gold on its side pumped smoke through its chimney. As you stared at it, someone bumped against you from behind and pushed you forward a bit. 

“I’m sorry,” He said, turning towards you apologetically “I didn’t see you there.” 

You looked at the boy, he was tall and lean and had a fair share of scars all over his body. Made you think of a pirate from those spicy romance novels your mom had on her bookshelves.

“No problem,” You answered honestly. 

He then gave you a strange look, he was wondering whether he’d seen you before and was about to ask you about it when a girl called for him from the far distance “Remus! We’ve got to go, we gotta care for the first years!”. 

“Coming!” He shouted back at her and turned to look at you one last time before giving you an apologetic smile and leaving. 

You stared at him for a minute, Remus, the girl said. The name was oddly familiar but you couldn’t pinpoint why. Perhaps it was the name of a book character you read a while ago or something. 

Then you continued to push your bags to the baggage administration system, keeping with you only a small trunk with your uniform. 

As you walked inside the train you realised most of the carts were full, and sighted when you realised how awkward it would be to invade some already-made friend group by showing up uninvited, even if the curiosity of meeting the new kid was in your favour. 

You decided to open one of the doors where you’d seen kids that looked about your age walk in earlier but regretted it the moment the door was fully opened. 

Most of them had given you scornful looks. Especially an unhinged-looking boy, but that wasn’t even the worst part. Right there, in the middle of all of them was Regulus Black. The traitor, Regulus Black. 

He stood up the moment he saw you, letting some candy fall from his lap as he stared at you in disbelief. “What are you…? How–“ 

You took a deep breath and decided the world had been a better place when you didn’t even remember his existence. So you simply closed the door and left to find a different place. 

As you continued walking through the train you saw many groups of people hanging out in the different sections of it. Laughing students that talked to their friends, a small little brunette girl, who must have been a first year since she was crying about missing his parents while another girl, that looked just like her but older, comforted her. There was no one else in their cart so you gently knocked on the door. 

The two girls turned towards you and the smallest quickly wiped the tears from her face. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” you said as you closed the door behind you “I’m trying to disappear before someone I really don’t want to see finds me.” You sat down in front of them “I cried too when my parents first put me on a carriage to school.”

“I wasn’t crying,” the little girl said defensively. 

“A carriage?” Asked the older girl, clearly curious now that she started paying attention to you “You weren’t at Hogwarts,” she said as she took your appearance in.

You denied with your head “I’m a transfer student, this will be my first year here,” you said and then turned to the smaller girl “like yours.”

“Does that mean she doesn’t have a house?” The smallest girl asked as she looked up at her sister “But she’s old.”

“Old?” You asked, diverted.

The little girl covered her mouth “I didn’t mean…”

“It’s all right, I was just teasing. But I’m not that old either. Only 16.”

“Oh, like Marlene,” she said pointing at her sister “maybe your guys will end up taking classes together.”

“Year 6?” Marlene asked you.

You nodded and held your hand towards her “ (Y/N)(Y/LN).”

“Marlene McKinnon,” she said while shaking your hands, she was strong and had slightly rough palms, which indicated she flew a lot “And this rude little girl is my baby sis, Margo.”

“Nice to meet you.” You said with a smile.

“I’m not rude,” mumbled Margo as she crossed her arms and started munching on some candy Marlene had handed over to her. 

“You fly a lot?” You asked, when she looked puzzled you showed her your palms “I felt the broom marks when we shook hands, I have them too.”

She smiled and nodded, “I’m on my house’s quidditch team, I’m the best beater they have,” she said with a smile and then whispered, “Just don’t let the other guy know.”

At that, the two of you laughed, at that moment you figured perhaps life at Hogwarts wouldn’t be so bad, as long as you got to meet more people like Marlene. You talked about quidditch for most of the trip back, she told you about the new broom her parents had bought her last year and you told her about your new Dark Nimbus, which she made you promise you’ll let her take a ride on. Margo seemed rather bored with your conversation and grabbed a book from her backpack, something about care for magical creatures. 

Once the train was close to the destination a tall brunette boy knocked on your doors “Are you (Y/N)(Y/LN)?” You nodded to answer and he smiled “Great! My name is Alexander Wood, Head Boy in Hufflepuff, I was asked by Professor McGonagall to escort you to Dumbledore’s office as soon as the train arrived.”

“Oh, all right,” you said as you stood up and grabbed your small trunk, “Hope to see you around,” you said to Marlene with a quick wave before following behind Alexander. 

“You can call me Alex,” he said as he continued walking towards the doors “Professor McGonagall said it was immensely important you arrived before everyone else, apparently they want to get you sorted before the feast,” he explained. 

“Sorted?” You asked confused.

“Into your Hogwarts house,” he explained “There’s four of them, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor-“

“-and Slytherin.” You concluded. 

“Yes! Exactly!” he said without noticing the bitter tone which you had used to say the latter “you’ve done your research.”

“More like I met someone once,” you said as you continued to follow him. “There’s a sorting cap, right?”

“Sorting hat,” he corrected. “Don’t dare call him a cap, or he’ll be offended.”

“The hat?! He’s sentient…”

“Very much so,” he said with a nod “and very touchy too.”

“How do you know in which house he’ll sort you?”

“You don’t,” he said as the two of you stood next to the doors “Sometimes you get sorted the same way as your parents, kind of like a family line sort of thing, other times, like in my case, your family gets sorted into all different kinds of houses, my mom’s a Gryffindor, dad’s a Ravenclaw and my sister was a Slytherin. But then again, your parents didn’t attend Hogwarts, did they?”

You responded by shaking your head “Mom studied in Ilvermorny, Dad in Beauxbatons.”

He nodded, and then the train came to a halt, you grabbed the railing to stop yourself from crashing against him and then the door opened swiftly right in front of you. He quickly got down and motioned for you to follow. On the train, everyone else was starting to grab their things to prepare to get off. You followed behind him towards a couple of carriages without any horses. 

You got in and then started to move towards the castle at a relatively fast pace. "Do you normally take new students to the director's office?" You asked Alex.

He shook his head "We don’t get many new students unless they’re first years, and their sorting is public."

"Why won’t mine be?" You asked, genuinely curious. 

"Haven’t a clue," he said honestly and pulled a transparent bag from his robe "You want some?" He asked as he offered the bag to you.

"Are those Fizzing Whizbees?" You asked as you grabbed one of them, he nodded "They’re my favourites!"

"Mine too!" He said with a smile before popping one into his mouth. 

Soon enough the two of you were already entering the huge castle. As you looked around he drove you towards the famous moving staircases. You had heard of them in some of your history classes, but you never expected you’d see them in person, they were as magnificent as the books described. 

"Come on, they won’t wait for you to stop admiring them before they change," he said motioning for you to follow, "you’ll have plenty of time to look at them later on." 

You nodded and followed right behind him. Soon enough you were just outside of an office, a giant golden eagle stood there. A very elegant-looking lady in a green gown walked from the hall towards you "Thank you very much, Alex, for bringing (Y/N) here, I’ll take it from here, you should go to the banquet, help the first years that get sorted into your house." Alex nodded and left, then the lady turned towards you "My name is Minerva McGonagall," you said, you were surprised, up until then you had thought the professor McGonagall they kept referring to was a man. "Follow me please."

You nodded and followed her, as she stood right in front of the eagle it started twirling and unveiling a set of stairs. The two of you walked up the staircase and you found yourselves in front of a large office, filled with magical gadgets, and astronomy tools. An old wizard with a very large white beard stood in the centre "This must be (Y/N)," he said. 

"Nice to meet you, sir," you said to the old man. 

He smiled kindly "My name is Albus Dumbledore, you may call me Professor Dumbledore, I am the director of Hogwarts." You nodded in response "We brought you here to sort you, after talking about it we decided it would be a lot easier to sort you here instead of the banquet hall, we thought you could perhaps feel uncomfortable being the only 16-year-old student being sorted along the first years."

"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore," you responded. 

"And we also wanted you to have enough time to get your uniforms ready before walking to your classes tomorrow." Then he motioned for you to sit on a chair in the middle of the room. Professor McGonagall picked a hat from a pillow and placed it over your head.

"Interesting…" you heard the hat speak, in a rather low tone. Your breath hitched "You’re old to be sorted… it won’t be easy to decide where you’ll fit in best."

"It’s… speaking to me…" you said as you looked at McGonagall. 

"It does that often, just let him ramble."

You took a deep breath and continued to listen "ambitious, clever, brave." He said "Many qualities from many houses in one person…" 

"Ambitious no…" you whispered back "Not cunning, not a traitor."

"You’ve got preferences," He responded to your words "You don’t want to be a Slytherin."

"I’m no snake." You responded. 

"Slytherin are not all traitors, besides, other houses can harbour them too."

"I… I don’t want to see him every day." You admitted, thinking of Regulus. 

"There might be things you don’t know about him… or the other boy."

"I just–" you started.

"–Gryffindor!" The hat roared before you even had time to elaborate. 

Professor McGonagall smiled as Dumbledore told her "She’s one of yours."

She walked towards you, took the hat off your head and set it on the pillow again "I had a good feeling about you," she said with a smile. 

"Nimbletwist," called the old man, soon enough a house elf appeared, "Please take (Y/N)’s robes to the laundry elves, that way they’ll have her house colours before her classes in the morning." The house elf nodded. 

"Please follow us," said McGonagall as they guided you out of the office and towards the great hall. In the middle of the way, the same boy you’d seen on the platform walked towards her. 

"I was told you were looking for me or Lily, she stayed with the first years, and sent me here."

She nodded "This is (Y/N), she’s new, the hat just sorted her in Gryffindor, and she’s in your year. I was hoping you could introduce her to your classmates and keep her out of trouble until the end of the day." The last remark seemed to be directed towards him specifically. 

Remus, as you remembered, just gave her a flashy smile and nodded "I’m always out of trouble." He responded before turning towards you and offering his hand "Remus Lupin, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you." You shook his hand and smiled back. McGonagall and Dumbledore were gone in an instant, and you were left alone with yet a new Hogwarts student. 

"I saw you at the station."

"You ran into me at the station," you corrected teasingly. 

"You’re right," he said with an apologetic smile "I wasn’t looking where I was going."

"It’s ok, I can tell you’ve got very many responsibilities around here."

"I’m a prefect, that’s why I’ve been so busy today," He explained and changed the subject "I didn’t see you on the train."

"I stayed in a cart most of the way there, met a girl called Marlene, she’s lovely."

"You met Marlene?" He asked, surprised. "She’s also in Gryffindor."

“Our year too, right?” He nodded in response. “Where are we going?” You asked as you walked alongside him. 

“Great hall, I just need to meet with some of my friends first.” You nodded and followed him all the way to a hallway, two boys waited there for him. 

“Moony!” Said the tallest of the two as soon as he saw Remus, he was wearing a pair of round spectacles and had relatively long messy hair “Took you long enough.”

“And you brought company,” said the blond boy, he’d been the first one of the two to notice you. 

“Yeah, guys this is (Y/N), she just transferred here, McGonagall asked me to take her to the great hall and introduce her to everyone.”

You waved awkwardly from behind Remus and the shorter boy walked towards you “Peter Pettigrew, nice to meet you.”

“(Y/N) (Y/LN),” you responded with a smile as he shook your hand. 

“Hold up,” said Remus turning towards you “Your last name’s (Y/LN)? Same (Y/N) (Y/LN) Pads couldn’t shut up about on 5th year?” 

Pads? You wondered in your head as the only boy who hadn’t introduced himself spoke “She fits the description,” he said as he looked at you with curiosity “Hair, eyes, complexion, has to be her.”

“Do you by chance speak Spanish and French too?” Peter asked. 

Still slightly confused, you nodded. “It is her! Pas will go crazy when we tell him,” said Remus with a smile. 

“Right, I was forgetting,” said the boy with messy hair “I’m James Potter, nice to meet you,” he said with a flashy smile as he offered his hand for you to shake. 

You took his hand, and that’s when it downed you. These boys, they were all Sirius’ friends. “It’s nice to finally meet you, James,” you told him with a smile.

“Finally?” He asked, confused. 

You quickly remembered the letter you sent him hadn’t been signed with your name and decided perhaps it would be better to leave things as they were “Ah… Sirius told me a lot about you.”

“He’ll be thrilled when he sees you,” said Peter excitedly, to that you wondered which kind of thrilled? “That may not be today tho, if he’s in position.”

You shrugged “In position?”

James smiled mischievously and handed you a small umbrella “Can you take care of this for me? Until we see each other again?”

You grabbed the umbrella and nodded. He winked at you and turned to Remus who spoke to them “So, everything’s ready right?”

“Yes, Pads’ll do the heavy magic, we just need to make sure the lasting jinxes are not countered too fast,” responded James. 

“Fantastic!”

“Off to your prefect duties then,” Said Peter almost shoo-ing Remus “You have to be in position, too.”

Remus nodded and turned around to walk to the other side, turning back to you shortly “Come on,” he motioned for you to follow “I gotta introduce you to some more people,” he said with a smile.

When you arrived at the great hall it was almost already full of people. You saw Regulus staring at you from a table with kids all wearing green, he looked like he wanted to approach you but when Remus guided you to the Gryffindor table he sat back down “Hey everyone!” He said with a smile “This is (Y/N), she’s new.”

Marlene smiled and waved towards you “Here, sit with us.” She said as she and the red hair girl that had called Remus at the station both opened some space for you. 

“Mind taking care of her while I focus on some other prefect duties?” He said looking at the redhead. 

“Of course,” she said with a smile and turned towards you “Lily Evans,” she then pointed at a girl, “You’ve met Marlene, yeah?” She asked to which you nodded, “this is Mary,” she said pointing at a girl with the most beautiful curls you’d seen in your life. “That over there is Tom”, she said pointing at a boy with brown hair “And that’s Beth,” she said pointing at another redhead. She continued naming other students and then she started talking to you about the teachers, who all sat on a table right in front of the four tables with students that wore different coloured robes. 

“Do we always sit colour coded?” You asked as you stared at the other tables.

“Oh… yeah, we sit at our house’s table at meal times.”

“So houses don’t really mix?” 

“On classes we do.”

“But never on meal times?” She shook her head “So you only make friends in your house.”

“Not at all, I used to have a Slytherin friend, but sometimes the values of the people in their houses can become stronger than their original self.”

“I’m sorry,” you said when you noticed that the falling out had clearly hurt her. 

“Don’t be,” she said with a smile, slightly forced. “But you can make friends with other houses, it’s just a bit harder to get close to them.” She explained and then her face lit up with an idea, “You know, Remus and I, we started a study group last year, you could join us if you wanted to, that way you could meet more people.”

“That’d be lovely, thank you Lily,” you told her with a smile. 

By then the sorting ceremony had ended and Dumbledore stood up from his seat in the centre of the teacher’s table. 

“Hogwarts has always been a place of wonder, where magic comes alive and friendships are forged. Whether you are starting your magical journey,” he said glancing towards the first years “or returning to continue your studies, this is a place where dreams are nurtured and knowledge is expanded. We know we’re living in dark ages, the magical community is filled with hate and discrimination at the moment, but the school will not tolerate any instances of said hate or discrimination to be brought inside these walls. We are all witches and wizards, our precedence does not change that fact. We must remember the core values that make Hogwarts shine. Respect, compassion, and loyalty shall be the guiding principles that shape our interactions. We are a community, a single organism, and we must understand that an organism at war with itself is doomed.”

“Embrace the thrill of discovering new spells, uncovering ancient mysteries, and weaving your own story in the tapestry of magic, but remember to be kind, and loving towards your fellow classmates.” He paused and clapped his hands with a smile “May your time at Hogwarts be filled with magical moments, lifelong friendships, and unforgettable experiences. I have no doubt that each and every one of you holds within you great potential, waiting to be unlocked. Welcome to Hogwarts!”

At that moment plates started appearing right in the middle of all the tables and students started to indulge in them. It was truly a feast. “Is Muggle-born prejudice as bad in the UK as the media claims?” You asked Lily who cringed slightly. 

“Worse,” responded Mary instead “Some pure-blood kids’ parents are death eaters,” she explained “They follow in their parents' steps and spread hate among the school. Last year a muggle-born boy was tortured so badly he ended up in St. Mungo’s, they never discovered who had done it.” She explained. 

“We always make sure to walk in groups,” Marlene explained “That way no one's ever completely alone, you don’t want to become a target of their hate.”

“But she’s a (Y/LN)? Your family’s pure blood right?” Asked Beth from the other side “I read about the history of Pure Blood wizards for a project last year,” she explained when everyone gave her a look.

“Uhh.. yeah.” You said with an awkward smile, remembering how your parents had made such an effort to hide your non-wizarding great-grandmother origins from all the records. 

“Still, she’s new, we’re better off if we stick to each other.”

You nodded “You girls know best,” you said with a smile and looked around, you wondered what would happen when you eventually saw Sirius. Would he even want to speak to you? He ignored your letters so I’d seem he wouldn’t, and you had gotten over him, or you hope you had, it’d been over two years. 

By then you looked around. Wondering where Remus and the boys he’d introduced you to had gone too, maybe they were going to skip dinner together or something. And then you felt it, a small drop of water falling on top of your right hand as you were taking a bite of mashed potatoes. 

You stared at it for a second before looking up and feeling another one fall right on your cheek. On the ceiling, the clouds were quickly turning grey, and more droplets of rain started to fall. Eventually, you heard the rumbling of some far-away thunder and saw some of the clouds shine with lighting. In the span of a minute, rain started pouring. Some students got under the tables, others walked in panic towards the doors of the hall. 

You took out the umbrella James had given you and opened it, covering yourself and Lily under it. 

“Why do you have an umbrella?” She asked you,  suspicion evident on her face.

“I… came from Wales, before taking the Hogwarts Express,” you lied “You know how it’s always pouring there.”

She nodded and huddled closer to you, and the two of you both stood in front of the table as you saw the rest of the chaos ensue. Some teachers were trying to use a spell to avoid getting wet but it did not seem to be working. McGonagall was desperately trying to stop the rain while Dumbledore stood there with somewhat of a diverted smile. He stood up and with a wave of his wand said “Finite Incantatem.” The rain stopped, you pulled the umbrella down and shook it to get rid of the small droplets still coating it, but only minutes later it started pouring again, even stronger this time. 

Dumbledore seemed puzzled, but that satisfied smile wasn’t gone, almost as if he was proud of the elaborate spell his students had created. 

Lily looked around suspiciously “I knew they were up to something. That’s why James didn’t even try to sit with me on the train!”

“James Potter?” You asked.

“You’ve met him?” She asked, puzzled.

“Remus introduced me to him and Peter before bringing me here,” you explained.

“Did they look suspicious?” She asked.

“I… wouldn’t know.” You responded. While you were pretty sure it had been them who caused the ruckus you were going through at the moment, you didn’t know how close Lily was to them, and you didn’t want to give her more reasons to think it had been them, which she already did. Who knows? She could’ve been the kinda person who would tell a teacher. And you certainly did not need to add any more reasons for Sirius to intensify his animosity towards you any further. 

“Witches and Wizards, this marks the end of our feast, please retire to your dorms,” Dumbledore’s voice boomed through the hall when he placed his wand on his throat to amplify it. 

Seraphina Nightshade, who Lily had identified as the head of Hufflepuff, walked towards her table "Alex, find the other prefects and take the first years to their dorms."

Alex nodded and went off to tell the rest. "I have to go find the first years,” Lily told you urgently. You nodded and walked alongside her. 

Out of nowhere, Remus caught up with the two of you "Hey again," he said with that dashing smile of his. Lily gave him a look and continued calling the first years. Once outside of the great hall, you closed the umbrella, bending it back to its small state while Lily and Remus made sure all the first years were ready. The Gryffindor head boy, Teddy Hawthorn, had given the prefects the new password to enter their house common room and sent them all but Remus and Lily, who would take the first years, to find the rest of the Gryffindors. Lily was at the front, guiding everyone while Remus and you stayed at the back, making sure none of the new kids were left behind. 

"I get it this isn’t what normal dinners look like?" You said, motioning to the chaos all around you. 

He laughed, "Let’s say it’s a bit of a special one."

As the entire group approached the grand staircases, you spotted Marlene and Mary, who walked along a couple of stairs above you. They were soaked, like most people around you, leaving the stairs very wet behind them. 

"Mind your step," Lily told everyone from the top of her stairs "The stairs are quite slippery, we don’t want anyone to trip."

Just as she said that a small girl that walked just in front of you tripped, her ring falling back a couple of steps. Remus quickly held her up, but the moment she realised her ring was gone she panicked. "It’s a family heirloom!” She said distressed. 

"It’s ok, I’ll get it," you told her as you walked back to find it. 

"(Y/N) wait!” You heard Remus warn but it was too late, the stairs were already moving. Remus jumped before the gap between the stairs was too big but by the time Lily saw what was happening it was too late. It would be impossible for you and Remus to catch up with them unless the stairs aligned themselves again. 

"It’s ok," Remus shouted at Lily, who stood a couple of metres away "We’ll catch up with you in the tower.”

She nodded and motioned for the children to follow her, but the little girl was still distressed looking towards you. You finally found the ring between a crevice and showed it to her. She seemed relieved, you then made a small spell and the ring started levitating, sooner than later it was swiftly landing on her palm. 

"Thank you," she said before running behind Lily and the rest of the first years. 

"That was really nice,” Remus said as he saw the little girl go "and reckless, you could’ve gotten lost"

You turned towards him "and here I thought recklessness was a particular Gryffindor trait."

He laughed lightly as he shook his head "Come on, we should arrive at the dorm room before curfew."

You nodded and followed behind him to another set of stairs, eventually, you found yourselves in front of a dead end. The stairs had also changed on Remus’ planned path “damn it,” he whispered under his breath.

"Plan B is not gonna work, aye?" You asked, leaning against a wall. 

He exhaled, "You don’t seem particularly preoccupied by being lost and not getting to the common room on time."

 "I’m new, I got lost, they’re not gonna punish me."You shrugged “Besides, it’s not as if I had planned the entire prank that got us here in the first place," you said that last bit with a knowing smile. 

"Are you trying to imply something?”

"Me? Whatever could I be implying?" You responded innocently “So… what’s plan C?”

“There’s a way to get there. But you mustn’t tell anyone about it.” You nodded and he guided you through a door a couple of steps behind, then he turned towards you again “Would you allow me to blindfold you?” 

You raised your eyebrows at that, with a little smile on your face “Buy me dinner first?” 

“Not like that!” He responded, surprised. “We’re gonna take a shortcut, it’s a secret passage.” 

“Mm… and if I know where it is, it won’t be so much of a secret…” 

“So…?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Of course you’re not gonna blindfold me Remus!” You retorted “A girl’s gotta know how to sneak around the castle too.” He stared at you for a second, as if trying to decide whether to trust you with the location of his secret passage. “Hey, if it makes you feel better, I solemnly swear I’m telling no one about your passage.” That line convinced him on the spot, but you didn’t know it yet, so you kept talking, presenting your hand in front of him, with your smallest finger raised and an innocent smile “Pinky promise?” 

He laughed at that. “This isn’t the Japanese Mafia,” he nodded towards your finger. 

“Why? You wouldn’t want to cut it off?” You said as you raised your finger to look at it up close, then swiftly brought it back down and turned to look at him “Anyway… Am I gonna have to excuse myself for getting lost, or are we going to take your secret passage?”  

He smiled at that, he kind of started to understand why Sirius was absolutely obsessed with you when he came back from that summer in 5th year. “All right, let’s go.” You smiled at that and followed behind him. He took you all the way to the end of the hallway where a giant painting stood. Besides it, a shield with two swords crossed in the middle, like a coat of arms. 

“Sneaking about again, Mr. Lupin?” Asked the old wizard staring at us from the painting “And you bring company,” he added suggestively.

“Not today Oliver,” Remus complained as he pressed a button on the hilt of one of the swords, causing the shield to separate from the wall, opening a relatively small hole. 

“That’s the secret passage?” You asked, looking at the dark passageway that seemed to extend from the other side of the window-like hole. 

Remus nodded “Is either that or we go wait until the stairs decide to change for us.” 

“Fine then,” You said as you climbed through the wall and pulled your wand from your pocket, whispering “Lumos.” Remus was just behind you and once he was inside, the shield closed the hole in the wall. 

“So…” you said, scooting out of the way to let him take the lead “Which way to go?”

“It’s easy, we’ll have to go up some stairs tho,” he explained before he started walking, with his wand raised high to show you the way. He took a couple of lefts and then you went up a rather long spiral staircase. “We’re almost there,” he said. “We need to get out of this passage and take another one before we get there.” 

“Do I have to swear I won’t tell anyone again?” You teased, he gave you a look and then shook his head with a small smile forming on his lips. “Just wanted to make sure.” 

By then you had reached a dead end, he whispered something onto the wall and it moved, letting the two of you out. But just as you got out of the passage and onto the hall, you crashed into something. But there was nothing really there. Until there was. Somehow you had stepped on Jame’s cloak and it had slipped off of him and Peter. 

You were very surprised when you saw them appear out of nowhere until you noticed the cloak on the floor. Picking it up, giving it a look and handing it over to the two of them. James took it. “You’ve got an invisibility cloak?! Where did you get it? I’ve been trying to get my hands on one for ages, but the spells on them are rarely any good, I’ve never seen one as good as yours.” 

“Uh… it’s a family heirloom…” 

“Oh, you’re so lucky!” You said and then, you realised how the rain prank had lasted so long “It all makes sense now! That’s how you managed to counter Dumbledore’s spell. You were close to him! You used your cloak to hide from the people and did a close-range counter spell, Dumbledore’s magic didn’t even reach all the way to your spell caster.” 

“You told her it was US?!” Peter asked Remus, looking completely betrayed. 

“Remus? No! I assumed it was you when James’ umbrella became useful!” You told them, and then looked at Peter “You confirmed my theory now, tho.” 

James punched him lightly on the arm in reproach “Ouch.” Peter complained and rubbed his arm as Remus walked closer to you. 

“You cannot tell anyone about it,” he said seriously. 

“Why would I? It was a great prank! You could’ve added chaos by having toads raining too but I guess the spell would’ve been a bit more complicated.” 

“That would’ve actually been great!” Peter agreed, forgetting all together he had been the one to out them. 

Then you heard steps from the end of the hallway “Someone’s coming,” you warned.

“Quick, let’s get out of here.” Said James as he pulled a tapestry from the side and motioned for you to get in. 

Once deep in the small aisle, you decided to ask the question you’d been thinking about since Remus guided you through the first passage “So… How do you guys know so many ways to sneak about? Are you in some kind of secret club?” 

“We’re making a map, so we explore the castle a lot,” Peter said casually which earned him another punch, this time from Remus. 

“Might as well tell the new girl all of our secrets, right mate?” James complained.

“I guess I’m trustworthy like that.” You said with a smile, even if the dark passage wouldn’t really let any of them see “Besides, it was you who gave me the umbrella.” 

“Yeah James, you gave the girl the umbrella,” Peter retorted. 

“I was trying to be nice,” he explained, “she’s new.” 

“It’s ok, I won’t tell anyone, about your prank, or about the fact that I was sneaking about with the… What? Hogwarts gang of pranksters?” 

“That’s a terrible name for a gang,” Remus said. 

“Says the guy with MOONY as a nickname.” 

“I swear she’s been here for like 3 hours and she picked up on half the things we’ve done,” James said, pinching his nose. 

“Also Sirius mentioned his friends and he liked making pranks in the school at some point,” you said remembering how he’d told you about a particular prank a few days before you sneaked onto the zip line park “When we were on talking terms.” 

“On talking terms?” Asked Peter, but by then you had already arrived at the end of the hallway and Remus got ahead of him, shushing him before looking around and motioning for the three of you to follow behind. 

“Mystic whispers,” he said to the portrait of a fat lady who opened up to let the three of you into the Gryffindor common room. 

Regulus’ letter, 

Burned by (Y/N) without opening. 

July 23th, 1974 Dear (Y/N),  I know you may not want to hear a word from me, but beseech of you to do so, for it is imperative that you lend me your ear. First and foremost, it was never my intention for my progenitors to discover our clandestine affair. I had resolved to provide a cloak of secrecy to shield you and Sirius from their prying eyes. However, an owl arrived to my father, telling him his offspring had been seen in a witchcraft emporium within the city limits, it enraged him. With righteous indignation, my father directed his scrutiny towards me, inquiring as to your whereabouts. I resorted to our story, how you’d gone to a broomstick race with Sirius, as we had plotted. Yet, to my great chagrin, he had already acquired knowledge of the falsehood, detecting the mendacity inherent in my words. Compelled against my volition, I found myself partaking of a draught, undoubtedly Veritaserum, rendering me incapable of withholding the truth. At that moment, the weight of guilt settled upon my conscience, eclipsing any previous instances of remorse in my life. Providentially, I managed to refrain from implicating your involvement, particularly as the collective assumption posited the culpability of dear Sirius.  Despite your impassioned plea, reverberating across the wooden deck, beseeching their cognizance of your agency, I, alas, found myself bereft of the fortitude to voice your pivotal role. The notion of subjecting you, dear (Y/N), to the punitive machinations my progenitors habitually employ proved an insurmountable ordeal. I could not bear the prospect of witnessing my parents inflict their customary retributions upon your personage. I know their punishments. I do not want you to know them too.  Perchance I observed my mother consigning some of your letters to Sirius to the scorching fire, ensuring that he refrained from indulging in the forbidden act of writing you back. They harbour an unwavering resolve to preclude him from "exerting undue influence" upon your vulnerable disposition. "For as long as you dwell within this house, the act of inscribing correspondence to her shall be verboten," Mother uttered with resolute conviction. Devoid of alternative recourse, Sirius succumbed, he was forced, a spell was cast on him. Ah, Mother, she can be wicked if you do not abide by her volition.   I beseech your clemency, dear (Y/N), for the manifold grievances that have befallen us. I fervently pray that you shall not harbour enmity towards Sirius and myself, for the prospect of such estrangement would be anathema to my very soul. I hope this letter finds you in good spirits and the finest of health. With utmost sincerity, Regulus Arcturus Black

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A/N: Most Poly!Marauders fics are oneshots, where the relationship between characters is already established, and they're all happy and pleased with it. No issues, no drama, but I WANTED the drama. Couldn't find it, so I set myself up to write the story behind the stablished relationship. I wanted to know how they started dating each other, the jealousy, the will they won't they, because getting into a poly relationship can't be an easy task, and I wanted to explore that story. If you're interested: Welcome to Gilded Constellations!

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Steve's attempt at a record-breaking gangbang ends up with him flying back to Hawkins to track down number one-ninety-eight. The mystery man who left an impression. - A thumb swipes his lower lip. Breath ghosts along the bite mark on his shoulder. It stings. Steve hopes he drew blood. “I’ll remember this forever, sweetheart.”

Thank you to @cowboythighs for giving me permission to write this fic based on their super fun prompt, which you can read here~

Read the full fic below:

What’s in his fridge?

There’s at least one bag of broccoli, half a container left of that nice parmesan he splurged on…maybe the chicken wings in his freezer are still okay. Hopefully? He still has some of that decadent hickory barbeque sauce. There’s no reason he can’t cover a bit of freezer burn with a healthy dousing of the stuff. He didn’t do the dishes last night, but that’s fine. Has time to run the dishwasher before–

Something vibrates. Loudly.

Someone’s phone is going off in the middle of the shoot.

Steve lifts his head, annoyed that the director hasn’t called cut yet. The man on top of him is dripping sweat, a bead of which narrowly misses landing in his eye. Steve casts a look sideways, hoping to catch the director raising his walkie.

Nope. Still posted up behind his wall of cameras. Stoic as ever, the man watches Steve work.

Steve lets the moment drag, his expectant silence punctuated only by the grunting and groaning of the muscled man pumping away between his spread legs.

More loud vibrations.

He cranes his neck to see over the man’s shoulder, sees the clock over the huddled producers and decides himself it’s time for a break.

Steve presses a hand against the massive chest above him and pushes lightly. The man’s movement falters, stops. Steve meets his eyes with an easy air of I’m the star, get off me, and it does the trick. The behemoth withdraws from Steve’s body with a mutter and wipes the sweat from his red brow as Steve swings his legs over the platform and sits up. He tests his weight, but finds he can still place pressure where he needs to without any pain.

The director shouts something Steve doesn’t hear. Calls back, “Somebody’s phone is going off! It’s ruining the vibe.”

“What phone? I don’t hear a phone,” the director says in his heavy German accent, shrugging in a way that rankles Steve. “We’re almost at two-hundred, surely it can—”

“No, it can’t wait. I need five anyway.” His own assistant appears by his side with a robe.

Steve shrugs it on and heads toward the source of the vibrations. Around him, production comes to a standstill while fluffers and PAs run around tending to the talent.

Steve tracks the phone down in a bag near craft services, but a producer beats him to it. She sheepishly digs out her phone and shuts it off, muttering an apology.

Steve sighs, grabs another cracker and decides to take a much needed bathroom break. On his way, he grabs his own phone and sees a text from Robin.

still good for eight?

I’m only at 197, might be closer to 9 or 10.

big ew, but congrats. should I pick up dessert?

Coffee double dutch choco cake pls?

obvi, my very spoiled friend. have fun you little award winning superslut!

Thx, lov u!

Robin sends back a string of emojis. He finishes up in the bathroom, thinking of all the times he’s been nominated for an AVN but never won. And it’s not like it’s terribly hard. He chooses interesting projects. He works with skilled teams. He stays clear of scandals and keeps his nose figuratively and literally clean of all the seedy underground bullshit that comes with the job.

But best actor still eludes him.

It grinds his gears, or at least the ones he used to have back in high school. The ones driving him to be a better player than everyone else at basketball practice, the ones that pushed him to state championship games three of his four years at Hawkins High. The ones that crowned him prom king and made him a bullshit name for a bullshit time in his life.

It’s his inner machinery, and even though he’s grown up a lot in the last five years, he’s still yet to replace some old rusted parts.

As he returns to set, Steve runs his hands through his hair, pinches both cheeks a little to bring a fresh blush back to the surface. His assistant applies lip gloss as he situates himself back on the black and white platform where he’s been fucked for the last three hours by one-hundred-and-ninety-six men.

He’s aiming for three hundred before dinner. Three-fifty if more than a good chunk of the men left are two-pump chumps. It’s about scheduling.

Steve shifts his weight from one asscheek to another, feels a brief twinge in his lower back. He flips over, stomach pressing against the slim pleather cushion.

It’s almost five.

The director claps his hands, and once Steve is in position, everyone resumes their roles. He gets comfortable on his elbows, cock limp between his legs and showing for the camera. He hears the next guy shuffle up behind him, can hear the shaky breath leave him.

Everyone knows their part to play in this circus, and Steve knows his best of all. He’s front and center, surrounded by a seemingly endless line of men of all ages, shapes and sizes. He’s taken more dick and strap today alone than he probably has in the last few years combined.

He’s going to win best actor, and he’s going to win best gangbang.

The thing about sex work is that it’s like any other job, really. There are good days, long days, fun days, days that drive him up the fucking wall. There are times he’s excited, nervous, bored out of his skull. Most shoots he books last a day or two, and hardly ever does one last more than a week, tops. This isn’t his first gangbang scene, but it is a record breaker for him, and several others in the industry as far as he’s researched.

But so far it’s been a lot of the same. Almost two hundred men and he hasn’t held a steady erection since an hour in and now he’s been daydreaming while giving tried and true sultry looks to the camera, fake moans of practiced pleasure leaving his throat.

Steve’s good at his job.

He’s been doing it since his parents cut him off and kicked him out at eighteen. He moved to LA and lived in his car until Robin graduated and followed him to the big city. It was exhilarating at first, fun. These days, at twenty-three, he’s mostly just bored.

And he knows better than to ignore an ache. If he holds one position for too long, he’ll be wrecked for a week. He’s big enough of a name now he can negotiate a lot of his contracts, and so he always gets control over how he’s positioned. The cameras can figure it out from there.

“And…action!”

Steve pouts for the camera in front of him, parts his freshly glossed lips and crosses his eyes a little. He never got the cross-eyed thing, but it’s apparently a huge kink for some.

Fingertips tickle over his ass, lead to palms lightly petting his hips. Steve wiggles for the man he can’t see, encouraging and coaxing as he goes to his knees and leans back. Wants to be grabbed, manhandled. Add the potential for a little healthy bruising and the audience eats it up.

But that doesn’t happen. Instead, he hears a breathy sigh from behind him, and then the sound of spit a second before he feels it hitting his hole. It drips down slowly, painting him wet, and Steve keens for the lens trained on his face.

The thing about this shoot is that it’s been a nightmare to plan. A year to put together a schedule, another six months to find the talent. There’s been cancellations, reschedules, a few deaths even, more casting, issues with health insurance and testing dates. Steve’s been along for it all, because this is his project. His idea, his brainchild.

All for one day.

One day to break some records. Prove to himself he can do this. That what he does can win awards and not only nominations.

After that he can take a very, very long break.

The hand rubs up and down his spine, firm and sure. Applies a little pressure at the lumbar and Steve actually lets out a small moan. It’s nice. He might set up a massage for tomorrow.

The camera swings wide, leaves Steve’s face and gives him some breathing room. The hand on his back remains while the other presses two fingers to his hole. He’s stretched, lubed beyond the meaning of the word even before the spit. There’s no need to finger him open.

But he receives a gentle probing with two fingers, a few deep, slow strokes that press in search with what seems to be a practiced touch. Steve rolls his hips back. Takes a few tries, but when the extra finds his prostate, he gasps, drives back to meet that zing of electricity again and again.

“God, just look at you,” the extra whispers. “Can’t wait to feel you. I’m so lucky.”

Steve moans. Not so fake this time. He drops his head, catches sight of lightly haired thighs covered in scribbly tattoos. He doesn’t even take into account the size of the man behind him, too focused on his own swiftly filling erection.

Huh.

It’s not like it’s a requirement or anything, by contract or personal preference of his scene partners. A lot of the time the bottom isn’t hard. Not exactly fair, but a limp bottom does not a film break, or whatever. More than a few of the men who have been inside him today have paid him plenty of attention, even tried for longer than Steve felt necessary. But they were all here to do a job, and that was to film a gangbang scene with Steve as the gangbangee. Hard or limp, he just wanted them to finish in him so they could get the shot and all go home to a nice hot shower.

“You’re gorgeous, y’know that?”

Though dirty talk was common, it wasn’t in the script for this shoot. And it wasn’t the usual lead-in of fuck yeah, look at your puffy hole, you take it so well, you’re like a bitch in heat, take that shit, take it like a whore.

“That’s it, baby, relax for me.”

It’s sweet…it’s kind. Things a lover would say.

Another strike of lightning burns him from the inside out, and Steve lets out a breath he’d been holding.

The hand at his back glides down, calloused fingers smoothing over his skin, until the director calls for penetration.

Steve wants to snap at him to shut the hell up. This is fine. More than fine, even. His prostate hasn’t exactly been the star of the show today, and a little pleasure makes his job that more enjoyable.

The fingers leave, and in their place frustration grows. That is, until the blunt head of another cock is pressing against him–no, dragging. The man is rubbing himself over Steve’s hole. Isn’t shoving in and taking like all the others.

More spit hits his rim , makes him startle. The hand on his back draws circles to settle him like a spooked horse.

This isn’t lovemaking. This is a scene. Steve huffs at himself, thinks just stick it in already, dude.

The extra’s hands slide from his back to his hip, his other hand joining in and pulling Steve’s weight, using Steve’s own body to slide inside. Steve groans. The guy’s big, thick. Should have paid better attention while he had his head down.

“Knew you could take it, Harrington,” he says softly, and Steve almost misses it when the man whines as he bottoms out. Fingers dig into his sides, tight but not bruising. “Pictured it a little different, but a guy can’t complain.”

So the guy’s got a fantasy, that’s fine. A lot of the talent cast for this production expressed a desire to work with Steve. Came with the territory, and the long filmography.

But something about this man hits him a little different. His words have him melting enough to feel warmth build, begin to spread.

His legs are tingling, insides burning with the stretch and latent pleasure. He wants more.

He grinds his hips back, trying to put his weight into it. The man moans low and finally, finally, starts moving his hips. Drags Steve back on every thrust.

“Jesus, you’re so–so–” Another drawn-out moan and the man collapses along Steve’s back. He’s slim, but his arms are strong as they wind around Steve’s waist. More tattoos. Bats in flight, stretched faces with sharp teeth. Long hair tickles over his shoulder as the man noses along the back of his neck “You feel like a dream.”

It’s quiet. Quiet enough Steve knows the cameras won’t pick it up. It’s just for Steve, and that sends his blood rushing, dick kicking as tension builds in his belly.

“Shit,” he grinds out, feels drool slip from his open mouth to pool on the black pleather underneath. “Oh, God.”

“That’s it. Wanna make you feel good, sweetheart. Come on. You deserve to feel good.”

He’s so hard he’s aching. Feels the weight of himself slap his stomach on each ever harder, deeper thrust.

Steve’s going to come. He’s actually going to come.

“Just knew you’d be so good for me. Could tell the first day I ever saw you. Wanted you forever. And look what you’ve accomplished,” he babbles, Steve’s heart growing three sizes, “You’ve changed the industry. You showed LA who’s king.” A particularly deep thrust has his elbows giving out. The man effortlessly braces his abrupt fall, a calloused hand snaking up to pillow his jaw. Steve is vaguely aware of the camera in front of them both, but he couldn’t care less if he tried right now. It feels too good. Feels better than anything all day, all month, all year. To the cameras, it must look like Steve’s being choked, but it’s the farthest thing from it. He’s being held, kept safe. “Always knew you’d go places. Get everything you wanted and more. I was actually jealous, and look at us now. Can’t believe how lucky I am.”

Steve’s cursing, praying, something as he’s pressed into the pleather. Now, his cock is trapped, facing backward so every time the man draws out and pushes back in, their cocks drag for a brief moment of bliss. The cherry on top. Neat trick.

“Never thought I–never even dreamed–”

A gasp, a flash of teeth in skin and Steve is coming with a shout, flexing his ass to get more, more.

He feels warmth spread hot and wet inside him and knows this will only last another moment or two. He needs to turn around. To see the man that just took him apart without touching his cock. Needs to–

A thumb swipes his lower lip. Breath ghosts along the bite mark on his shoulder. It stings.

Steve hopes he drew blood.

“I’ll remember this forever, sweetheart.”

The director shouts something Steve doesn’t hear. Can’t comprehend past the pleasant hum buzzing inside him.

But then the weight on his back is gone, the cock inside him slips free and with it a spurt of come. Cameras circle back around to catch the aftermath, hears a muttered nice from some crewmember when they see the twin puddle beneath himself.

He rolls his eyes, safe to do with no coverage on his face.

He feels so empty. Cold begins to creep in.

Steve blinks quickly. Why is his throat suddenly so tight?

Then another man approaches, is lifting his hips up, is pushing in with absolutely zero patience or attention paid to Steve at all. And that’s fine. It is.

They’re on a schedule, after all.

-

“Yippee!” Steve claps when Robin sets the plate of cake before him.

She joins him on the couch, a forkful of her own piece of cake already in her mouth. “I don’t know how you’re even sitting right now.”

“It’s honestly not that bad.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Look who’s literally talking.”

Robin pulls her own fork free and sticks her tongue out. “Seriously though, you sure you don’t need anything? A heating pad? Ointment? Therapy?”

“Ha ha. I already took care of what I needed to–stop making that face, oh my God. I’m just dandy, Robs, don’t worry. I want to veg out and watch tv for the next six months and gain like twenty pounds.”

“You are too skinny.”

“My point exactly.”

“But, still like. Wow.”

“I know.”

“Three-hundred sixty-eight guys. Whole ass men were inside you today. That has to be a health issue for the community or something, right? How are your insides not melting out of you right now? I should have laid down a towel to protect your precious piece of shit couch.”

“You’re so funny, and it’s our precious piece of shit couch.” But even so, Steve preens a little. He did it. He broke his goal and then some. “I’m gonna win that goddamn award if it kills me.”

He looks over when she doesn’t answer. Robin is looking down at her plate.

They’ve had this argument before.

“I’m taking a break,” he says, reaching for her hand. She squeezes, and he squeezes back. “Promise.”

Robin nods. “So,” she says, shaking herself from the momentary tension, “you mentioned one guy was unique. I’m almost afraid to ask.”

He snorts. “Why?”

“I mean, was he like eighty or something? Was he dressed all in latex with one of those gas masks? Did he have two dicks or what?”

Steve laughs, drops her hand to grab a pillow, and throws it at her instead.

Then he tells her.

In as much detail as she can handle, anyway.

“Did you get his number?” Robin asks, and frowns when Steve shakes his head no. “What about a name?”

“It was kind of a rush, an in the moment kind of thing. Wasn’t really time for a lot of talking.”

“Oh my God, Steve.”

And then, his best friend in the entire world has an absolutely batshit idea.

-

He gets the call sheet from his favorite producer, an easy going older man with decades of experience in the industry. He doesn’t ask questions.

Three days later, Steve's got a list of three-hundred-and-sixty-eight names, including himself and the crew. Beneath the call sheet is a packet of numbers and addresses.

It might be a crazy idea…but Steve’s one of the world’s leading gay adult film stars. He can afford to be a little crazy.

So when his sabbatical officially begins, Steve starts calling.

-

The first thing he tries is going down to number one-ninety-eight. That makes sense, and even Robin had agreed.

But the man who answered was a fifty with a slightly higher voice than he remembers. He quickly thanked Steve for the experience, and the paycheck, but explained he didn’t have any tattoos. He was afraid of needles.

Steve huffs, crossing the name and number off.

His guy was definitely younger than that, had a deep, smooth voice. Had ink that looked homemade from a glance.

The list he has is in no discernible order. It’s neither numerical nor alphabetical. He checks the first few addresses and finds it has nothing to do with location, either.

So he calls each and every single person. Actually blocks out time to do it around breaks and lunch, time spent with Robin which they both agree is long overdue.

After a week and a half of calls, Robin drags him to the beach for an afternoon of sunbathing and people watching.

“I don’t know, Robin. I already crossed off the guys I know, the ones I’ve seen in other projects. But I’ve still got over a hundred people left.”

“Says the guy who wanted to bang over three hundred guys. This is your own fault.”

“I know,” he agrees, swirling his fingers through the sand. “I’m just…I don’t know. Worried, I guess.”

“Why?”

“What if he thinks I’m a freak for tracking him down? What if he wants nothing to do with me?”

Robin snorts. He looks her way, sees her nose and cheeks are red from the sun despite her large sunhat. Her toes are dug into the sand, and the book she’d been reading lays forgotten on her stomach.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Steve. From what you told me, it sounded like he had a little crush.”

“Yeah, but that could have been my filmography talking. Lot of guys say I’m on their shortlist of dream lays. It’s like a fantasy thing for them.”

“Disgusting. Absolutely abhorrent,” she says easily. “But you said your guy was different. You think it was just an act?”

“I couldn’t tell. He seemed…sweet. If that makes sense?” Steve shrugs, hands her the bottle of sunscreen. “You need another layer. You’re turning into a tomato, birdie.”

She cups her hands, and he squeezes a dollop out. As she rubs the lotion into her skin, she seems to consider what he’s said.

“How sweet can an actor in a gangbang be?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Then you have to keep at it. You have to keep calling until you find him. You may strike out more often than not when it comes to dating, but you have, like, a good good people radar.”

“What does that mean?”

“I mean, you naturally attract decent people,” Robin says, smiling. “Take me, for example! I’m the best person you know.”

Heat climbs his face, settling at the tips of his ears. He sinks further into the beach foldout, embarrassed for a reason he can’t name. Robin’s smile turns knowing before softening into something closer to friendly pity.

Robin drops her book in the sand and stands, grabs Steve’s hand and starts pulling him toward the water’s edge.

“Come on, sourpuss, let’s go swim!”

-

He’s down to five people.

The phone numbers they gave were either disconnected or, more likely, fake. So he has no choice, really.

He decides to fully embrace his apparent new level of creepy stalker and physically visits their listed address.

The first three people are surprised but happy to see him, and he ends up sharing beers with two of them, but all three are very clearly not the person he’s looking for. The fourth is nice enough, if wary, but is in his forties and is trans. Is all too happy to show Steve the strap he used on the day. So that rules him out.

There’s one address left, and honestly Steve had been hoping it was a fluke. A mistake.

Because the address is in Hawkins, Indiana. His hometown.

He never chose a stage name, a mistake that many a producer and actor used to lecture him on in the first couple of years he was in the business. But he made it his own. It worked. His parents haven’t contacted him since he was kicked out, so if they know about his career choice, Steve isn’t aware. He prefers it that way.

He always imagined he’d send them a photo of him smiling with his AVN award when he finally won. A final, brief fuck you and career announcement all in one.

Needless to say he hasn’t been back to Hawkins once since he moved to LA. And though he isn’t shy about his legal name, Steve has never discussed his past, his childhood. Nobody in the industry that is legally allowed to discuss his association with Hawkins never has, because they simply don’t know.

Steve’s honestly a bit surprised nobody he used to know has reached out in the last five years. He knows Tommy at least frequented the sites his agency posts to. Nowadays, gay and straight films can be found in the same tags, same pages. Even if someone didn’t go looking for gay porn, they still might have come across Steve in something. An ad, even.

But no, nothing.

He’s not ashamed of what he does. He hasn’t actively avoided his past or anything. If anything, he’s simply strived to not care about it. It doesn’t matter. He hasn’t seen a Hawkins address in years.

Until now.

It’s weird. Could be some kind of underhanded prank. Maybe he should call his lawyer and tell him to expect some sort of blackmail soon.

The last four have led him to the neighboring cities around Los Angeles, but he’s not had to leave California yet. And being back in Indiana has him off his feet. Wrongfooted in some small way that leaves him feeling like a stranger. An impersonator.

He left small town life behind and made it big in a way that would have had every gossiping homebody’s heads turning if they knew.

Half expects to burst into flame the second he steps foot within city bounds.

But nothing happens. His rental car keeps driving. The turn off the highway is familiar, second nature.

He pulls into Hawkins and follows the directions parroted to him by his GPS. He notices several new fast-food places, the old mall has been redone, some houses seem bigger–but it’s still the same small, old town.

He comes to a crossroads. Left to Forest Hills Trailer Park where he’s never been, or right to what would eventually lead to Loch Nora and his childhood home.

He takes a left.

The trailer park isn’t huge, but each home has a small yard. He drives through a winding road that’s half gravel until he finds number fifty-three.

He parks, gets out and stands. Butterflies swarm his stomach, his palms sweating.

Steve gives himself a silent pep talk and walks up the short drive to the front door.

He knocks twice and waits.

It’s getting colder in Indiana. A few more weeks and there might be the first fall of snow. Back in California it was eighty-six degrees when he boarded the plane. He shivers.

Steve jumps a little when the door opens, the screen between him and an older man who frowns down at him.

“And who are you?”

“Hi! Hello. My name is Steve. I, um. Is there a Wayne Munson here by any chance?”

Steve steadies himself, tries to calm his rising nerves. He steps back to make room as the man opens the screen door and steps out into the early afternoon light.

“That would be me, son. Can I help you? You look a little lost.”

It’s not him.

Not his guy.

Steve’s stomach drops. Feels a little sick to his stomach.

The voice isn’t the same. It’s low, sure, but rougher with age. And Steve remembers the tickle of long hair along his skin. This man, Wayne Munson, is balding.

Unless he wore a wig…then, maybe…

He rechecks that this trailer is indeed number fifty-three.

“No, I uh. This is the place. This is going to sound strange, but I don’t suppose you have any tattoos?”

Wayne huffs. He pulls up his sleeve and shows Steve a faded old tattoo, a blue cross with blown out edges.

“Just the one.”

Steve nods, disheartened. “I see. Okay. I, uh, thanks for your time. I’ll just go–”

He turns, feeling foolish.

“Kid, wait a minute. Come on inside and warm up. You drink coffee?”

Steve debates. He’s cold, sure, but that’s an issue fixed by turning around and driving back to the airport to hop on a plane back to California.

Staying could turn out badly. Hawkins was never friendly to outsiders, and the rumor mill sprinted when it came to talk of things like sin and violating the good word of the Lord.

Steve’s pretty sure being a porn star is hidden somewhere in there.

And it was never a secret in backwoods like these people tended to dole out their own justice. Some kids were killed in Indy for being gay and working corners. Why not here, in the home of a man Steve doesn’t know?

He puts on his best smile. “That would be great, sir.”

The man drops his eyes to the ground, waves a hand at him. “Please, enough of that. I’m just Wayne. Always have been, always will be. Come on in, it’s not getting any warmer out here.”

Steve shuffles inside, thanking him. “Looks ready to snow soon.”

“Ah, another week or two I think. You from around here?”

“Used to be,” Steve says as Wayne gestures for him to sit on a stool at the kitchen counter. “I moved to California a few years back.”

“Hm.” Wayne starts a fresh pot of coffee, old-fashioned kettle on the stove. Steve’s grown used to his Keurig. “Big place compared to here. How d’you like it?”

“It’s busy. I’ve gotten used to it.”

“I imagine there’s always something for doing.”

Steve nods. “You’re right.”

“What d’you do for work out there? I’ve heard it’s all tech companies and wannabe actors.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair. “Well, actually…I’m an actor.”

“Ah, geez. Don’t mind me, it’s the stereotype.”

“No offense taken,” Steve says. “It’s kind of the reason I’m here.”

“Do tell.”

“It’s kind of embarrassing. I had this big, uh. Film. Scene. A big scene. It required a lot of background actors. Extras, you know?” Wayne nods. Steve is flubbing this big time, Christ. “I kind of hit it off with one of the–one of them. Fell a little in love if I’m being honest. My best friend, she had this crazy idea to get the call sheet and go down the list to see if I could find him.”

Wayne’s eyes go a little wide and it’s only when the kettle starts whistling that Steve realizes his slip up.

But Wayne beats him to it. He takes the kettle off the burner and starts fixing two cups of coffee. Says, “Young love’s hard to come by, kid. I’ve been telling my boy for years now, if ya find somebody worth chasing, you run. Doesn’t matter the obstacles, if they’re a boy or girl. Just run to em.”

“That’s…that’s really good advice,” Steve mutters, surprised and relieved when Wayne doesn’t seem to have a problem with him. “Means a lot, being from here.”

“Me, I’m from back south, but Hawkins is home. Strange as it is to hear, this town’s actually progressive compared to where I grew up. But there’s still work to do, that’s for damn sure.”

Wayne reaches into a cabinet and brings down a bottle of liquor Steve recognizes all too well. Good quality bourbon. Steve doesn’t miss the healthy pour that goes into each mug.

“Good for warmin’ up,” Wayne says as he passes one mug to Steve. He goes for the fridge next and pulls out a half eaten chocolate cake. “You fancy a piece? My boy whipped it up, but I told him like hell he expects me to finish it on my own.”

“Oh, I don’t want to take up your time–”

“You’d be doing me a favor,” Wayne cuts in, smiling in a way his parents never did. Kind, warm. Real.

Steve relaxes the rest of the way, the tension leaving him all at once. Wayne Munson’s a good guy.

“I’d love one.”

-

“...and I told my boy, I said, if music is what you wanna do, you go and do it. Convinced him to get his GED and get out of dodge. School was never much of a Munson family pastime, anyway.”

“God, yeah. I hated school. I barely graduated, and that was still a few months after I got kicked out.”

Wayne shakes his head, takes a sip of his beer. They’re sitting on the front porch, watching the sun begin its slow descent. Steve almost forgot how pretty Indiana skies could be.

“I knew your folks, y’know. Back in high school. Forgive me for saying it, but your father was a real piece of work.”

Steve can’t help the bitter sound that leaves him. “Trust me, I know.”

“Can’t stand a parent dumping their kid on the world like that. More like dumping the world on their kid. Real life is tough shit. If you love your children, you don’t just abandon them to figure it out for themselves.”

Steve hums. Takes a chance. “It sounds like you’re talking from experience?”

Wayne scowls out into the distance. “It was just me and Al for a long time. Our parents weren’t around much, and when they were they weren’t the best. We all did what we could.” He shakes his head again, meets Steve’s eyes. “Just a shame Al turned out exactly like our old man. Couldn’t spot respectable if it bit him on the balls.”

Steve laughs again.

Wayne lifts his beer and points out to the gravel road. “‘Bout time!”

Steve looks out and watches an old beat-up van wind down the road, music getting louder the closer it gets.

“You’ve got company! You should have said. You’ve been so kind, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Wayne tells him good-naturedly. “That’s just my boy. Owes me dinner since I’ve cooked the last few.” Adds when the van is parking behind Steve’s rental, “You should stick around for supper. He makes a mean lasagna.”

“I really should…”

Then Steve sees him.

Wayne’s boy, who he’d assumed at first was his son but learned was the nephew he took in after his brother fucked up somewhere along the way.

Steve’s throat goes dry.

The music cuts off as the van door opens and out hops a man with wild black curls tied up into a mess of a bun. He’s not even looking their way as he hip checks the door closed and walks back to the double doors. He swings them open, grabs a duffle, many bags of groceries baring the local Krogers logo, and a large glass casserole dish that looks far too fragile to be balancing the way it is. Before he closes the doors again, a large orange tabby hops out and winds around his legs, rubbing and trotting after its owner as he heads up the drive.

“Sorry I’m late, old man. Store was packed, and then Garfield here didn’t want to…Oh.”

He slows when he sees his uncle has company. Stops completely when his eyes land on Steve.

The guy’s young, could be a few years on either side of Steve’s age. He’s wearing all black denim, complete with chains and large belt buckle. His knuckles are tattooed and Steve wonders where else he has them.

And he’s familiar is the thing.

And isn’t that funny?

Because back in school. Steve would play reckless and brash. He’d skip school, get in plenty of fights he always lost. Made friends with the wrong crowd and got into enough trouble. And he would wonder, in the way only a closeted bisexual boy could in the Midwestern US, what it would be like to run away with someone a little older, a little rougher, a little more mean. Someone who knew more about the world. Who didn’t give a shit about kid stuff like Steve used to, like reputation and dating and getting into girls’ pants as much as possible. On being the best all-American athlete he could so others would think, wow, that Steve Harrington sure is going places.

He would wonder, in profound secrecy and silence and repression, what it would be like to kiss someone like the man stood before him under the shade of a tall tree in the woods behind his house. What it might be like to touch another boy and not have to be afraid to death of the idea.

The large cat, Garfield, rubs up along Steve’s legs then. Walks a figure eight between them and yowls to be paid attention to. Steve reaches down to pet between his ears, is vaguely aware of the two other men talking to one another, of Wayne explaining why Steve is here, who Steve even is.

And Steve knows this guy. He does.

He’s got long hair. Tattoos, maybe more hidden away. Has plush lips and flushed cheeks from standing in the cold with arms weighed down by too many things, and, and–

“You’re–”

“I’m Steve,” Steve says, straightens back up and holds out his hand. “Steve Harrington.”

The other man gawks. A bag slips from his fingers and a tub of cream cheese goes rolling right back down the small incline.

“Jesus, boy,” Wayne’s muttering, walking down to help with the groceries. He grabs the serving dish first, then heads for the runaway cream cheese. “Where’d your manners go? Introduce yourself!”

Wayne grumbles as he heads after the thing.

Steve’s hand is grasped, shaken, held. Steve smiles. Wants to roll up the long sleeves to see if he’s covered in the bats he saw during filming.

“I’m Eddie,” Eddie says, breathes really.

And oh wow. Wow.

Steve doesn’t let go, and neither does Eddie.

“I heard you make a mean lasagna.”

A smile splits Eddie’s pretty mouth. “That so? I wonder who said that.”

“Somebody who loves his nephew a whole lot.”

“Huh, no idea. Could you clue me in?”

Steve steps closer. “Think a little harder? Maybe you forgot.”

“Maybe,” Eddie says, and though it’s soft, it’s undeniable. “Always forgetting things, that’s me.”

It’s him.

Wayne passes them by again, taking another bag from Eddie’s hands. Eddie sets the rest down at their feet, sparkling, dark eyes never leaving Steve’s.

“Steve here’s an actor. Eddie, weren’t you telling me you had a gig down in LA with the band a few weeks back? What a coincidence, that.” He keeps walking.

Steve watches him go inside, Garfield hopping happily after him.

When he turns back around, Eddie’s close enough he can feel his breath.

Steve glances at his lips. Sees them bend with amusement.

“It’s funny.”

“What is?”

“King Steve, here in my uncle’s humble abode. What a surprise.”

King Steve is as close a moniker he’s ever received working in the industry. An irony that’s followed him from high school into adulthood, even though the two weren’t connected.

And something inside Steve breaks apart, blooms, shines.

It’s him.

Eddie reaches up, traces a thumb along his bottom lip.

“I think we’ve met.”

“I think you’re right.”

“Care to stay for some homemade cooking, your liege? I think we have a lot to talk about.”

The thumb at his lip dips, goes inside his mouth, briefly makes contact with Steve’s tongue. He wants to suck on it, wants to do a whole lot more.

“We definitely do.”

Eddie’s hand falls away. He picks up a few bags and lets Steve take the others.

And as Steve follows Eddie Munson, his mystery guy, inside it hits him all at once. A punch to the solar plexus.

Just knew you’d be so good for me. Could tell the first day I ever saw you.

He knows him.

You showed LA who’s king.

Not just from the shoot.

“Oh my God, I know you! We know each other!”

Eddie Munson, the guy who walked over lunch tables and caused a scene. The guy Tommy shoved into lockers. The guy who dealt at every party. The guy who wore denim and leather and was in a band. The guy Steve watched, who watched him right back.

Wanted you forever.

I was actually jealous, and look at us now.

Can’t believe how lucky I am.

I’ll remember this forever, sweetheart.

And Steve hurries in after him as Eddie’s knowing, familiar laughter leads the way.

[e-dubbc11]

Hello Fall!! (It’s also my birthday month)500 Follower Celebration!

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest//Google.

Greetings and salutations my darling friends!

As you gathered from the title, I have reached the milestone of 500 lovely friends AND it is also my birthday month (it’s the 29th, write that down. Kidding, I’m kidding!) Anyway, I thought it would be fun to do a little celebration. It’s also my favorite time of year, it’s filled with apple picking, cider, pretty leaves, Halloween, all things flannel and all things cozy.

🍂🍁🥮🍺☕️👢🍿🍁🍂🥮🍺

For those that have followed me for awhile and participated in one of these before, I’ll leave my rules under the cut and thank you all so much for your friendships, kind words and continued support. It really means so much to me 💕

So you know the drill by now but if you don’t, here’s the deal…I love doing these but I need you help so please like and reblog this post. I don’t bite so if you feel like sending something in, please go for it!

You don’t HAVE to follow me to participate but I would love it if you did!

Send in as many as you’d like

My very handsome men that I write for are Billy Russo, Matt Murdock, Brock Rumlow, Dean Winchester, and a little bit for Donald Pierce and Leo Barnes

Autumn Vibes Are Very Welcome

Send me your character crush, a Fall activity, and I’ll make a moodboard for you (mutuals only for this one, please)

My Favorite Color is Fall

Send me your ideal date night scenario with the fictional character of your choice along with your skin tone, eye color, hair color plus a little description of your style and I’ll do your makeup and pick an outfit for your date. Also tell me any colors you like and/or dislike.

Cake, Candles, and Lots of Smiles

Since it is my birthday month, I’ll leave some birthday prompts under this…

Birthday Cute

Birthday Fluff

Time To Celebrate

November Rain

I love music and I love when I get inspired to write something based off of a song so send me a song and a character and I’ll try and write something based off of it

Embracing Another Year of Beautiful Chaos

Tell me your favorite birthday memory

Ask for my top 5 anything

Ask anything you’d like to know about my fics

Fall-ing In Love

Pick a fic of mine and I’ll write a particular scene from the other character’s POV

If you think any of my one shots need a second part, let me know!

My on-going series are always on the table for new parts. You can combine that with any prompt you come across

Send me a gif (can be smexy, fluffy, angsty, etc)…and I’ll try and write something based off of it

As per usual, I’ll leave some prompt lists below but you’re not limited to just these. If you find a prompt you like, send it on over.

Soft Spooky Prompts

Halloween-ish Dialogue Prompts

Hurt/Comfort/Angst/Fluff

Protective Prompts

Lazy Mornings

Again, thank you all SO much for following me, I love you all and I look forward to your asks! 💕

I’ll Keep This Open Until 9/20 CLOSED

Tagging some of my lovelies that might be interested: @munsonownsmyass @music-indie-tv @k-marzolf @kayhi808 @fluffyprettykitty @ittybxttykxttytxtty @itwasthereaminuteago @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @jvanilly @stoneyggirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @snowkestrel @ilovewhiteroses @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @danzer8705 @rachlovesactors @snowkestrel @aoi-targaryen @nutmeg17 @nekoannie-chan @vaguekayla @freshabogados @wonderland2425

[hiro--aoki]

sharing is caring, you give me the hoodie, a fluff w rosita and g/n reader please!!! would love to see some of your writing 🫶🏻

Mine

Rosita X G/N reader fluff prompt: “Sharing is caring, you give me the hoodie.”

A/N: I loved writing this one, it's just so cute. Anyways I'm now starting a Daryl and Carol angst fic. Before I go: Happy Pride month ya'll!!! <3

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

You had always been the physical affection type. Rosita knew that from the start. She had her warning and she ignore it. Usually, your touchiness was never a problem because, low and behold, Rosita would often enjoy it, but on occasions were supply runs didn’t go perfectly, days after Negan took his haul or just plain bad days, Rosita would get a bit…grumpy. She would distance herself a bit, not mentally or emotionally, but physically. She knew that on days where she was in one of her moods, she would get set off easily and the last thing she wanted on days like these, was a lecture from Rick and a week on gardening duty.

It was towards the middle of winter, so the people of Alexandria were stressing since they couldn’t scavenge or grow enough supplies for Negan and his bunch of screwed up disciples. They had sent out more groups on supply runs and the occasional group to the Hilltop or the Kingdom to see if they could trade anything for supplies. Which is what Rosita’s group had gone to today. Rosita, y/n, Daryl, Aaron, and some other random person from Alexandria that Rosita had trained. By her luck, they were heading home empty handed.

Rosita was walking a good four meters or so in front of the group, silently. While Daryl, Aaron and the rando decided to let her have her space, y/n had other plans. Y/n quickened their pace and was soon walking in sync, beside her. They knew their plan would either end with a punch to the face or a calmer and more relaxed trip home.

“Hey Rosi!”

Silence in return. You can’t say your surprised. You keep walking along side her, watching as your steps fall in line. A soft, cold breeze blue over the group and you shudder slightly. You had a coat on but it’s hard to find a jacket thick enough to completely keep out the cold of the Virginian winters. You watch as your cold breath disappears in the thin fog of the woods. You’re slightly stunned as you feel the weight of Rosita’s jacket over your shoulders. You turn you head to Rosita with a confused look.

Before you can ask anything, she says, “Are you warmer?”

“I mean, yeah, but aren’t you gonna freeze?” You glance at her bare shoulders.

“I’ll be fine. We can’t have you freezing to death, can we?” She answers nonchalantly.

“…I guess not.”

You walk in silence again, for another few minutes. You look up as you feel a snowflake land on your nose. The first snow of the season. Now scavenging and trade trips could become nearly impossible. Before your worried thoughts could grow anymore, you feel Rosita wrap her arms around your waist and nuzzle her face into your neck. She’s shivering.

“Rosi, take your jacket back, you’ll catch a chill.”

She shakes her head in her usual stubborn manner.

“Rosi please, for me?”

She groans as you pull off her jacket, the cold air hitting your warm skin, sending a shiver down your spine. You practically have to put the jacket on her.

“Come on Rosi, stop being stubborn for five seconds. Please.”

Finally, she pulls on the jacket.

“Thanks Rosi.”

 You start to skip ahead of the group, but stop and turn.

“By the way, when we get home, I’m stealing your hoodie.”

Bonus: It had been a hard day doing supply runs for Rosita. Walkers had come and screwed everything up, like they always do, meaning the group she went with, came home with jack shit. She barged into the house, making sure to be as quiet as possible, in case you were asleep. She glanced around the room where you usually waited for here to come home. The room was dark as the lights were off and the curtains were drawn.

“Y/n, I’m home!” She called, taking off her boots, still glancing around the room for the chance that she had missed you.

You weren’t there.

“Y/n?”

She moves around the room, checking every spot you could be hiding in. You are nowhere in sight. She rushes upstairs to your shared bedroom.

“Y/N?!” Rosita asks again, more distressed.

She barely glances around the room, before she’s tackled onto the bed. She lets out a yelp as her and her attacker fall onto the bed. Just as she’s about to attack back, a face pops up right in front hers, pressing a small kiss on her nose. Rosita’s stunned for a second before recognition washes over her.

“Y/N!” She smiles softly, wrapping her arms around you, tightly.

“I can’t…I can’t breathe!” You squeak.

“Right, sorry…is that my hoodie?” She laughs softly pulling the clothe out of your hands.

You try to grab it back like a small child.

“Sharing is caring, now give me the hoodie,” you whine.

She laughs again and tosses the hoodie to you. You let out a small giggle as you fumble to put it on. She tugs on the bottom to help pull it over your head. Your pops out like a meerkat with your usual stupidishly wide grin. Rosita looks at you with a soft look of admiration. You crawl over to her and flop down on her lap, snuggling up to her, The safest spot in Alexandria.

[hergrandplan]

👀

Haunt Me

Hi! Thank you so much for sending this in.

Leave a “Haunt Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character watching over another [as a ghost, watching from a distance, or otherwise, feel free to specify.]

Send me a prompt and I will write a drabble fic

the 👀 makes me think you wanted angst but I got this idea and couldn't let it go... so how about some tooth rotting fluff and Wille being so in love with his boyfriend instead?

Or: Simon is on a world tour and Wille misses him. Luckily, there are always fans livestreaming the show. (This thing is heavily inspired by Taylor Swift, but I hope you like it anyways!) (rated T, 2.2k, nothing but fluff)

Wille lets himself fall down on the big double bed, still in his suit. The only thing he even bothered to take off are his shoes. He doesn’t have any energy for the rest of his clothes.

He’s been in back-to-back meetings all day, each one more pointless than the last. Sometimes, he feels like an overglorified (and overpaid) party planner, when he picks out the color scheme for another charity gala or decides on the menu for a lunch with the prime minister.

It’s moments like these where he thinks that Simon does have a point about how the whole monarchy is just a waste of money.

Of course, they’re not completely pointless – they get things done, things that matter to certain people (usually not to him, but to some people), so he just grunts and bears it and tries not to complain too much about it whenever he talks to Simon.

No matter how pointless the meetings are though, they still leave him utterly exhausted. Which is fine, most of the time, because most of the time Simon will be waiting for him in their apartment, and they’ll curl up on the couch together with takeout while they talk through their day, Simon enthusiastically talking about all the advances he made – songs he’s written, or a release date for his new album, and Wille will be content enough to just listen.

He loves listening to him, whether it’s talking or singing. He also loves the sparkle in his eyes, the way he rushes his words out and the stupid grin he gets on his face that Wille can’t help but kiss.

He loves all of him, and Wille can simply never get enough of him.

But today, Wille didn’t come home to the smell of arepas being made in the kitchen, or soft piano notes echoing through the rooms. He came home to a dark and empty and cold apartment, because his boyfriend is currently on a world tour, playing sold out stadiums night after night. And while Wille is so proud of him for doing that, he also misses him, especially on days like today when everything feels just slightly too much.

Wille reaches for his phone to check the time, holding on to the little bit of hope that Simon isn’t on stage yet and they can call, and he can hear his voice, even if it’s just for one minute.

They try and call as often as they can when one or the other is away, and when Simon’s on tour it’s usuallybefore he goes on stage. But when Wille looks at the time, his heart sinks with the realization that there’s no way he’s going to be able to talk to Simon before the show’s over – he will have just gone on, will have juststarted singing.

Having been at his shows more often than Wille can count, Wille knows exactly what it looks like when Simon comes on stage.

Wille closes his eyes, imagining the stage, lit up in purples and blues (Simon always seems to look extraordinarily beautiful under the purple lights). He imagines the band getting into place, fine tuning their instruments to make sure they’re ready for a solid two hours of playing.  

Then, Simon will enter under the sound of shrill guitars and a steady drum. He will run out on the stage, mic in hand, and he will look out over the crowd as the music falls still for a second. His lips will quirk up into a smirk as the crowd holds their breath and then –

He kicks off, voice loud and powerful and filling up every inch of space no matter how big the venue. He has a voice, and he always makes sure it’s heard.

Wille will never tire of that moment. Especially when he’s there, watching him. Because when he’s there, Simon will find inevitably find him in the crowd time and time again. And every time, Wille warmth blooms in Wille’s chest. Because that’s his man, who has the crowd at his fingertips. That’s his man they’re screaming for. And at the end of the show, that’s his man he’ll be going home with.

Wille rolls over in their bed, the one that hasn’t smelled like Simon in a long time, and sighs. Fuck, he misses him. He misses his body pressed against him at night, soft curls tickling his nose. He misses his raspy voice when he’s just woken up, when his brain has yet to fully turn on and he leans in to kiss him, softly and tenderly and lazy in the golden morning glow. He misses their lazy morning kisses, Wille pressing Simon into the mattress, hands wandering everywhere. And yes, he misses the sex – his own hand just doesn’t quite cut it. They do have phone sex, and it’s hot and does the trick, but it isn’t the same. It’s not the same as Simon taking up all his senses.

Wille sits up again and leans back against the headboard. Lying here and missing his boyfriend isn’t going to magic him in bed with him, he knows that. So he does the next best thing, the thing he always does when he misses his boyfriend just slightly too much, like he does tonight: he grabs his laptop.

He watches this so often, that he doesn’t even need to type in SimonErikssonHockeyBro in the search bar anymore; the livestream is the first thing on his for-you page, the algorithm knowing him slightly too well.

One of the biggest perks about Simon’s fame is that he has so many fans that there’s always one or two people livestreaming his concert so that people who don’t have tickets, or boyfriends who just really miss their partner, can enjoy the show too. SimonErikssonHockeyBro, also known as Ryan, tries to find the best livestream every night so people don’t have to go to too much trouble to find one.

Wille initially didn’t tell Simon that this was a thing, that people were doing it. But one night, while they were on the phone after the concert, Wille had accidentally let something slip about the lights glitching, and he had been forced to come clean. (Simon doesn’t mind though, that people are doing this. He believes art should be free anyways, and that he’s glad that people who don’t have the money to see him can at least see it in some capacity. He even asked Wille to make a very sizeable donation to Ryan once, and Wille had made sure he was screen recording when Ryan received it so Simon could see how he almost fell off his chair once he saw the few hundred dollars come in).

Wille clicks into the live stream. Simon has just started on the third song on the setlist, a personal favorite of Wille’s called ‘All the Best’. It’s an electric song, something you can’t help but dance to, and that’s exactly what the crowd is doing. From his spot on the bed, Wille is nodding along too.

He’s doesn’t get up to dance though – no, because that would mean taking his eyes away from the screen when all he wants to do is watch Simon as he jumps around on stage while somehow keeping his voice as steady as ever, never sounding out of breath (Wille will always be in awe of his boyfriend’s talent to do that).

45 minutes pass while Wille’s eyes are glued to the screen. He laughs as Simon cracks jokes about the signs he sees and feels tears burn when Simon plays love song, and he swears he can see Simon’s eyes turn just a bit red too. All the while, he feels so, so proud of his boyfriend. He’s standing in a sold out arena in Paris of all places, the crowd singing along to every song at the top of their lungs. Simon looks so happy on the stage, smiling pretty the whole time as he looks out into the crowd time and time again.

He made his dream come true, and Wille was there every step of the way. And if that means that they have to spend time apart sometimes? That they have to spend entire weeks miles away from each other? Well, then so be it. Simon is living his dream, and that’s all that matters.

Meanwhile, on the stage, Simon’s band members have gone off, leaving Simon alone. The lights have turned warmer, into a soft yellow. The lights sharpen his face, and Wille is once again struck by how gorgeous he is.

There’s a piano on stage, and a guitar next to it. Simon grabs the guitar and walks back to the mic stand.

“Bonjour Paris!” he says, beaming while looking out over the crowd. “And welcome to the acoustic section!”

In the corner of his eye, the comment section of the livestream is exploding with guesses as to what Simon might play today.

The acoustic section is something he started doing a while back as a way to make every show slightly unique. He’ll play a song that’s not on the setlist, one on guitar, and one on piano, and bask in how the crowd takes everything in.

It’s Wille’s favorite moment of the whole show.

Simon launches into the first of the acoustic song, playing an uptempo tune as he sways along, completely taken over by the music. It’s a fairly old one, something from his first album, but the crowd still knows every word anyways.

After that’s done, and the crowd has stopped clapping and screaming, Simon goes to sit behind the piano.

“Now, this next one… this next one is a bit special to me. Well, I always try to make the songs special, try to come up with what I think you’d like to hear most of all. But tonight, I wanted to play something I haven’t sang in a hot minute, because I have yet to play this song without crying.” The crowd gives their sympathy with a resounding aww, and Simon chuckles.

“Don’t worry, it’s not a sad song. It’s a very happy song, actually. It’s about being in love and finding your person, the one you’d move heaven and hell for – and realizing they’d do the same for you. It’s about that moment where you realize that this, what you’ve got, is it. So this is for my person, who isn’t here tonight, but I miss him, and wanted to play it anyways.”

Simon plays the first notes, and Wille recognizes the song instantly. His mouth falls open as he keeps staring at the screen, watching his boyfriend lean closer to the mic. His voice rings out like an angel, soft and clear and tender.

Wille doesn’t hold back when the tears start to falling. He’s alone in his room so no one will see them. No one will hear him cry because Simon is playing the first song he ever wrote about them as a couple, a few months after they’d gotten back together.

The song he wrote one summer night, while Wille was sat there right next to him giving him feedback. He’s not credited on the track list, but they wrote it together.

This, more than anything else, is their song.

Wille’s so in love in this moment, as he watches Simon play, eyes closed, that he feels like he genuinely might stop breathing.

When the song ends, Simon throws his head back as the crowd erupts into the loudest cheer of the whole night, something that goes on for minutes.

But Wille sees how there’s a single tear rolling down his cheek, and now, more than ever, he wishes he could be there with Simon. That after the show, he’d be able to fall into him and fall into place with him and never let him go.

Wille is in a complete trance for the rest of the show, barely registering what’s really happening on stage, only marvelling at Simon. How did he ever get so lucky to spend the rest of forever with this angel? Who’s out there, singing that song on the night when Wille missed him so much?

It’s only when the show’s over, the livestream ended, that he jolts back to reality.

He needs to make dinner. He needs to make dinner, because he hasn’t eaten yet and he wants to do so before Simon calls him.

Because Simon will call him. Simon will call him as soon as everything’s packed up, and as soon as photos with some lucky fans have been taken. He will call him, and Wille will tell him how wonderful he was, how beautiful he looked, how much he loves him. Simon will say it back, will say how much he misses him too. He will talk excitedly about how great the show was, how thrilling the crowd, but how it would have been a million times better if Wille had been there.

While on the phone with Simon, Wille will text Farima to arrange a flight to Paris for the next day.

[cheshiresense]

Anon:

Fandom: Harry Potter (CLV kinda?)

Character or Ship: Hadrian from CLV, I love Hadrian/Orion but that might not work here so it's totally up to you!

AU/Trope: I'd love to see an AU where instead of the CLV dimension, Hadrian is sent to a universe still with BWL!Neville but more similar to canon. Maybe with Slytherin!Hadrian and Hadrian taking some of the other Slytherins under his wing? I just really like the idea of a world where the "good guys" win and instead of (or in addition to) Orion it's the Slytherins who need Hadrian in their corner. Doesn't have to be all of them, whoever you prefer writing is fine. I am also down for bashing if you need to work that in. Thank you!

Tags: CLV AU, Slytherin!Hadrian, Canonical Prejudices, Draco Malfoy Bashing, kind of?, tbh this is more or less how I see him in canon lol but I know he's a fan favourite so fair warning, he's not the CLV version here, at least not yet.

-0-

Author's Notes: Hello, it's been a while since I've worked on these. I think I mentioned before that my tumblr inbox got glitchy so I actually couldn't find the other 6 requests from the last batch of 10 you guys sent in for 5+ Headcanons. So I set up an airtable form instead and got someone to test it, and this was the one they sent. It works, so in the future, I'll toss out a new post with the form link for more requests, and maybe I'll get through them in a timely manner lol.

If you're not in the UraIchi server, then you might've noticed that I've sort of been MIA on the writing front for a while now, the last time I wrote and posted something was like back in May last year, and honestly I've been kind of tired and burnt out ever since, and real life is kicking my ass a bit, so when I do have spare time, all I feel like doing is reading fics or webnovels and sleeping. But the winter hols were a nice break for me, and I've started on a couple new fic ideas and added to some wips on and off over the past few months, so I'm slowly getting back into it, and this 5+ Headcanons prompt was one of the things I've been working on. Hopefully, I'll be able to get back into posting fics soon.

ANYWAY, on to the stuff you actually care about: Slytherin!Hadrian, so basically amp up the hardened war vet and dial down the friendship magic XD Way back when I first started CLV, I did consider Slytherin for his House but it felt like everybody did that, plus the politics I would have to get into gave me a headache and I felt like I couldn't do it justice anyway, so I went with Hufflepuff. Slytherin does give me more options to play with a powerful Hadrian who has less morals about flinging that around to get what he wants though since he would be viewed as a halfblood at best and he'd need that currency to make sure nobody messes with him, especially if this universe is more canon than CLV (lbr, almost everybody is at least 50% nicer in CLV lol). So okay, let's give this a spin.

(AO3 Link Here -- I’ll add this to the collection fic on my AO3 to make it a round 15 but this one will be the last for that. If I do more, I’ll start a new fic.)

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1.

Hadrian ends up being a Hatstall. He sits on the stool for a full seven minutes as the Sorting Hat sifts through his bloodstained memories with a silence so grim Hadrian is tempted to comfort it. Then it proceeds to send back memories of its own, the major points of recent Hogwarts history that would best help Hadrian fit in - Neville, the Boy-Who-Lived; an image of Hadrian's counterpart and an entire family still alive; Quirrell vanquished in first year, a basilisk slain and a diary that bled itself to death in the second, Remus teaching in the third but no Pettigrew in sight; Neville at odds with Potter, Gryffindors at odds with Slytherins, and Death Eater children who hadn't managed to come out of the last war as financially and politically secure as families like the Malfoys, subtly shunned for their parents' sins, while children from the Light side, the winning side, with parents who'd openly defied Voldemort, can do almost no wrong. On the surface, everything looks bright and happy. Beneath it, malcontent and despair bubbles and brews with hardly anyone the wiser, and those who are, are glad to look away.

The Sorting Hat offers no opinions of its own after it is done, only continuing on to extol the virtues of all four Houses while making an argument for why Hadrian would be perfectly suited for each of them in equal measure, before finally leaving the decision in Hadrian's hands.

"Even I cannot be certain where you would do the most good," the Sorting Hat tells him. "Nor do I know which House would do you the most good. There are many children in this school who could use a helping hand such as yours, and likewise, you too would benefit from the same. Who am I to decide which is more important? Perhaps it is most accurate to say that no matter where you end up, who you will help, and who you will allow to help you, a new future will unfold, one made possible only by your existence. Yours is a fate that demands change, Mr. Evans, for better or for worse. But when peril looms on the distant horizon, when our society insists on blind stagnancy, and its people have long stood divided, change is exactly what this world needs. Thus, I leave the choice to you. Where do you wish to go?"

Hadrian says nothing - thinks nothing - for a long deafening minute. The mounting whispers in the Great Hall are easy enough to tune out, and within the confines of his mind, the Hat too remains patiently silent.

The truth of it is - Hadrian is tired. Even now, in this moment, in this place, one year and an entire dimension and seven years away, he still feels like he does on most days— as if he's just walked off a battlefield at the end of one of those kinds of days that can break a man even when you think there's nothing left to break, yet still hyper-alert for the next enemy, the next fight, the next death, because he doesn't know how to do anything else, how to be anything else. On all the rest, of course, it feels as if he never left the battlefield at all.

He is tired, and he honestly doesn't feel like he's capable of helping anyone, not children, not the reflections of his loved ones, and certainly not an entire world that's rapidly revealing itself to be as stuck on a one-way train to hell as his original world had been.

He doesn't want to be a hero, doesn't know how to be one even after all these years, even when other people had always so desperately wanted him to be. A hero, until he'd proven unable to meet their expectations, and then he'd been their villain, right up until they'd needed a hero to stand in front of them again, and round and round and round they'd gone.

The only thing he could never be was just Harry, just himself, and now even Harry Potter is no longer his to claim.

But maybe that's not so bad, not when Harry Potter has always been more story than reality, a patchwork fairytale portrait of a boy, a man, a weapon, a sacrifice, stitched together by every hand except his own.

Maybe Hadrian Evans could be something different.

Gryffindor feels too much like repeating history, and Hadrian would rather not be forced to stare at the majority of those long dead to him day in and day out. Hufflepuff is too prone to crowding together for his liking, persistently eager to be friends with their own members even if they're quick to turn on those who aren't, and Hadrian doesn't think he can bear the overenthusiastic socializing that would require.

 Ravenclaw might be best, a House where even the most introverted can find a home if they have a thirst for knowledge, but at the same time, for a lot of them, once they latch on to a question unanswered or an opinion that doesn't fit their worldview, they won't let go until the question is exhausted or the opinion has conformed to what they consider acceptable, and Hadrian has too many secrets and no more patience to be what others what him to be to fit in with those sorts of people anymore. Besides, he's never quite forgiven that House as a whole. Marietta Edgecombe had been Ravenclaw. Quirrell and Lockhart and Trelawney had been Ravenclaws. Every single one of Luna's bullies had been Ravenclaws. He'd worked with members of that House over the years, taught them back when the DA had been up and running, and even been friendly with some of them beyond just Luna, but generally speaking, he has no positive emotions regarding Ravenclaw. He knows that he isn't being entirely fair, because Voldemort had been from Slytherin, and Pettigrew had been from Gryffindor, and the worst of the lot who'd spearheaded the damaging gossip and baseless accusations incriminating him - first for the Heir of Slytherin debacle in second year, and then the Cup nonsense in fourth year - had all been from Hufflepuff, but still, Ravenclaw simply stands out as that one House that holds no appeal for him.

That really only leaves one place he can go though, and Hadrian finds that he minds that a lot less than he once would've. Slytherin will have its own problems, him being a halfblood at best with a very obvious muggle surname, but Slytherins also respect power, and most of them have the sense to back off if they realize they're picking a fight with an opponent they can't beat. And once that's dealt with, Hadrian will most likely be avoided and left to his own devices, with only the occasional curse to his back to worry about. From a bunch of schoolchildren, that's a negligible issue.

In his head, the Sorting Hat chuckles. "Very well then. If you're sure, better be-"

"SLYTHERIN!"

But Mr. Evans," the Sorting Hat says in the seconds before it's removed from Hadrian's head. It sounds thoroughly amused. "Do not be so quick to underestimate your own heart."

And with that last ominous statement imparted to haunt him, Hadrian stands to lacklustre applause and makes his way to his new House as his tie settles into green and silver stripes.

The briefest of glances over the stretch of the Slytherin table tells him that none of the students seated where most of the fourth-years are gathered have moved to make room for him. That's fine. Hadrian would rather not be boxed in anyway. He takes a seat at the end of the table, smiles at the suspicious first-years around him, and then waits for Dumbledore's opening speech to finish so they can start the feast.

Fifteen minutes later, one treacle tart and a glass of pumpkin juice is all he can manage. He sips at some water for the rest of dinner even as he wishes it was something a lot more alcoholic. He speaks to no one, and no one tries to speak to him, although plenty of prying eyes and sneers of disdain find their way to him throughout the meal.

It makes him feel, Hadrian thinks with some humour, almost nostalgic.

Near the end of the evening, he thinks about going over to the Gryffindor table to find Neville, Ron, and Hermione. But he's in Slytherin now, so he doesn't know how they'll react, and after another moment of contemplation, he decides against it. Not much can embarrass him anymore, but he'd still rather not be put on the spot if the Golden Trio rejects his overture of friendship. It won't help his reputation in Slytherin either if he ends up making a spectacle of himself like that. There's plenty of time tomorrow to see how they'll feel about maintaining ties with a Slytherin without too big of an audience watching, and if they're against it, then, well, it's not as if Hadrian hasn't been living as a recluse over the better part of the past year anyway. He sees no problem carrying on exactly as he has.

Fate sent him here against his explicit permission but she sure as shit can't make him dance.

-0-0-0-

2.

Hadrian ends up shuffled into a dorm room with five very familiar Slytherins - Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Blaise Zabini, and Theodore Nott. He gets the remaining bed that's presumably been empty since the others' first year, and a very pointed silence coalesces at his back as he starts unpacking his clothes into his wardrobe.

He ignores it. Instead, he absently begins a count of how long it will take for someone - he's betting Draco - to put their foot in their mouth first. He casts a glance at the floor-to-ceiling window next to his nightstand; like the Gryffindor dorms, the room is circular so everyone has a view to the outside, but here, instead of winds and open skies, it's lake water that shimmers against the glass, with the shadows of passing aquatic life flickering by. It's not bad, just different; the ambience of it is almost soothing.

Someone clears their throat behind him. Hadrian hangs up his winter cloak before moving on to his books. They each get a desk too, complete with a mini bookcase, which the Gryffindor dorms don't have. They have to do their homework on their beds or in the common room. How unfair. But at least Hadrian gets to benefit from it now.

Someone clears their throat again, louder this time. Hadrian smothers a twist of a smirk and bends over his trunk again to fish out his towels and toiletries. His more personal belongings can remain inside, although he'll have to ward everything to the nines anyway.

A displeased noise that comes out gilded with that distinctly familiar Dudley-esque whine of a child who's been spoiled since birth and has never known hardship reaches his ears, and then finally-

"Are you deaf, Evans?!" Draco demands, and oh, look at that, Hadrian wins the bet.

He straightens and turns, idly fiddling with a packet of quills as his gaze falls on the blond standing puffed up and bristling by the bed opposite Hadrian's on the other side of the dorm. He looks him over, looks at Crabbe and Goyle bracketing him with twin expressions of oafish scorn, looks at Zabini standing a ways away, watching the whole room with a smirk that doesn't reach his eyes, looks at Nott who doesn't look at anyone at all.

His attention returns to Draco, considering him for a moment longer before asking mildly, "Did you say something?"

Draco's cheeks flush pink even as he draws himself up and snaps, "You should at least have enough manners to introduce yourself!" His face narrows into a sneer, and Hadrian can almost predict his next words. "But I suppose even that might be too difficult for a mudblood to learn."

For a second, Hadrian wonders if he should tell him he's a halfblood. Then again, it doesn't really matter, and also some people consider halfbloods to be mudbloods too. And now that he thinks about it, the person he is in this world might actually be a muggleborn. But he was homeschooled so at least one of his fictional parents had to have known magic, right? Then again, they could've just been related to a witch or wizard but were muggles themselves. Who knows. Certainly not him since Fate couldn't be bothered to inform him.

"Evans, are you listening to me?!"

Hadrian blinks out of his thoughts. "Yes, I'm listening, what is it?"

Draco glares. His features are so… pointy at this age that the expression doesn't really carry the impact he's probably going for, but Hadrian figures it would be unnecessarily mean to mention it, so he doesn't. Instead, he quickly reviews everything Draco has said, and there wasn't actually a question anywhere in there, as far as Hadrian can tell, but maybe Draco really does want an introduction. Seems like a waste of breath though.

"Is there a point to introducing myself?" He asks. "Everybody heard my name at the Sorting. You even just used it so it's not like you don't know."

Draco splutters as if that wasn't what he expected Hadrian to say. He recovers after a moment and opts to glower harder instead, as if that would hide the way the pink in his cheeks is slowly turning red. Poor bastard. That's what you get when you have a pale complexion and fluster easily.

"Are you actually a mudblood then?" He demands contemptuously.

Hadrian honestly doesn't know, but he can't say that, so he volleys back, "Does Slytherin accept muggleborns?"

He knows they take halfbloods, but he can't remember any muggleborns in Slytherin, although if there are any, he doubts they would be willing to broadcast it, even if it means inventing a magical parent in their family tree.

"Of course not!" Draco refutes, sounding scandalized.

Hadrian can't tell if that's actually true, or if that's just Draco's own belief, but it does make things easier. "Then…" He shrugs. "If you already know, why are you asking?"

A beat of silence passes, then two. The red deepens in Draco's face as he hisses dramatically, "Are you mocking me?"

Hadrian suppresses a sigh. He probably is being too flippant for someone as high-strung as Draco, but it's still a far sight from mockery. He can definitely do better if he wants to taunt someone. Had his world's Draco been this easily riled up? They hadn't even really gotten into any exchange of insults yet. "I wouldn't say I'm-"

He stops.

Across the room, Draco has pulled out his wand, and when he realizes that Hadrian's broken off mid-sentence, the flush recedes from his face, and a triumphant smirk instantly takes its place instead.

"Since you've been sorted into Slytherin," Draco announces, raising his wand with a ridiculously showy flourish that makes Hadrian twitch with the desire to correct his posture. "You should know your place. Mouthing off to your betters is a good way to get cursed around here, especially when you're in the presence of someone like me." He sneers down his nose even as his chin tips up, all peacock proud. "My name is Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Even the likes of your kind should've heard of my family." He looks smug, as if a mere surname can protect him from anything when it comes down to it. "You'll be staying here for the next four years, Evans, and I guarantee you'll have a miserable time of it if you get on my bad side. But today's your first day at Hogwarts, so I can be generous. If you apologize, I'll let you go just this once."

An expectant hush falls as Draco finishes his little speech. Hadrian doesn't say anything right away, still turning over the packet of quills in his hands, still waiting. When nothing happens after a good five seconds tick by, and the silence gradually becomes strained, Hadrian finally nods at Draco's wand, "So are you going to use that or not?"

The stunned look of outrage on Draco's face is gold.

"Don't say I didn't warn you, Evans!" Draco snarls, jabbing out with his wand. "Oscausi!"

Hadrian has time to arch an eyebrow at the choice of a pseudo-silencing charm before he's flipping a quill into the fingers of his left hand. A swipe of his thumb leaves a chain of runes glittering along its shaft, and then he brings it up, catches the oncoming spell with the tip, and swats it aside with a flick of his wrist, all in one fluid motion. His right hand doesn't stay still either as his wand slides neatly into his palm, and a single wordless modified Expelliarmus darts out and attaches itself to Draco's wand.

The white light of the Mouth-Sealing Charm is sent soaring across the room, shattering against the door in a shower of harmless sparks, and in the heavy silence that follows, Hadrian smiles.

He thinks it's a very bland smile, if he does say so himself. At the very least, he's careful to not look too intimidating or too unhinged, the way he can sometimes get, if some of his dead friends were to be believed, back during the war. Nevertheless, it still makes Draco blanch white, makes Crabbe and Goyle shrink back, makes Zabini lean further back into a convenient shadow and Nott go utterly still from where he's sitting on his bed.

Hadrian glances down at the remains of his writing utensil, most of the barbs now burnt black. It was a regular quill after all, not exactly made to withstand so much magic. He looks back up, at Draco who has a white-knuckled grip on his wand, and with his own wand, he gives the other's a tug, just enough to make Draco's eyes go wide with something like panic, but not enough to actually disarm him and - considering the sheer amount of honed intent in the charm that even Draco can undoubtedly sense - most likely bend the wand's allegiance.

Hadrian holds it for a moment longer, and then lets go. Draco staggers back a step, jerking his wand down and reflexively pressing it into his chest as if he's trying to protect it, or maybe assure himself that it still belongs to him.

Hadrian tucks his wand back up his sleeve before stooping down to pick up the rest of the quills he'd dropped. The burnt one goes in the bin by his desk.

Nobody speaks. Nobody even moves. So Hadrian does.

"That took you almost five seconds," He begins almost conversationally as he opens a drawer to stash his remaining quills away. "From when you decided to fire that spell to actually firing it. And that's not even counting all the time you wasted saying the stuff before that, after you already took out your wand. It's stupid. When you draw with the intent to harm, you shouldn't give any warning at all. And the spell itself was slow. You should work on that."

He pauses, and there's still no response, which he supposes makes sense. He doubts anybody here wants to listen to him preach. He should just wrap things up since the plan is moving along so neatly.

"Anyway, this is pretty unfortunate," He switches gears and smiles again, as fit-for-public-polite as he knows how to be. It doesn't seem to make anyone feel better, but he also doesn't feel like he was that heavy-handed earlier, was he? Ah well, can't change anything now, and it's still in line with what he wants so it doesn't matter.

"I wasn't really expecting to make any friends since I know the average Slytherin's views on blood isn't exactly in my favour," He continues in light tones. "But I was hoping that we could at least remain on civil terms and get along as schoolmates, if only because we'll be living together for the rest of our time at Hogwarts. Since that doesn't seem to be possible anymore though, how about we just go with the simplest solution?"

Hadrian surveys the room and smiles some more. "You ignore me and I’ll ignore you. You attack me and I'll retaliate. An eye for an eye, so to speak. Everybody just needs to mind their own business, and there won't be any problems. That's fair enough, don't you think?"

His gaze settles once more on Draco. "Since you're the only one who's said anything so far, I'll assume you speak for everyone in this dorm. Draco Malfoy, right? So then, do we understand each other now?"

Across from him, Draco shivers imperceptibly like a rabbit caught at the wrong end of a predator's line of sight, but he also swallows and nods and gingerly puts his wand away. It looks like it costs him, but - at least for now - he seems both too shocked and too afraid to try anything else.

"Great!" Hadrian says cheerfully before cocking his head as a thought occurs to him. "Oh, right, one more thing."

He lets his smile fall away. Lets his expression smooth over into marble. And then he lets his magic flare, lets the pressure of it roll across the room like the black merciless depths of a storm-tossed ocean, lets it eclipse them all like death come to call, and then he brings it crashing down, not most of it, not even half, because he hasn't forgotten that these are children, that they're still young, and they can learn, they can be better, and Hadrian doesn't actually want to traumatize them permanently.

But he also remembers Draco - his world's Draco - telling him once, in a fit of aggravated exasperation during one of those times when they'd devolved into insulting each other's House traits yet again because they still hadn't understood what made the other tick, but they had also reached a point in their friendship where they'd started trying to, and kept trying.

"Slytherins respect power," Draco had said, not for the first time, but then he'd also added, for the first time, and haltingly as if he hadn't known why he'd had to explain it at all, "How else are you going to know they're worth your time? Or I guess worth befriending, in your Gryffindor terms."

"You don't decide whether or not to make friends based on how powerful someone is."

"Slytherins don't have friends. I only said friend because you're a Gryffindor and you don't understand anything else."

"Fine, you don't decide whether or not to associate with every single person you come across in your life based on how powerful they are either."

"Why not?"

"Why would you??"

"How else would you know they're strong enough to stand with you? Or competent enough to protect themselves? Power is a good starting line. If they're powerful enough, then they won't be afraid to face your enemies with you, and you can trust them to be capable of keeping themselves safe without having to keep an eye on them every minute of the day. Only brainless Gryffindors prefer doing things like throwing themselves in the line of fire and dying dramatically for each other and calling that a win. Let me tell you something, Potter - it's not a victory when you're forced to suffer a loss. You haven't won anything if you're not around to enjoy the aftermath. So the best allies must be ones who are powerful enough to not only achieve their goals but also survive them."

"…"

"Well, I will grudgingly admit that I didn't put quite that much thought into it when I was younger, but who did? …It's what I believe now though. Did I finally get it through your thick skull this time, Potter?"

After that particular conversation, Hadrian had understood a little better, even if he hadn't entirely agreed with it all. But he hadn't forgotten a single word, and Draco was right— as they are, these kids definitely aren't thinking that deeply, but Hadrian thinks that the core of it at least is the same. Slytherins respect power. And he has power in spades, so at the very least, he can make them respect him.

Of course, if that also happens to make them afraid of him, then, well, he was never aiming to be their friend or even ally anyway. So long as they leave him alone, it's fine.

He brings his magic to bear, allows the weight of it to fall and fall and fall, and he watches dispassionately as Draco goes grey, as Crabbe and Goyle's knees buckle, as Zabini flinches back like he wants to melt into the walls, as Nott curls into himself and may or may not have stopped breathing.

Hadrian catches Draco's eye, and doesn't let him look away. "I have no betters. Do I make myself clear?"

He'd spent half his life being beaten down by the Dursleys, told over and over that he was worth nothing, that he didn’t deserve food or clothes or kindness, that he was a waste of space and better off dead. He'd spent a good chunk of his Hogwarts career obliviously dancing to Dumbledore's tune, and then some more of it knowingly dancing to it because what else could he do with a target on his back. He'd spent over twenty years shackled to Voldemort, to his parents' legacy, to a war that had loved him a whole lot more than he'd ever loved it. And he'd been Fate's everything since before he'd ever even been born.

Some days, he wonders if he even knows what freedom is anymore. Or if he's ever known at all.

But one thing he is sure of is that he will never passively tolerate anyone controlling what he can or cannot do ever again.

Draco whimpers something like agreement, like deference, like surrender, and- that's enough. Hadrian reels it all back, all his magic hidden away again, and in the dizzying wake of its abrupt disappearance, Draco collapses, barely catching himself and his dignity with the edge of his bed. Crabbe and Goyle do crash to the ground, while Zabini has to steady himself against his nightstand, and Nott sways like he might faint.

Too much, Hadrian thinks distantly, and tries to feel bad about it because he really hadn't meant to go that far, but his lines in the sand have also long since blurred away beneath a tide of blood and corpses.

Mostly, he just feels tired, and it has nothing to do with his displays of magic tonight.

He breathes. Turns. Grabs a towel and his underwear and pyjamas and pretends everything's fine. It is fine, now. He's gotten what he wanted. "It's getting late. I'll shower first. Won't be long."

And then he's exiting stage right, straight into the bathroom, and it's a relief to close the door behind him.

Of course, that sentiment is one that's shared by probably every single person in the room.

-0-0-0-

3.

Theo is awake before anyone else the next morning. Or at least he thinks he is because he usually is. But everybody's curtains are drawn, and after last night, he doubts anyone was able to sleep right away, if at all, with the exception of their new roommate.

Hadrian Evans. Great Merlin, where had this person even come from? Even just the memory of his magic - vast and endless and utterly uncompromising - pressing down on them like the sky had fallen on their heads, makes his hands want to shake all over again. For a long, suspended, suffocating moment that could've lasted an eternity, Theo could've sworn he was going to die last night. And the most terrifying thing is that he is absolutely certain that Evans hadn't even been trying that hard.

Evans had radiated enough raw power to force all of them to their knees if he'd really wanted to. But he'd held back. He'd only given them a glimpse, just enough to warn them off. The rest of his magic had been out of reach, but present. It was there, reined in and waiting, but the shape of it and the depth of it had felt… unfathomable, as if it had no limits.

And that doesn't even account for the spellwork he had done. Theo had recognized the Disarming Charm, but last he checked, the average Expelliarmus only deprived a wizard of their wand. A more powerful one might send the target flying and even knock them out, but he's never heard of one that can… threaten to disarm your opponent at your leisure and - if Theo wasn't mistaken - force the wand to forsake its owner. Everybody knows that that's always a possibility in a real duel; if you win and take your opponent's wand, then that wand might not work for its owner anymore. But most of the time, you have to mean it, you have to set out with the intent to do it, the buildup of magic in the duel itself gives that intent a foundation, and there has to be an actual possibly life-threatening conflict of interest between the parties too, a real enmity that even last night - however excessive the exchange - shouldn't have qualified. Squabbles between students just don't count. If it did, with the Disarming Charm being taught in school, there would be a lot more students in need of new wands. The only way Theo can rationalize it happening anyway is that Evans must've been strong enough to compel the wand itself to leave its owner.

Pity he hadn't gone through with it in the end. Evans is powerful, but he's also… Theo is hesitant to call him soft, but if it had been Malfoy, if it had been Blaise or even himself or pretty much any other Slytherin, they would've done it. He's unsure of why Evans hadn't.

And then there had been the thing with the quill. Theo can't even explain that, and he'd mulled it over for half the night. He has the… incidental fortune of occupying the bed closest to Evans', so as soon as Evans had ducked into the bathroom last night, and the others had been distracted with pulling themselves together and possibly trying not to wet themselves, Theo had chanced a swift peek into Evans' wastebasket.

It really had looked just like any other regular quill, one that'd been burnt completely black and missing most of its barbs, but it had been a quill. He'd been tempted to open Evans' desk drawer to check the other quills, but - with Evans' ultimatum still ringing in his ears - he hadn't been that suicidal, so he'd refrained. But from what he could recall, the pack it had come from had looked just like the mass-produced writing utensils one could find in any stationery shop in Diagon Alley.

Whatever he'd done though, he had made it look like child's play. A quill and a Disarming Charm, so fast that Theo could've blinked and missed it. Could someone like that really have remained in obscurity all this time? Evans had apparently been homeschooled up until now, and they haven't even attended their first class yet, but by anyone's definition, after last night, he can't claim to be anything less than a prodigy.

It's… unbelievable. And not even because of any of the blood purity ideals that Malfoy likes to preach about. Theo doesn't think much of muggleborns or halfbloods, but he also doesn't think much of most purebloods, so he's fairly certain it's not high society prejudices that's driving his disbelief. It's just… He's never met anyone - not even his father, and Merlin knows Theo's been afraid of him for as long as he can remember - as effortlessly powerful as Evans had shown himself to be, and he doesn't understand how nobody has heard even a whisper of a rumour of this boy before he'd arrived at Hogwarts.

Someone like him shouldn't exist. Or perhaps there has been one, and that had been how the Dark Lord had made so many people bow at his feet or cower in their homes, but Theo had never met him in person, and so all he has is Evans' example to draw from. And not a single witch or wizard whom Theo's ever met could compare.

Has Evans just been hiding himself? Maybe his family hid him before they deemed him ready to face the rest of the world, and he's certainly proven that he can hide it when he wants to. But what kind of family can bring up this kind of wizard? Evans is only fourteen. None of them had thought him anything special before he'd revealed exactly how wrong they were. And he probably wouldn't have done even that much if Malfoy hadn't immediately taken a go at him, always so obsessed with making sure everyone knows he sits at the top of the food chain.

Well, he certainly doesn't anymore, and if Theo hadn't been caught up in the confrontation last night just like everyone else, he would've been tempted to applaud the spectacle of Malfoy being taken down a peg or ten. Before Evans' arrival, Theo was the one Malfoy liked to take jabs at every few days, and it was only partly because he'd had a halfblood mother. The Notts could've been said to be respectably rich once upon a time, but after the war had ended, with his father's political clout being almost nonexistent and most of their extended relatives either dead or in Azkaban, they'd been easy pickings for the Aurors. His father had escaped prison time with the Imperius excuse and some bribes, but that hadn't prevented multiple raids on their home and a hefty list of fines that had left their vaults near-depleted. And what little fortune they have left is reserved almost entirely for Theo's father's alchemy obsession that's more often focused on illegal research topics than not, as well as his black market dealings, although neither of those at least is widely known, or who knows if they would even have their ancestral manor left after the Aurors were done with them?

Malfoy loved reminding him of almost every one of those things as often as he could, and the most absurd thing is that - more than being born from a halfblood mother or poverty or loss of prestige - Theo's pretty sure Malfoy's biggest reason for disliking Theo is because Theo had refused to follow him around like Crabbe and Goyle back in first year.

So here they are now, and after three years, Theo had more or less become inured, not to mention it wasn't as if Malfoy only bullied him, or even bullied him the most - nobody could top that list while Potter and Weasley were around to fight for first place on it - but it had still been annoying and stressful because Theo was the only one who had to share a dorm with him. Considering the Malfoys' standing in society however, all he could ever do was stay silent and bear with it.

Admittedly, he'd been a little happy when Evans had been sorted into Slytherin, because between Theo and an unknown halfblood-at-best with no allies and no significant family background to speak of, the perfect prey in every way, Malfoy would definitely enjoy targeting the latter more, and even if the blond ponce still came after Theo, it would at least take some of the pressure off of him.

Now… well. That will still probably pick back up sooner or later, but Theo resents it less when he thinks about how it will take at least a few weeks before Malfoy will be able to strut around again after last night's humiliation. And also…

He thinks again of last night, of how Evans had basically smacked Malfoy down like he was nothing more than an unruly upstart getting above himself, and of that quiet oath too - I have no betters - and it hadn't even been pride or arrogance or superiority, only stone-cold certain fact.

He thinks of the fear he'd felt, but behind that, beneath that, more than that, there had also been nothing less than a breathless, heady, wondrous sense of reverence that had settled itself behind his ribcage, in his lungs, in the sudden hungry swell of curiosity that he'd just barely managed to lock behind his teeth, and it had only grown stronger after a night of fitful sleep.

He wants to see that magic again. He wants to know what else Evans can do.

And most importantly, he wants to know if he can do it too.

-0-

Ten minutes later, Theo hears Evans pull his bed curtains back. Very cautiously, he twitches his own curtains open half an inch to watch Evans get up, stretching languidly and scrubbing a hand through his messy black hair before gathering up his toiletries and a change of clothes. Like this, he looks completely normal, nothing at all like someone who could flatten all five of his roommates with a thoughtless flex of his magic. Even his eyes are just green now, no longer glowing like the light of a Killing Curse.

Of course, then Evans waves a hand at his window curtains, which obediently sweep open in response, and… yes, why not? Wandless magic seems par for the course for Evans, even if Theo has only ever heard of a handful of seventh-years capable of some very basic wandless spells if they concentrate hard enough.

Evans leaves for the bathroom as if casual uses of wandless magic is an everyday occurrence for him, and only after the door has closed does Theo let himself relax.

Evans had never even glanced over, but somehow, Theo thinks the other boy had known he was being watched anyway. But he'd said nothing, hadn't even given any indication that he'd noticed, let alone minded. Theo still isn't sure why he'd let Malfoy off so easily yesterday - because on hindsight, when it came down to it, all Evans had really done was scare them and scare Malfoy most of all; despite the verbal abuse and even the Dark charm Malfoy had shot at him, Evans hadn't actually hurt any of them in return - and Theo doesn't get it but maybe part of it is just because Evans doesn't take offence easily.

It seems unwise to Theo to not at least dole out some injuries as a reminder when that offence had been as insolent as Malfoy's, but perhaps Evans has his own measure of such things. Besides, Malfoy's known to say worse. Theo's looking forward to what happens if Malfoy forgets himself and says something even more loathsome. It's not impossible. Malfoy has been unchallenged since he came to Hogwarts. He's used to saying and doing whatever he wants, even to the upper years and those outside his own House. Most people ignore him when they can and indulge him when they can't, or otherwise manage or placate him with their own methods, but the one thing no one has ever done is tell him no, tell him to stop and make it stick. Potter and Weasley tend to give as good as they get, what with how short their tempers are, but they're louder and more obvious about it, so they get caught more often, which just makes them even angrier, so it never actually feels like they win, even when Malfoy doesn't either. Certainly, no amount of lectures or point loss has managed to deflate his ego.

But now there's Hadrian Evans. Theo doesn't need a second demonstration to know that Malfoy is outclassed in every way, but funnily enough, Malfoy himself might need it.

Theo eyes the bathroom door for a moment longer before finally getting up himself. He's barely set his feet on the rug before Blaise - in the bed on Theo's other side - also whips open his curtains, looking far more alert than he ever has this early in the morning.

For several seconds, they stare at each other in silence. And then - because he isn't sure if the other three boys in the room are awake yet - Theo pitches his voice even lower than usual and says, "He said Malfoy spoke for us."

Blaise blinks twice, and then something like distaste curves up at one corner of his mouth. "I heard."

Theo nods. They're on the same page then. Neither of them is particularly keen on this opinion that Evans has regrettably formed, Theo because of obvious reasons, and Blaise because he's Blaise.

Blaise has always been strange. He's the type who gets along with everyone and gets along with no one. You'd be hard-pressed to find anyone - biased Gryffindors aside - who would say a bad word about him, but they'd probably have to think a while if you asked them to describe something of personal significance about him too. It's not that he's average - he's never failed a class, and he's especially good at Potions - but for all that he can carry a conversation in a way that makes everyone feel comfortable and included, and he could probably talk rings around a politician without making them feel stupid, he also never lets anyone close enough to actually get to know him. He's approachable, but only when he wants you to approach him. He's generous with his smiles, but sometimes, it feels a little like he's laughing at you. He might say something condescending or spiteful to you one day, but he has the kind of charisma that makes you forget that the very next. People might call him friend and invite him over for a chat or a game of chess, but most don't make any attempts to go beyond that. And if you know what to look for, as Theo has learned to do, you would realize - Blaise views the world like it's one big boring joke, and his estimation of most of the people in it is probably somewhere around the level of dancing clowns.

Theo doesn't mind. The two of them aren't friends either. They're also not enemies though, and occasionally, they can be allies, but only when Blaise feels like it. Sometimes, the other boy will distract Malfoy from messing up Theo's potion in class or launching yet another diatribe on all of Theo's deficiencies, but Theo will never ask him to because he has nothing to repay Blaise with.

It works for them. Blaise does what Blaise wants, and even Malfoy can't control him. Theo is secretly envious of that— with the Zabinis' seat of power in Italy, it means they don't have that much clout in Britain, and yet nobody messes with Blaise, not even the few who don't buy into Blaise's charm or simply hate him because he's a Slytherin. Not even Malfoy messes with him, and even Theo can't tell if it's Malfoy's self-preservation instincts kicking in to ensure that he isn't about to go insulting someone with a black widow mother like Blaise's, or if Malfoy genuinely hasn't noticed that Blaise doesn't respect him at all no matter how pleasant his words can be. Honestly, when it comes to Malfoy, there's a decent chance of either option being true.

With all that in mind though, it's not a surprise that Blaise isn't pleased with being slotted in as one of Malfoy's lackeys, especially by someone as impressive - or, as Blaise might put it, entertaining - as Hadrian Evans has swiftly proved himself to be.

"It's fine," Blaise says next, rolling out of bed to get ready for the day. He's already regained his typical lazy slouch, as if he hadn't been just as terrified as the rest of them last night. His eyes slide to the bathroom, then away, unreadable but more focused than Theo's ever seen them. "We live in the same dorm, and we'll attend at least most of the same classes. He'll see soon enough that we don't share the same opinions as Malfoy."

Theo watches him dig into his wardrobe. "And then?"

"Then?" Blaise tips a more familiar look of knowing amusement at him. "Then you do what you want, and I'll do what I want, and at the very least, we'll have the good sense to not throw ourselves straight onto a hippogriff's talons like dear Draco."

Theo smothers a snort and rises to his feet. Neither he nor Blaise take Care of Magical Creatures, but everybody had heard of Malfoy's idiocy last year. The phrase "my father will hear about this!" had reached a record high by winter's end. Not much had come of it, not when Hagrid had had the likes of James Potter and Sirius Black and Albus Dumbledore championing him. Even Lucius Malfoy would - and had, more than once over the years - find it difficult to contend with the British wizarding world's vaunted war heroes when they join forces. In the end, Hagrid could continue teaching so long as he did it alongside a second professor hired by the school, and even the hippogriff got to live. Malfoy had not been happy, and he'd made sure everybody knew it too, but at least he'd also whined less about it once Slytherin House had learned to snigger about it where he wouldn't hear.

But 'throwing oneself onto a hippogriff's talons' had become rather popular vernacular ever since, subtle enough that even Malfoy couldn't call anyone out on using it without embarrassing himself, but funny to everyone who understood, and nobody could even say who'd started the phrase. Theo's money would be on Blaise though.

The bathroom is spelled so that nobody outside can hear anything when the door is shut, but they can hear the lock click open just fine, and almost in tandem, he and Blaise both immerse themselves in picking out their outfits for the day as if it's a task that requires every last bit of their attention.

Evans walks out. True to his word, he ignores them completely, neither greeting them nor sparing them a glance as he moves back to his section of the dorm. Theo watches him out of the corner of his eye as the boy folds his pyjamas away before proceeding to pack his bag. He catches a glimpse of an Ancient Runes textbook, and his mind abruptly flashes back to the quill. But… that can't be right.

Evans shuts his bag, pulls on his robes, and toes on his shoes. Like this, there's something vaguely familiar about him that Theo can't place right away, and the thought is gone again as Evans slings his bag over his shoulder and strides for the door.

He still doesn't look at any of them, and he's gone from the room a moment later. They might as well have been empty air.

Theo's fingers tighten around the shirt he's holding. Somehow, he-

-doesn't like it.

-0-

Malfoy gets up two minutes after Evans is gone, moving around with an exaggeratedly unaffected sort of poise that makes Theo want to roll his eyes. At least the blond doesn't try to make conversation until Crabbe and Goyle wake up as well.

Evans aside, Theo is the first out of the room, as per usual, although this time, Blaise accompanies him up to the common room and out of the Dungeon. It takes no time at all to arrive at the Great Hall, and this early, most of the four House tables are still empty of students, although more and more are gradually drifting in in groups of threes and fours.

Unlike the other Houses who like cramming into whatever space they see, Slytherins are more political about it. The end seats are left to the outcasts or first-years who don't know better yet, while the midway point of the table is typically reserved for the most influential students, such as those with the best grades or the largest range of social connections or the strongest family background, or some combination of the three. And everybody else arranges themselves between the two extremes accordingly. The only time that changes - from what Theo has heard - is when someone is so magically powerful that they can overwhelm everyone else. Then it doesn't matter what grades or connections or background they have because magic is respected most of all, although they would usually have some qualifications in those other areas. But either way, they would be given reigning place of pride in the middle with their chosen followers around them, and everybody else would sit where they're told to sit, regardless of their accomplishments.

Someone like that hasn't come along in fifty years though, not since the Dark Lord was still at Hogwarts.

So it's jarring to see Evans seated at the very end, furthest away from the High Table, with a book open in front of him and a steaming mug in one hand, but Theo supposes it shouldn't be. He's newly transferred in, and a halfblood besides, so he probably doesn't know about the traditional seating arrangement, and since it's still just the second day of school, it's not as if anybody else outside their dorm knows that Evans is anything but the unfortunate fourth-year with a muggle surname sorted into Slytherin, so he really can be considered an outcast.

Theo exchanges a look with Blaise before tentatively taking a seat at their usual spot a few feet away from the halfway point of the table. It doesn't feel right to… go over Evans' head like this, but it's not like they can really do anything about it at the moment. Theo in particular is technically sitting above his station, but his family is still one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, no matter how far it's fallen, and he gets decent grades in almost every class. He's also on friendly terms with Blaise, and the fact that he shares a dorm with Malfoy is a double-edged sword. Malfoy has the status to sit near the middle ever since he was a first-year, and it wouldn't look very good for him if he's seen completely spurning a Nott in his generation. So Theo is largely left alone so long as he looks like he's nominally part of Malfoy's group during mealtimes.

Theo spends the next five minutes sneaking sidelong glances down the table. Blaise does the same, and neither of them is obvious about it so nobody comes up to ask them any questions. Other Slytherins begin filing in, and more than one wrinkles their nose or sneers when they pass Evans, as if they've smelled something repulsive.

Theo has to make an effort not to wince every time it happens. Blaise watches with a shallow smirk hitched across his face and something cold and callous and thoroughly amused in his eyes.

By the time Malfoy - with Crabbe and Goyle on either side of him - sits down across from them, about half the table is full, plates of breakfast have started appearing, and Evans still hasn't looked up from his reading.

Malfoy - much less subtle - shoots something sulky and resentful with just a dash of fear down the table and mutters, "Doesn't even know how to sit properly."

Theo really does roll his eyes this time, although he makes sure to do it down at his scone. Before anyone can say anything else though, Evans unexpectedly straightens, his attention finally lifting from his book. Malfoy immediately stiffens as well like he thinks Evans had heard him from all the way down the table, which Theo wouldn't put past Evans's ability but also doesn't think that Evans thinks that Malfoy is worth that effort to eavesdrop on.

Evans looks around, but not at any of the Slytherins. He cranes his head over one shoulder, seems to catch sight of whatever he's looking for, and gets up, shutting his book and tossing it back in his bag. Then he's making his way across the Hall, past the Hufflepuffs and the Ravenclaws, straight over to the Gryffindor table that's only partially filled at the moment but is also hosting the Golden Trio, who had just come down for breakfast.

 Evans stops a few feet away, and Longbottom, Weasley, and Granger turn to face him. What Theo can see of their expressions indicate that they're surprised and a little wary, but they also seem like they know each other. They converse about something, Weasley makes some exaggerated hand gestures, Granger smacks him, and then Evans says something else that makes the Gryffindors burst into laughter, startled but bright.

And then Evans moves forward and-

-sits down.

At the Gryffindor table.

Longbottom and Granger are smiling, and even Weasley - with his hatred for everything Slytherin - seems fine with it, going back to plating more food for himself while passing some sausages over to Evans.

In Theo's peripheral, Malfoy's face has lost so much colour that he could pass for a ghost. Theo can't tell if he's just that offended or if he's actually managed to comprehend the fact that he's already alienated possibly the most magically powerful student at Hogwarts from Slytherin House, to the point where that student doesn't even want to eat at the same table as them, and classes haven't even started yet.

Theo can't tell, nor does he care, but if he'd ever needed any more reasons to despise Draco Malfoy, this would be it.

He averts his gaze from Evans, even if the mere thought of him preferring a bunch of Gryffindors - and those Gryffindors at that; the only ones worse would be Potter's lot - over his own House is… grating. But staring isn't going to win Theo any favours and might just tick Evans off. Besides, there are plenty of others who have noticed a Slytherin sitting with Gryffindors, and they're staring enough for ten of him.

He starts on his breakfast. School has just begun. There's plenty more time in the future to observe Hadrian Evans.

-0-0-0-

4.

Within the space of a week, Theo is cautiously pleased to find that he shares all nine classes with Evans. The core subjects are mandatory of course, but in addition to Ancient Runes, Evans also takes Arithmancy, both of which Theo is also studying, and after three weeks, he gets a slightly more detailed picture of what Evans is capable of.

In class, Evans doesn't stand out, or at least not in a way most people would notice. He doesn't take the initiative to answer questions posed by the teachers, and his spells and potions aren't particularly dazzling when they're assigned practical classwork.

But every time a professor calls on him, Evans always answers correctly. Every time they have to practice a new spell, Evans doesn't clamour to be the first to show off, and he isn't the one who produces it with the most eye-catching burst of magic, but when he's asked to show his progress, he always does it exactly the way the teacher demonstrated it at the beginning of class. Even in Potions, all he does is work discreetly in the back corner on the Slytherin side of the room. He never finishes early, but he also never finishes late, never failing to turn in a textbook-perfect potion ten minutes before class ends, and a couple times, Theo catches Snape watching Evans with an inscrutable expression after the boy quietly hands in yet another flawless potion.

After three weeks, Theo can conclude that while Evans doesn't deliberately dumb himself down, and in fact is performing spectacularly across the board, he does it in such a reserved, inconspicuous manner that even most of the professors probably aren't going to notice until they've graded a good few months' worth of homework and tests.

He does it for every subject. Every single one, except Ancient Runes, and Theo is convinced that that's less because Evans didn't try, and more that… well, some brilliance just can't be hidden.

In the third week, when Babbling hands back their first assignment - Acceptables and Poors all around of course; some days, Theo isn't sure if he wants to strangle Babbling or himself, just to put himself out of the misery that is attempting to understand anything their Runes professor says - she holds Evans back at the end of class, and half the students snicker like they think he's in trouble or did so badly that even Babbling can't stand it, and it's the best joke they've ever seen. But two days later, some papers that Evans has left out on his desk while he's off doing something else, probably with his Gryffindor buddies, catch Theo's eye while he's on his way to his own desk. More specifically, the symbol of the Department of Magical Education stamped on them catches Theo's eye, and after some very hasty and very undignified neck-straining and squinting from a prudent five feet away, he more or less understands.

Babbling hadn't held Evans back because he was doing badly. Babbling had held him back because he was doing so good he would be sitting his Ancient Runes O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. exams on the twenty-third of October.

Three minutes after that revelation, Theo's still sitting somewhat dazed in his chair when Malfoy returns, Crabbe and Goyle in tow. The blond also spots the papers on Evans' desk and - after suffering day after day of, in Malfoy's increasingly belligerent opinion, being disgraced by Evans due to all the time he was spending with Gryffindors, and even three of the ones Malfoy hates most - practically lights up with a malicious sort of glee at the opportunity to get a little revenge.

He seems to have already forgotten that first night's lesson, and it hasn't even been a month yet. Sometimes, Theo is honestly baffled by Malfoy's Sorting into Slytherin. What ambition is there in a boy whose solution to everything in life is to fall back on his father and surname and family money? What cunning is there to speak of when he so often acts without even considering the option of leaving himself a way out, just in case his taunts and schemes backfire on him one day?

Or perhaps the real mystery is how he's managed to go this long without anyone telling him that the world won't always bend to his demands.

"O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. exams?" Malfoy says loudly as he wanders over to read the papers. He scoffs. "No matter how much magic he has, there's no way that's possible. He's just a fourth-year. And a halfblood! I bet he paid Babbling to sign him up for them. Everybody knows she's not all there so Evans wouldn't even have to pay her a lot to persuade her."

Theo flicks a glance at Blaise, who'd brought up the rear, a few seconds behind Malfoy, and had entered on near-inaudible footsteps in time to witness this latest snowballing disaster. The taller boy's lip curls, and his next words come out in such a nonchalant drawl that it takes a moment for Malfoy to register the bite of them, "Why would he do that though? He's not you."

Malfoy flushes an unflattering shade of red. "Zabini! That's not funny!"

Blaise's insults are always taken as jokes. Theo thinks that's the only way Malfoy can weather them, because he doesn't truly dare to cross Blaise, so even if he does know better, he still has to feign ignorance.

"It can't be possible," Malfoy repeats, turning back to the papers. "Otherwise, why hasn't he said anything about it? If it were me, I'd let everyone know! Obviously, he knows he'll fail, so he doesn't dare to spread it around."

Theo tries to wrap his mind around that logic, fails, and gives it up as a bad job.

"Then, why is he taking them?" Crabbe suddenly pipes up, blinking with a befuddled air in Malfoy's direction.

Malfoy rolls his eyes. "Obviously, Crabbe, it's to impress the Boy Who Lived. You've seen how Evans is constantly fawning over Longbottom." And there's the jealousy leaking into his voice even as it strengthens as if he's gaining confidence in his conjecture the longer he speaks. "He's still just a vulgar halfblood with subpar upbringing after all. He needs political connections if he wants to make anything of himself in our world. And Longbottom's a soft touch, and an idiot besides at everything that isn't digging in the dirt. Just trying to take the exams is probably enough to make him think Evans is a genius."

He takes another step forward, almost hovering over the desk now, childish spite tarnishing his features. "Let's see what the rest of Slytherin thinks of this. We are in the same House so Evans should look for support from real purebloods. I'll help him out."

Malfoy reaches out, and Theo goes still, staring, avid and unblinking.

(Greedy.)

Hadrian Evans does not disappoint him.

Malfoy's hand lands on the papers, and it's as if a miniature explosion takes place. There's no warning as the desk ignites with enough interlocked, interwoven, bloody intricate runes to send anyone reeling. It blankets the entire desk in layers of circles and lines and eye-watering spirals, before even those disappear in a blaze of brilliant silver light that pulses once before bursting outward and knocking Malfoy clean off his feet.

Malfoy screams as he's sent flying across the room in a tangle of flailing limbs and flapping robes. Coincidentally - or not? - he lands on his bed in a graceless upside-down heap, the bag he's still wearing smacks him in the face, and the momentum tumbles him straight over the far side of his bed and onto the floor with a final muffled thump that cuts Malfoy's shriek to a yelp.

The light disappears, along with the runes. The room goes eerily quiet, and for a long moment, nobody moves.

It's Blaise who reacts first.

He laughs.

It's enough to snap Malfoy out of his stupor. The blond scrambles to right himself, pushing to his feet, fury and humiliation writ large across his face as he opens his mouth to shout, "Shut up, Zabini! Wait until my father hears about this! Evans will regret-"

There's a clatter. The door opens.

Malfoy shuts up so fast Theo wouldn't be surprised if he bit his tongue.

Evans steps inside, and then stops. He looks around, looks at his desk, looks at a still dishevelled and increasingly pallid Malfoy, and then he shuts the door behind him and heaves a very deep sigh.

"Seriously?" He asks in rhetorical tones. "I just went to borrow a library book. I couldn't have been gone for more than thirty minutes."

Nobody says anything. Evans sighs again before striding over to his desk. He raises a hand and combs his fingers through the air— or perhaps something only he could see, and that's proven correct as a runic array shimmers into existence, swirling together before reshaping itself into-

-a memory.

Specifically, it's a replay of everything Malfoy had said and done as soon as he'd gotten within three feet of Evans' belongings, complete with sound and colour. It's basically a pensieve without the pensieve or the removal of memories to supply it.

Theo wants so badly that his teeth ache with the leashed desire to ask a million questions immediately.

Patience, he reminds himself.

"Hm," Evans says once the memory's run its course, and the runes wisp away once more. Theo is both surprised and not when the other boy proceeds to pull out his chair, sit down, and dig out his library book, clearly intent to continue his work.

Behind him, Malfoy seethes, and before he can think better of it, or he simply doesn't think, he barks out, "Do you think you can treat me this way, Evans? Do you know who my father is? When I tell him about this-"

"Tell him then," Evans interjects, leaning back to slant a cool look at Malfoy. "Tell him you tried to steal my things, and my wards tossed you onto your bed, and the only thing it really bruised was your ego. Or you can lie and make up something that would make you more of a victim, and big bad mudblood Hadrian Evans bullied you terribly. What's the worst that could happen? Expulsion?" He huffs a laugh, and as far as Theo can tell, the thread of mirth that laces the sound is astonishingly sincere. "Malfoy, I don't actually care. I don't need Hogwarts."

He really doesn't. Worse comes to worst, which other school would be daft enough to not scoop him up if they see what he can do with runes? And that's not even getting into everything else he can do. Any school would accept him in a heartbeat and then laugh themselves to tears if Lucius Malfoy actually managed to get him ejected from Britain's sphere of influence on some trumped up charges just because his son went crying to him. Besides, since Evans had been previously homeschooled, he could always just return to that as well.

Malfoy opens his mouth, then closes it, and he does that a couple times, eyes wide in his face like he's never met anyone who has stonewalled him this way, who has challenged his authority so directly, more than once, and yet remains utterly unintimidated and untouchable.

Evidently, he never has.

Evans regards him for a few seconds more before sighing once more. "I thought I was clear enough that first night, but apparently not. When I say 'attack', I don't just mean with a wand. All my things are off-limits unless I say otherwise, so if I were you, I would keep my hands to myself. You don't want to know what my wards will do to you if they sense intentions worse than just petty theft. I hope you won't forget again."

He holds Malfoy's faltering gaze for a moment longer before turning back to his books and papers. Malfoy stumbles back a step as if he's been physically released, and he looks like he wants to pitch a temper tantrum but also doesn't dare. In the end, he storms out of the room without even straightening his robes or smoothing back his hair, and nobody tries to stop him or go after him, not even Crabbe or Goyle, who've both retreated to their beds, shoulders hunched, almost bowed, angled almost in Evans' direction.

Evans is already poring over his library book though, quill in one hand, inkwell set out, fresh parchment beside it. It's clear he's done interacting with the lot of them.

Theo almost lets it go, as he has every other time he wants to speak to Evans, to ask him questions, to know. He's already biting his tongue and swallowing down the words and opening his bag to fish out his homework.

Except-

It's been three weeks. Theo can be patient when he has to be, but more and more, it's… starting to feel like he doesn't have to be. He's had an entire childhood's worth of practice at dissecting emotions, at looking at a person's face and words and actions and taking all of them into account to figure out how they really feel, if they're angry at him or upset with him, if they're about to lash out even when they're smiling, or if there's still time to appease them even if they look like they're about to go for their wand.

Evans is harder to read than most, but at the very least, Theo can tell that he doesn't get angry often. In fact, there's only ever been that one time, that first night, and even for most of that incident, Evans had only acted to secure his own safety in their dorm once it became clear that Malfoy wasn't going to leave him alone otherwise. None of it had been driven by rage, not even when he'd nearly drowned them in the undertow of his magic over that particular handful of words Malfoy had jeered at him. And ever since then, Evans hasn't done anything except go about his business while ignoring theirs. That went for the rest of Slytherin too, and even some students in other Houses who don't like the fact that he's a Slytherin. Sometimes, they make snide remarks, usually behind his back, sometimes within his hearing range, and to a man, every student in their House has openly shunned him since he went to sit with the Golden Trio that first breakfast, but Evans has never given them a second glance, or really even a first glance, not out of anger or embarrassment or distress, and certainly not out of any desire for them to accept him, which just seems to offend them even more. But Evans is simply… indifferent to it all.

 Most importantly, as much as Theo has been able to conclude, Evans isn't prone to violence. He always seems calm and easygoing when he's with the Golden Trio, and quiet the rest of the time. And from the very beginning, he's never done anything to harm any fellow Slytherins, not even Malfoy. Even his wards seem to have some kind of function worked into them that would rate the level of threat first and only respond with the same degree of damage.

Actually, not the same— if Malfoy had been caught taking another Slytherin's documents without permission, important or not, it wouldn't be too much even if they cursed his hands in return. They probably wouldn't, because it's Malfoy, and people are used to being more lenient with him, but normally, even Malfoy wouldn't do something that gauche anyway. No matter how much they've spoiled him, his parents have at least taught him pureblood etiquette. He's never even tried to rifle through Theo's belongings.

 Admittedly, Theo had committed a slight faux pas as well when his curiosity had prompted him to read those Ministry forms, even if they were laid out on Evans' desk - unintentionally seeing them in passing was fine but the polite thing to do would've been to keep walking - but at least he hadn't been stupid enough to get too close, let alone put a single finger on them. Malfoy really only has his own poor impulse control to blame for going too far yet again, and Theo has every right to judge him for it.

 Although since it was Evans, Malfoy had probably categorized him as someone who doesn't deserve a pureblood's courtesy.

Even then though, Evans hadn't retaliated with anything more than the ward equivalent of a watered down Knockback Jinx, which is basically a common prank amongst rowdier students. Malfoy's pride had - once again - been hurt, but nothing else, even when it would've been Evans' right. And he hadn't gotten angry this time either.

Of course, Theo isn't foolish enough to think Evans isn't capable of violence when he wants to be. If he's pushed far enough, Theo is certain that the other boy could and would inflict some significant damage that would at least end with a visit to the Hospital Wing. Perhaps it was his magic, the relentless weight of it that said it wouldn't hesitate to crush them if they proved themselves a real threat. Or perhaps it was Evans himself, who looks at Malfoy after each stunt like he's putting up with a recalcitrant child that he has to go easy on because said child is too young to know better, except the detachment in his gaze also says that he's weighing Malfoy's age on a scale and waiting for the day his youth will no longer be able to compensate for his actions.

Frankly, Theo hopes that day will come soon. But that's his pettiness talking, and Malfoy in general is none of his concern. What Theo really wants is to learn all those things for himself. Well, not all, he's more than self-aware enough to know he's nowhere near as powerful as Evans, but some of those things - the spellwork, the runes - surely those things can be taught to others even if they don't have incredible amounts of magic? Even if it's slow-going and difficult, Theo isn't afraid to work for it.

So long as he learns even just a little of what Evans knows - and he clearly knows so much, knows the things that can actually be useful in real life - then perhaps, one day, maybe even before he graduates Hogwarts… escaping his father won't be a fool's hope anymore. And if there's a chance that he can do that, then no matter how exorbitant the price Evans names, Theo would be willing to pay it, even if it takes him the rest of his life to honour the debt.

But nothing's going to happen if they're not even on speaking terms. It's been three weeks. Already three weeks. Only three weeks. Maybe it really is still too soon, but at the very least, Theo doesn't think Evans will do anything worse than say no.

 At his back, he can feel Blaise's eyes on him, but he doesn't turn around.

 "Is that-" His voice doesn't crack, thankfully, but it comes out croakier than normal, giving away his nervousness. He bites back the urge to hex himself and tries again. "Is that taught by the time we graduate?"

 Evans… doesn't react, doesn't even look up. For several tense and increasingly awkward seconds, Theo thinks maybe the other boy will just continue ignoring him, or maybe he even thinks Theo is speaking to one of the others, not him.

 But then he writes something down and flips a page of his book, and then he raises his head and shifts away from his desk to face Theo.

 It's a little daunting, to suddenly have that piercing bright green regard aimed straight at him, but there's also no hostility that Theo can see, and that settles some of his nerves.

 Evans looks at him, then frowns, then asks in return, blunt, but amazingly, willingly enough, "You mean the wards?"

 Theo nods carefully, making sure he doesn't look too eager or too demanding. Masters of their trades are always rightfully reticent about their knowledge and skills to anyone who isn't their own mentor or apprentice, unless they're a teacher. Evans may not be a master signed and sealed and authorized to practice, but nobody who can write the exams at fourteen can be considered an amateur.

 Evans shrugs. "I haven't exactly flipped through the Ancient Runes syllabus of every year so I can't really say. If it continues at the same pace as third-year and fourth-year though, then probably not. You'd maybe get to the point of basic wards, but not much more than that. Compound wards like these-" He raps his knuckles against his own desk. "-put crudely, requires the use of runic coils to weave together multiple basic arrays, on multiple levels, in varying sequential order depending on how multifaceted you want the wards to be. It's not that difficult once you start getting some practice in, but from what I hear, you guys don't even begin practical work until after your O.W.L., which… I don't really get, but maybe Hogwarts is big on theoretical learning. But yeah, at that rate, I don't see how you could be constructing something like this by graduation."

 Theo's head is spinning. He didn't understand… anything in that summary except perhaps a general idea of "basic arrays". It's rare for him to feel so stupid.

 Evans is still watching him, and he doesn't seem impatient for their exchange to be over, or irritated that it's taking place at all. He looks like he's waiting for Theo to reply, so Theo hurries on to keep the conversation afloat.

 "So you didn't learn Runes following the Hogwarts curriculum when you were homeschooled," He surmises. "Does that mean the standards here fall short of the international schools?"

 It wouldn't be the first time. Britain's educational requirements have been growing more and more lenient for years. Correspondingly, their elective options have also been reduced to four due to budget cuts and lack of interest in anything harder than petting animals and making up death predictions. Every year, more second-years choose to sign up for Care and Divination than they do Arithmancy or Runes. It's one reason why the number of incoming students has been gradually declining and consists of more muggleborns than purebloods. Foreign schools are strict about accepting any children outside of their designated countries, but those in Great Britain and Ireland who want better for their kids and can afford the higher prices tend to prefer sending them to one international school or another instead of Hogwarts.

 But Evans shakes his head. "I wouldn't know that either. I didn't really follow any official curriculum when I was learning." He pauses a beat, like he's thinking about how much to reveal, or even why he's revealing anything, but then he seems to decide it doesn't much matter. "The person who taught me was a bit… unconventional about it. He was a very good teacher, but he wasn't actually a teacher with the degree and whatever else you need to be a Ministry-approved professor, so he didn't really care about following some checklist of what a student attending a magical school was supposed to learn. Plus he was kind of a genius at runes. Ward-cracking and disassembly in particular since that's what he majored in - he was a Curse-Breaker - but he was pretty good at almost everything else too, which meant he found the basic stuff pretty boring. So when he taught me, and he realized I didn't have any trouble getting the foundations down, and I could mostly keep up even when he skipped ahead to more advanced stuff, he basically ended up just jumping between the subjects he liked most, filled in any gaps along the way, and gave me free rein to research whatever I found interesting. And whatever topic I picked was the one he lectured on, or helped me look up if it was one of the few areas he didn't know much about."

 His expression turns wry, if only for a moment. "Apparently though, according to Babbling, that means there's nothing left for Hogwarts to teach me. But I don't know how I would compare to students in other schools."

 He finishes and falls silent. It's the most he's said since that first night, and it's clear as day that whoever this Curse-Breaker tutor was, Evans respects him a great deal, great enough to ramble on about him to a roomful of near-strangers, and considering what he'd had a hand in molding Evans into, he deserves every bit of that respect too.

 Theo envies it. He is oft a creature of envy, and it hollows him out a little more every time it rears its head, but he's resigned to it. He wonders why Hogwarts can't have a teacher like Evans' instead of the whimsical mess that is Babbling, who can never get through a single class without her train of thought wandering away like an untrained dog off its leash.

 "Then," Theo continues, carefully neutral, carefully watching for any signs of displeasure on Evans' face. "Once you pass your exams, will you simply have an extra study period slot? Or will you be required to attend another elective?"

 Evans blinks at him. "The first, I think. I might see if it's possible to take an owl-distance university course or something, but spare time in my day isn't bad either."

 "Then," Theo forges on, watching as Evans's mouth twists a little, like he knows that this is what Theo has been aiming for from the beginning. Theo can't tell if he disapproves though - he doesn't think so - and it's too late to divert his course anyway. "What do you think about tutoring?"

 Evans cocks an eyebrow. He doesn't say anything for several anxiety-inducing seconds, just scrutinizing Theo with a face blank enough to rival Snape's when he bothers to stop sneering. The quill in Evans' hand taps-taps-taps against his desk before the boy swings around in his chair completely to face Theo.

 "Tutoring," He repeats. "You want me to tutor you in Ancient Runes?"

 And at least he doesn't sound derisive, nor does he put any particular emphasis on any part of that question. It does make it harder for Theo to gauge how he should respond though.

 "Yes," He confirms, because straightforward seems to be what Evans prefers. He thinks, briefly, of including Blaise, but he doesn't actually know if Blaise would like tutoring as well, and even if he does, Blaise can ask for himself. Theo isn't that charitable, and Blaise might even take offense if he tries to be.

 "I can compensate you for your time," He adds, because he's poor by pureblood standards, but not so poor that he can't afford decent education, especially with the nest egg he's been secretly building on the side since he turned eight and realized his inheritance was only going to get smaller at the rate his father was drawing from it for his… extracurriculars. His seven years at Hogwarts at least have already been paid for, robes and supplies and even some pocket money included, because even Silas Nott isn't going to let his son go into public at even more of a disadvantage than he already is. So as long as Evans doesn't ask for a huge sum of money, or even if he does, and he's willing to take part of that payment in favours, then Theo should have enough from his own funds to cover the cost.

 Evans leans back in his seat and doesn't say anything about payment. Instead, he looks almost puzzled as he asks, "Why do you need tutoring though? Even if you want to learn stuff like this," He motions at his desk. "I wouldn't be able to even start teaching you how until you got at least the basics down, and that's what Hogwarts teaches, so is there any point in getting more of the same lessons from me?"

 For a moment, even Theo can't come up with a way to say 'yes, because Babbling can't teach worth a damn, and I don't actually know how I passed last year but I definitely won't this year with the way her lectures keep getting lost somewhere between class and Atlantis every bloody week' but in more polite terms, if only because Evans might not appreciate anyone badmouthing her since she's obviously the one vouching for Evans' qualifications in order to let him take his exams so early.

 Fortunately, Blaise has no such compunctions.

 "Have you seen the way Babbling teaches?" The other boy enquires in his usual lackadaisical tone, just aggrieved enough to sound invested, but mild enough to leech the provocation out of it. It also gives Blaise a foot in through the door, drawing Evans' attention to him without making it seem as if he's interrupting.

 Theo glances behind him at where Blaise is now lounging in his own desk chair, emptying his bag of textbooks and papers even as he glances over to meet Evans' gaze, and his expression has eased into an invitation to commiserate over Babbling's questionable teaching methods. All of it is designed to look casual and cordial, to keep this fragile first exchange lighthearted, if also full of a resigned sort of exasperation, funnelled together in order to lower Evans' guard.

 And it seems to work too, like it does with everyone Blaise turns his charms on. At the very least, the way Evans' mouth quirks in response looks reflexive enough to be genuine.

 "That's fair," Evans concedes, a wry sort of humour suffusing his voice. "She's not the best at… staying on topic."

 Theo has to suppress a snort, but something of it must show on his face anyway because Evans' eyes snap back to him, and a moment later, a quicksilver grin flits across the other's face, bright in a way that lights up his whole face, and perhaps Blaise will have to try harder after all because Theo realizes that this is what genuine looks like on Evans.

 "Okay, I get why you might want a tutor," Evans acknowledges. "But isn't there anyone better for that?"

 Theo blinks at him. "Better than someone who's ready to take his exams in a month?"

 Evans' eyebrows go up briefly, and something in his eyes sharpens. "No. Better than someone who's a halfblood orphan in Slytherin, stuck in a one-sided grudge-match with a pureblood brat who has all the maturity of a toddler and isn't going to be very happy if his friend starts hanging around the guy he wants to curse into the Hospital Wing."

 Orphan? is Theo's first thought, followed by, I wish Malfoy was around to hear that. But all of it is superseded by a defiance that bursts out of him before he can curb it, "We're not friends."

 Evans waves a hand. "Yeah, yeah, I know, Slytherins don't have friends. What I mean is-"

 "No," Theo says, wincing internally at how he'd cut Evans off mid-sentence. "I mean, we aren't friends. Normally, we aren't even civil acquaintances most days."

 Evans eyes him for a long moment like he can hear all the things Theo isn't saying. Theo's pretty sure Evans doesn't know about his family's circumstances - How would he? Why would he even care to look it up? - but he seems to be able to glean at least the gist of it in a single glance because he seems to accept it easily enough, and the next thing he says is, "Alright, but that doesn't change the fact that he's still not going to be happy about it."

 "Good," Theo says, once again before he can stop himself, and with more relish than he should convey. Even if he's often thought that anything that made Malfoy unhappy was a good thing, he's certainly never expressed it out loud. He doesn't know what's come over him, only that there's something about the way Evans is watching him, patient and without judgement, that makes him… bolder than he normally would be.

 And since he's already opened his mouth, he might as well keep going.

 "So long as you're willing, I don't mind what other people might say," Theo says as firmly as he knows how to be. "I need to raise my grades for Ancient Runes before I take my OWLs next year or I'm never going to pass. I would appreciate any tutoring you can spare the time for." He hesitates, but only for a beat. "If you want, in addition to monetary compensation, I can also snub Malfoy at dinner somehow. And you would know it wouldn't just be some show we put on either. Malfoy doesn't have it in him to be humiliated in public, even as a stunt."

 It's far more outspoken and far more audacious than Theo is accustomed to being, and he can feel Blaise's eyes on him again. But he gets the impression that if he doesn't put his cards on the table - that he really does want to learn from Evans, that it's his main motivation, even if it isn't the only one - then Evans might think Theo is playing some kind of trick on him, possibly on Malfoy's orders, and that's the last thing Theo wants him to believe.

 Besides, this is also an opportunity. Theo had been resigned to living under Malfoy's temperamental rule for the duration of his Hogwarts career. It wasn't as if he wouldn't be doing more of the same as an adult, after all. Considering the difference in their social status, Theo would still have to bow his head, and jump when told to jump, and remain courteously - or at least forbearingly - deferential in front of Malfoy whenever they see each other. At least this more childish version at school is giving him plenty of practice for the future.

 But now, there is Hadrian Evans, whose existence no one had expected and no one thus far can control, who isn't afraid of Malfoy, whom Malfoy is afraid of instead, and Theo honestly can't see that changing. Of course, the real world is very different from some squabbles between teenagers, and Theo has only known Evans for less than a month. But… call it instinct. Even if one day the Malfoy family can really make it so that Evans can no longer live well in Britain, Theo gets the sense that the other boy would rather up and move to a different country than ever submit to anyone.

 People with inborn power like Evans won't bow. They don't know how to.

 And if Theo can get even a fraction of that protection that openly siding with Evans might earn him, then the choice is obvious. He's long known that he isn't powerful enough or ambitious enough or even brave enough to stand on his own. That in order to thrive, or even to simply live a satisfactory life, it would be best to choose someone's shadow to settle in. Preferably, that someone would be willing enough to leave Theo alone most of the time and wouldn't ask too much of him, but he already knows he wouldn't be able to get that from his father or Malfoy.

 Then, there's no point clinging to either of them. Before, there had been no other choices, and between his father and Malfoy, Malfoy was the better bet, though it wasn't as if the blond ponce could've gotten him out from under Silas Nott's thumb either. But at least being - loosely - affiliated with Malfoy would, in the future, offer Theo some protection from his father's obsessive tendencies. It wouldn't do for one of Malfoy's circle of acquaintances to disappear under mysterious circumstances after all.

 Now there's a new player on the field. Of course, Evans probably doesn't see himself as one, and wouldn't care even if he knew. But that doesn't change the fact that his shadow casts a long and looming line, and somehow, it feels more like a refuge than anyone else's Theo has ever come across. Evans might not be willing to protect him, if only because he would have to make himself known to do so, and if there's one thing Evans has shown over the past few weeks, it's that he much prefers staying in the background. But even if he isn't willing to protect Theo, at the very least, he can teach Theo how to protect himself. So, Theo might as well take his chances with Evans, and the first step in doing that is to make it very clear to all and sundry that he's throwing his lot in with the halfblood Slytherin transfer.

 He hadn't quite been prepared to go this far when he'd first decided to speak to Evans today, but doing things by half measures doesn't bode well for him either. Prevaricating or at least being vaguer about his intentions might leave him an extra hand to play, a way to retreat in case associating with Evans becomes too dangerous one day, but no one likes a fence-sitter.

 In Slytherin, every decision is a power play, whether it seems like it or not. An insignificant word or action might result in large consequences that aren't always obvious until the waves and ripples have settled. And Theo's never been much of a gambler, preferring safety over potential riches. But the things he can learn from Evans are too tempting to pass over. Put in plain terms, he's technically using Evans as a means to an end, which no one in Slytherin wouldn't approve of, but for a good chunk of this House, Evans' blood would definitely outweigh any usefulness he might have, especially since he hasn't publicly proven himself in any way at all. And the way he spends all his free time with Gryffindors hardly helps.

 Still, it's a risk Theo's willing to take. And now the Quaffle is in Evans' hands, and all that's left is to wait for his answer.

 Of course, if Evans says no, then Theo can only hope Blaise is feeling magnanimous today and won't go spreading this little story around. Then again, there's Crabbe and Goyle too, and they'll definitely tell Malfoy, so it will get out either way.

 Such is Slytherin, where the only shared secret you can trust to remain a secret is when all other parties are dead.

 In front of him, Evans only raises his eyebrows for a moment before amusement quirks one corner of his mouth. "Well you don't have to go that far."

 Theo can't tell if the other boy understands the implications of publicly cutting ties with Malfoy, but he's relieved to hear it anyway. He'd do it if it's a condition Evans sets, if only to alleviate any concerns Evans might have of being played, but it's not as if he wants to do it. He would happily see Malfoy humiliated any day of the week, but Theo is at heart an introverted person. Open confrontation of any kind will always make him uncomfortable.

 Evans studies him for a while longer as if weighing his sincerity. Eventually, he says, "I'm not opposed to tutoring. Actually, I'm already doing that for Hermione every Wednesday and Saturday. Adding one more doesn't make much of a difference. It's just that I don't love tutoring so much that I want to do it more than twice a week. So," He smiles, and this time, his expression is one of a sharp sort of curiosity. "If you want me to tutor you, then you'll have to be okay with Hermione. And I don't just mean tolerating her presence enough to sit at the same table as her. I mean if you say one bad word about her blood, I'll take that as an attack on me and react accordingly. Understand?"

 Theo blinks once, twice, digesting that ultimatum with something like disbelief because- "Is that all?" And then, because it couldn't possibly be that easy, he hastily tacks on, "How much would you like to be paid?"

 Evans blinks back at him, looking like he's re-evaluating Theo on the spot. Then he makes a dismissive gesture and says, "I'm not short on money. Also I don't make Hermione pay so it wouldn't be fair if I made you pay." He sits back with a finality that starts bringing an end to their conversation. "Wednesdays and Saturdays, 4-6pm in the library. I know we share all the same classes so that shouldn't be a problem for you. Showing up isn't mandatory, you can just come whenever you want, and I'll tutor you in whatever you need help with. My only condition is that you treat Hermione with basic respect. Of course," His mouth twists into a strange smile. "That goes for her too. And her friends if they happen to stop by."

 Theo has to suppress a grimace at that, but it's mostly out of reflexive distaste. Even if Weasley starts flinging insults, he's sure he's heard worse than anything a Gryffindor could come up with, and his tolerance is high, so it doesn't much matter whether Evans can prevent it or not. Actually, it's already pretty novel that he would try at all. This is by far the easiest and weirdest deal Theo has ever been offered, which only makes him that much more suspicious, but Evans also adds no other terms, so Theo is forced to conclude that this really is all Evans wants from him.

 The sheer unfairness of what each party is bringing to the table is jarring. Does Evans not understand what's happening here or is he seriously willing to offer up his time and knowledge on a silver platter at basically no cost?

 Part of Theo wants to ask again, to make sure Evans really doesn't want anything else, but since they've come to this point, even if Evans were to ask for something in the future, Theo would have no obligation to give it. It's admittedly somewhat uncomfortable, to receive so much in exchange for giving back so little when he wasn't even the one manipulating Evans towards this outcome, but at the same time, wouldn't he just be stupid if he keeps pushing the issue? Complaining about not having to spend any money or owe any favours seems rather counterproductive, and even though Theo is willing to pay for a chance like this, that doesn't mean he wants to if he doesn't have to. Of course, he supposes it isn't very honourable of him to not at least insist on some form of compensation, but that's why Theo isn't a Gryffindor.

 So then.

 "Very well, I agree to your terms," Theo says, letting himself relax a bit more when Evans' expression doesn't change. And because even a Slytherin should acknowledge genuine goodwill, he shoves past his own discomfort and manages, if a bit stiffly, "Thank you, Evans."

 Evans makes a face that's something left of embarrassed. "It's just tutoring, you don't have to be so formal. Besides, you're still the one who's going to have to put up with Malfoy pitching a fit once he finds out."

 Theo almost shrugs. That's not anything new. He might have to field some curses hurled his way once other Slytherins realize he's no longer under Malfoy's "protection" and is seen spending time with a halfblood, but it's not as if he has no way of protecting himself from most spells that a student can get away with using in public at Hogwarts. He already has a few family wards set up around his bed too, so Malfoy can't get to him while he's asleep, and the only time he spends in the Common Room is when he's crossing it to leave the Dungeon or return to his dorm, so his Housemates aren't likely to be able to corner him there either. So long as he's careful, he'll be fine.

 Blaise's voice cuts into his thoughts, speaking this time with the lightest touch of concern seeping out from behind a thin veil of indifference that would've fooled even Theo if Theo didn't know the way Blaise can change his approach like he's changing clothes depending on his assessment of the person he's talking to. "You sure you don't need to ask Granger first before letting a Slytherin join your tutoring sessions? She might not be too happy to have Theo there. And her friends definitely won't."

 Evans' attention shifts again, and as with Theo, his gaze is neither friendly nor hostile, but it's different all the same in a way Theo can't quite name. "Is that my problem?"

 The room is quiet for a beat.

 Evans smiles, careless, casual. "I'm the one doing the teaching. Who I teach should be up to me, shouldn't it?"

 Blaise stares, unblinking, hands finally gone still. "Aren't those Gryffindors your friends though?"

 "Sure," Evans agrees. "Still doesn't mean they get to tell me what to do just because they're biased against Slytherins." He shakes his head. "I doubt it'll be much of a problem though. Like you said, they're my friends, and aren't I a Slytherin too?"

 Nobody says what Theo is certain they're all thinking— that in many ways, Evans isn't anything like your average Slytherin.

 (And in others, Evans is the very epitome of one, but the Golden Trio probably doesn't know that, do they?)

 "Are you saying other Slytherins are welcome in your tutoring sessions then?" Blaise says next, and it's the most straightforward Theo has ever seen him, skipping at least three prevarications and five backhanded compliments that Theo could've sworn Blaise would normally include just because he doesn't know any other way to speak. Apparently not.

 Except Evans' response is to huff a breath that sounds like laughter, except not in any way they've heard before, not as amicable, and Theo sees Blaise's smile grow a little fixed.

 If they were in the business of distributing vices, then excessive hubris would undoubtedly go to Malfoy, but only because Blaise doesn't have the same reckless self-defeating habit of flaunting what he has everywhere and retaliating like a rabid lapdog the moment he feels slighted, the latter of which is helped along by the fact that he doesn't hold many people in high enough esteem for them to offend him. After all, you wouldn't get mad if a ghost or a goblin or even a house-elf - as unlikely as that is - is rude to you, would you? At most, you'd punish the latter and move along with your day. And for those who do register enough as people in Blaise's eyes, well, Blaise far prefers retaliating when the other party least expects it.

 It's the same now, in the way Blaise blinks twice rapidly but doesn't otherwise react. Of course, since this is Evans, he won't be able to retaliate later either, not with any kind of success, so it's doubly impressive that the other boy manages to keep his pride nailed down and tucked away.

 "You know," Evans says lazily, mirth or perhaps mockery gleaming in his eyes. "You could just ask. Take a leaf out of Theo's book; it wastes less time."

 Because even Blaise's straightforwardness needs to take a stroll or two around the block first, and apparently, Evans had caught onto that possibly since the first time Blaise had opened his mouth since this conversation began.

 Blaise's lips thin, but after a moment of no doubt weighing the pros and cons, he shrugs gracefully like it doesn't sting and asks, "Then, may I join your tutoring sessions, Evans? I would also appreciate some assistance with my Ancient Runes studies. Of course, I will abide by the terms you've set as well."

 Theo listens and wonders just how much self-control those three sentences took. Before today, he hadn't even known Blaise was capable of it, and the fact that he is, for this, actually says a lot more about his regard for Evans than Theo had realized even just a minute ago.

 At least Evans doesn't make it harder for Blaise than that.

 "Sure," The other boy acquiesces with the air of a predator sitting back on its haunches. "On your own head though."

 At this, a trace of a smirk - his real one, beatific in its cruelty, instead of his regular fit-for-public one - cuts across Blaise's face for the span of a heartbeat. "No problem."

 Evans levels another long look at him before shaking his head with another twist of a smile. "Okay then. We're all good now?" He looks from Blaise to Theo and even spares half a glance in Crabbe and Goyle's direction before nodding, satisfied. "Fantastic. Back to work for me."

 He spins back around to face his desk, reaching for his quill, and the rest of the day passes as usual, without another word traded between them, even when they all get up for dinner. Malfoy comes back shortly before that, stalking over to his section of the dorm with the mulish single-minded intensity of someone unwilling to even acknowledge Evans' existence, although that probably won't last once he finds out what Theo and Blaise have agreed to.

 Later, in private, Theo remarks to Blaise, "I didn't expect you to care so much about your Ancient Runes grades."

 Blaise slants an indecipherable look at him even as a shallow smile stretches the width of his mouth. "Who wouldn't care about their grades when someone's offering to help raise them for free?"

 It's a rhetorical question and answers approximately nothing, but Theo wasn't expecting anything of substance anyway.

 Besides, when it comes down to it, he supposes it's not so surprising that Blaise can also see which way the wind is blowing, hard enough to tell anyone with decent enough instincts that a major shift in power is imminent.

 And no one likes a fence-sitter.

 -0-0-0-

 5.

 Hadrian would like it to be known that he isn't quite sure how he's gotten to this point in his life.

 Well, that's a lie, he sort of knows, or at least he can pinpoint all the decisions that got him from Point A to Point B, but he supposes he just wasn't expecting a couple Slytherins whom he'd always assumed - even back in his original world - were just Malfoy's lackeys in school, to commit, and commit hard. They hadn't even participated in the war on either side, as far as he was aware— Nott had died relatively early on under mysterious circumstances, and Zabini had by all accounts returned to his home country. To Hadrian, they'd been little more than faces in the background that he'd never even exchanged five words with in total before coming to this world.

 But within the first week after they've asked to join his tutoring sessions, Nott and Zabini - Slytherin/Pureblood Rule Number Who-Knows-What: you can't use someone else's first name until you're invited to - make it really fucking obvious who they're… supporting? Have sided with? Because Slytherin is a nest of brewing factions and shifting alliances and political doublespeak and even a couple blood feuds, and this is precisely why Hadrian doesn't want anything to do with this House.

 Except apparently, agreeing to tutor Nott and Zabini means he's… joined the power struggle? Formed his own faction? Decided to vie for in-House supremacy and possible world domination? Who knows because Hadrian sure doesn't, and he's determined not to know, because surely if he just continues doing his own thing, it'll become clear sooner or later to all and sundry that he has no interest in fighting a bunch of schoolchildren over whatever they think he wants to fight for.

 It's just that he can't quite do that either, because not even three weeks after Nott and Zabini start joining him in the library every Wednesday and Saturday with a wary but accepting Hermione, something that translates to them moving their seats to sit with him in class and - when they can make it look natural, if still deliberate - walking with him in the hallways, the displeasure and animosity in Slytherin House reaches breaking point.

 It's not as if Hadrian hasn't already been the target of multiple hexes and curses from his own Housemates. He's a halfblood who hangs out with Gryffindors— it's to be expected. But so far, the spells have always been in the realm of reasonable, ones that might make him trip down the stairs or rip his bag or screw up his potion, and he's been able to block or avoid them all, so he'd figured it wasn't that big a deal. He'd put the fear of a Horntail in Malfoy early on because he has to live with the berk, and he doesn't much feel like returning after a long day of classes just to have to butt heads with him every single time. But he basically has no intersections with the rest of the House, so he just hasn't bothered paying attention to any of them.

 Then, perhaps rather suddenly, Nott and Zabini are there, not so much orbiting him as they do hover from afar. But they join his tutoring sessions, and they're serious about learning from him, listening earnestly and asking questions and even checking out the books he recommends they read if they have time. There are holes in even the most simple of their fundamental knowledge of Runes - Babbling, read a how-to book on teaching for Merlin's sake - so Hadrian has to more or less start from the ground up, as he had with Hermione, but both of them quickly prove themselves more than intelligent enough to keep up, and they're startling enthusiastic - by Slytherin standards - about everything he teaches them. Nott is more obvious - more ravenous - about it, but even Zabini - who likes to pretend he's only there for the novelty of it or something and therefore tends to play up a laidback sort of indifference - never fails to complete the optional exercises Hadrian writes up for them once a week.

 And outside of the tutoring sessions, it's like they've decided that being tutored by him means that he's now their new Malfoy or something. Not that Malfoy was their Malfoy before, if Hadrian had understood Nott correctly, but they'd at least acted like they were part of Malfoy's groupies. Now they've done a one-eighty, and it's not as if they follow him around all the time the way Crabbe and Goyle do with Malfoy, honestly if you don't count classroom and dorm room, they're not even around him half the time, especially Zabini, but when they are around, when they move their cauldrons next to his in Potions class despite working separately, when they go down to breakfast with him despite splitting off at the entrance, when they trail behind him back to the Slytherin Dungeon after a tutoring session, they're so damn conspicuous about it that they might as well be waving neon-bright signs above their heads.

 In contrast, they don't even sit next Malfoy during mealtimes anymore, much to the blond's increasing red-faced ire that vaguely resembles a Silenced teakettle on the brink of boiling over. But now they sit at the end of the Slytherin table, which Hadrian has gradually gathered that that's not a good thing, but he doesn't know how to fix it either, and neither Nott nor Zabini seems to mind.

 They also talk to him now, not often, not just in private, and not just about Runes, although that does still take up the majority of their conversation topics, if only because they don't know each other that well yet. But in their dorm or in class or in the library or in the halls, sometimes, Nott would say something completely normal, like whether or not he owns an owl or if he's noticed Snape's increasingly intent attention on him or if he's found the secret passageway connecting the Dungeons to the sixth floor yet because climbing six flights of moving stairs isn't what anyone would call a good time. Zabini on the other hand prefers sharing obscure gossip that even most of Slytherin isn't aware of, sordid little secrets like whose parent has a mistress (or three) on the side that will very likely cause an inheritance problem down the road, who killed a cousin over the summer due to jealousy but has done a decent enough job of covering it up as an accident because said cousin had been the heir apparent, and even who had to go to Pomfrey for an Abortion Charm just last week but will likely have to break her betrothal contract - and consequently have her magic bound, as per the terms of said contract - in the future anyway because there's no hiding the loss of her virginity from the olde family magicks no matter how frantically she searches for a way.

 To the former, Hadrian responds the way he would if Neville or Ron or Hermione were to ask him similar questions. To the latter, he says, "You have serious issues, Zabini."

 Nott never smiles, but his body language is a little less closed off and his eyes look a little less hunted with every random conversation they have. Zabini is almost always smiling, and in response to Hadrian's incredulity, he only laughs like it's the grandest joke he's ever heard.

 They grow on him, is the thing. One's probably abused at home, and the other is honestly half a psychopath already, and Hadrian shouldn't care but he's always had a bit of a soft spot for broken people, people who don't quite fit in no matter how well they fake it, people who remind him of himself. And the war he'd survived had only served to destroy what little compunctions he'd ever had about getting too close to dangerous things.

 So they grow on him, day by day, and half a month in, the other Slytherins apparently can't handle it anymore.

 Hadrian's just coming back from dinner. Nott and Zabini are with him, having joined him once he'd bid Neville, Ron, and Hermione goodnight. They're halfway across the common room when Hadrian catches movement in his peripheral, and he has half a second to decide what to do, to abort the reflex to go for his wand, to cancel the shield ward sparking at his fingertips, to pivot around on the spot and abruptly swing himself right into Nott's personal space, which means Nott immediately puts on the brakes, and - behind him - Zabini has to do the same.

 Hadrian senses more than feels the curse that grazes the back of his robes and splashes against the far wall between a pair of suspiciously empty armchairs in an area that's normally a popular hangout spot. There's no sound, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees the way it oozes a sickly viscous purple that puddles to the ground and eats straight through the carpet before finally evaporating into nothing.

 He doesn't turn his head, doesn't challenge anyone into a duel the way his hands are itching to do. Instead, even before the spell disappears, he's already asking, "Did you copy down the Potions assignment from today? I just remembered I forgot."

 In front of him, Nott's turned three shades whiter, and he's already pale-skinned to begin with, so he obviously recognizes the spell. Zabini clearly does as well if the way he's gone gargoyle-still is anything to go by.

 If they'd continued walking, that curse would've hit Nott right in the ribcage. His left ribcage.

 A beat of silence passes. Then Nott takes a breath and answers in a voice that doesn't waver but is even more inflectionless than usual. "Yes, I wrote it down. I can show you."

 "Cool, thanks, let's go."

 Nobody else speaks, nobody even moves, as Hadrian leads the way back to their dorm.

 Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle aren't back yet so they have the room to themselves. As soon as the door is shut, Nott almost slumps onto his bed, hands shaking. Zabini pulls out his chair to sit, a smile hooked at one corner of his mouth, but absolutely nothing about the rest of him says amusement.

 (Slytherins don't have friends, and Zabini doesn't seem to know how to have friends, but Nott's probably the closest to one that his disposition will ever allow.)

 Hadrian looks from Nott to Zabini and back, and then he asks, "Who was that boy? The one surrounded by that group by the fireplace."

 The one who'd fired the spell. Don't think just because a bunch of students were arranged in front of him that Hadrian had missed the way his arm had moved, the jab of a wand, the blossom of light at its tip before the curse had flown across the room. Did they think he was blind?

 Nott blinks up at him, features still pinched. It's Zabini who answers, soft as silk, "Malcolm Avery, seventh-year."

 Hadrian takes a moment to digest that, to press that face into his memory before filing it away for later. He focuses on his roommates again instead and presses on, "Has this sort of thing happened before?"

 Because even if they're spending time with him, Nott's an old pureblood name, isn't it? And Zabini is Zabini, and everybody's heard of his mother. Even if they're shunned a bit, jeered at a bit, even hexed a bit, any serious assaults should only be aimed at Hadrian, right?

 Well, apparently not. That curse earlier had been a much Darker cousin of the Bone-Vanishing Spell, a variation on the more public-friendly Bone-Breaking Curse. If Hadrian hadn't seen it coming, if he hadn't stopped Nott in time, that thing would've not only shattered the left half of Nott's ribcage but also stabbed the resulting fragments directly into the nearest organs before dissolving into the bloodstream as a lethal poison— in this case, it would've been the heart and a lung. Nott would've been dead in under a minute, drowning in his own blood in extreme pain, and it's a tossup if even Hadrian would've been able to save him.

 Zabini - unsurprisingly - shakes his head. For all that he doesn't have an old bloodline to rooted in Britain, he still has enough family clout to grant him a strong backing. And that's not counting his own means of protecting himself. Hadrian had actually gotten the feeling very early on, from the moment they'd had their first conversation, and he'd only been proven right as they'd gotten to know each other a little better— Zabini has all the best traits of a quintessential Slytherin. And thereby also all of the worst. Magic-wise, Hadrian can overpower him in a second, but that's why Zabini knows not to make an enemy of him, knows how to bend and stretch and profit while he's at it. He doesn't need anyone to protect him.

 Nott on the other hand doesn't reply right away, and when he does, it's an evasive, "Spells like that would be an instant expulsion from Hogwarts, especially coming from a Slytherin, and from a seventh-year, they'd go straight to Azkaban. There are portraits all over the school. I'm not stupid enough to wander into places where there aren't any."

 Hadrian aims a flat look at him. "That's not what I asked."

 Nott purses his lips and stares at his lap. Hadrian waits him out.

 "…They've tried cornering me," Nott finally admits, grudgingly, almost resentfully. "There's no avoiding a couple areas with no portraits. But they never used a curse this Dark before, and I've always been able to slip away."

 Hadrian swallows the first three things he wants to say, to shout, because at his core, he likes to think he has a long fuse, but when someone crosses his line in the sand, his temper has always been explosive and violent, which won't help here.

 Besides, hadn't he more or less told these two to handle the consequences of letting him tutor them on their own? Even if they weren't Slytherins and actually had the mind to reach out for help, they probably wouldn't have come to him after what he'd said, so he has no one to blame but himself and the fact that he'd underestimated just how deep some Slytherins' senseless hatred runs.

 So he breathes through his first instinct, his second, his third, and then he pushes off the desk he'd been leaning on in favour of pulling out parchment and ink and the appropriate books.

 "Alright, come here," He beckons, spreading everything out on his desk. "I'm gonna teach you a Fourfold Rebounder Ward so you can wear it on you from now on. The variation I'm thinking of has a chameleon element, so it'll be both strong enough to deflect a curse on the level of the one from earlier and also camouflage it when it's bounced back at whoever attacked you. It's based off of intent too, so it won't act up in a scuffle or a practice duel or something, the other person has to really want to harm you with deadly intent, so keep your guard up for other stuff, and honestly, this should just be for emergencies, you should still try to dodge it because it's not good to grow overly dependent on stuff like this. I'm confident the runes won't fail when I'm the one making it but your reflexes will get rusty if you get lazy. It's a bit- okay, a lot more difficult than anything you're learning right now, but I'll do most of the work, you just watch and provide the magic at the end, and once your foundation is a bit more stable and we can move ahead to more interesting things, I'll come back to this first so you'll be able to learn how to do this yourselves one day."

 A long silence follows. Hadrian looks up. Neither of his roommates has moved. "What's wrong?"

 Another few seconds tick by. It's Zabini who gets up first, an odd smile on his face, one that Hadrian's never seen before. But all he says is, "Nothing's wrong. I was just hoping if we waited a bit, Malfoy will get back in time to see what we're doing and finally keel over from high blood pressure."

 Hadrian snorts with laughter. "Get over here. If that really happened, we'd be the ones who'd have to waste time carrying him up to the Hospital Wing."

 Zabini's expression says that that wouldn't be his problem but he only smirks and saunters over to Hadrian's desk with his chair. When they both turn to look, Nott is already on his feet as well. He doesn't say anything, but he looks steadier, and he's watching Hadrian with a strange gleam in his eyes that makes them look almost feverish.

 They settle down around him, eager - by Slytherin standards - to learn in a way that reminds Hadrian exactly why he likes to teach.

 He gets to work, explaining each step even though he knows most of it is going over their heads. That's fine though; for now, these wards just need to protect them properly, and in the future, he'll teach them how to protect themselves.

 -0-

 Of course, things aren't over just like that, because Hadrian's temper is an explosive and violent beast, and the only things that's changed from when he was still a teenager is the fact that he's gotten a lot sneakier about it as an adult.

 They aren't friends. But Nott and Zabini are his roommates and his students and kids that he's starting to genuinely care about, and nobody gets to walk away scot-free after fucking with the people under Hadrian's care so long as he's still alive to do something about it.

 Malcolm Avery is seventeen anyway. That's an adult by any magical community's measure, which means Hadrian doesn't have to hold back.

 It takes a week. A week of slipping out after curfew and eavesdropping on conversations, of finding out what the seventh-year's next practical Potions class will be working on and scanning all of Avery's belongings to see what Dark spells he's been mucking about with, and finally of filching Avery's cauldron for an afternoon while he's in class and replacing it before he returns to his dorm.

 When it happens, Hadrian isn't even in school. Even if he were, it wouldn't matter because he'd made sure to time everything just right, and all the fourth-years - and most of the rest of the student body too - are already in the Great Hall waiting for lunch to be served. Seventh-year Potions is in the morning block, and Avery always goes overtime when there's a practical.

 Hadrian isn't even in school, sitting his Ancient Runes exams at the Ministry all day instead, but he certainly hears all about it when he gets back that evening.

 A few minutes before noon, a silver doe Patronus comes bounding up from the dungeons with an urgent summons for Pomfrey, Dumbledore, and McGonagall. Nobody hears what is said, but the three staff members rush off even as the food begins to appear, and nobody hears from them again until half an hour later when whispers start going around about Healers from St. Mungo's being called and one Malcolm Avery being carried out the front doors on a stretcher because his condition is too unstable to be transported through the Floo. The professors don't really tell them anything except that there was a Potions accident, but - as these things do because the rumour mill at Hogwarts is healthier than ever, and there'd still been a few other seventh-years in class with Avery at the time - everyone more or less knows what happened anyway by the time afternoon classes start. Potions is cancelled for the rest of the day, because no one else was injured but Snape was too busy furiously documenting what had happened after running multiple diagnostic spells over the remains of Avery's cauldron to teach. Also, he has to submit said documentation and a Pensieve memory to the Aurors investigating the accident, which doesn't exactly say great things about his mood, so nobody's unhappy about being able to give Potions a miss.

 Apparently, Avery had been using his cauldron to make other potions - banned potions - in his dorm room. His roommates had been willing enough to keep mum and even give him a hand, and the book he'd been learning from had been found in his trunk. Thankfully, he hadn't managed to make anything too terrible yet, and his failed attempts hadn't managed to kill anyone, but he also hadn't cleaned his cauldron properly, and so there'd been a mess of residue potion and Dark magic clinging to the metal. Coincidentally, it had ended up reacting quite badly to the potion that the seventh-years were to work on that day, and the end result was a magnificent explosion that Snape had barely managed to protect himself and the other students from in the nick of time. There'd been no helping Avery who'd been standing right next to the unholy concoction.

 In the aftermath, the explosion had caused bad enough burns to disfigure Avery, but time and Healers would fix most if not all of that. Far more serious had been the potion damage to his body— the liquid had seeped right through his skin and disintegrated the majority of his left ribcage, and then it had gone on to chew even further, straight into his heart and left lung, an insidious venom that had dissolved into his bloodstream and sent him into convulsions that had wrung scream after agonized scream out of him until Pomfrey had deemed it safe enough to knock him out, although even then, his body wouldn't stop seizing from the pain.

 He'd still been alive when he'd been rushed out of the castle. Word has it that he's still alive now in St. Mungo's, except the Healers have no idea how to even begin treating him. Mixing multiple failed attempts at Dark potions, most of which even Avery's own roommates couldn't list all the names of or in which order he'd made them, together with one N.E.W.T.-level potion but in an explosion that had caused the maximum amount of entropy in the magic imbued into it— Merlin himself wouldn't be able to fix it with just a wave of his wand.

 By dinnertime, everybody is talking about it, and the professors have given up trying to stop them.

 (In truth, the outcome probably wouldn't have been quite so serious if Hadrian hadn't added a spell to amplify the toxicity and volatility of the residue in the cauldron, as well as several looping single-use runes to hide the volcanic buildup and also bind the whole thing to Avery alone so that it wouldn't have hurt anyone else even if Snape hadn't reacted in time. Without Hadrian's interference, it would've still exploded sooner or later, but Snape might've seen the danger signs in time to evacuate everyone from the classroom, and even if he didn't, the effects of the potion on Avery probably wouldn't have been so terrible.

 But then, that wouldn't have been enough. After all, lessons like these should stick.

 Avery will live, but he sure won't enjoy it.)

 It's almost ten by the time Hadrian gets back to the Slytherin Dungeon. Snape drops him off at the entrance before sweeping off to his own office in a dramatic billow of irritably flapping robes. He'd been at the Ministry for half the day just to piece together what had happened for them, but as Hadrian had ensured, the Potions master had been cleared of any negligence in the matter. The potion had very obviously shown no signs of exploding - three other experts had verified - and students are expected to take care of their own cauldrons from third-year onwards without the professor having to do weekly checks. Snape had been released by dinnertime, but he'd apparently decided to simply eat in the Ministry cafeteria and return with his student and Babbling, so here they are.

 Except-

 Just before Snape makes to leave, he turns and pins Hadrian with a long appraising look, clinical and penetrating. Hadrian stares back serenely, and maybe the fact that his mind is a steel trap wrapped around a battlefield would be highly suspect to anyone looking in, but he also doesn't feel so much as a brush of Legilimency from Snape whatsoever. The professor really is just looking at him.

 It's a strange new world.

 In the end, Snape doesn't say anything before walking off, and Hadrian is left to blink after him before letting himself into the common room.

 Everything goes eerily silent the moment everyone realizes he's back. Even if he hadn't said anything, someone - let's be real, it's Malfoy - had spread the news of Hadrian taking his Ancient Runes exams early, so pretty much everyone had known where he'd gone today. It was never a secret though so Hadrian hadn't cared, except when he steps into the room, it's very obvious that everybody is focused on him, and just as obvious that nobody is willing to make eye-contact with him.

 The younger students should've already retired for the night. At least everybody still in the common room, studying or playing chess or chatting with each other like any standard evening, are fifth-years and up, so most of these students had probably known - or had been told after the fact - exactly what that curse would've done to Theo Nott that day, and exactly who had been the one to attack him.

 And everybody knows what had happened to Avery today. More specifically, they know that what had happened to him today had been an almost perfect mirror of what he'd wanted to do to Nott one week ago. Nobody here believes in coincidences, and there's only so many people who would've had the motivation to orchestrate the entire accident down to the smallest detail.

 Most of them have known Nott and Zabini for at least a few years. Perhaps they're not on speaking terms, but they'd still been Housemates for a while. Something like this isn't really Nott's style, and while it is Zabini's, neither of them has the ability.

 The only real unknown is Hadrian Evans, and if they still can't put the pieces together at this point, they might as well sell their brains.

 The area by the fireplace, normally always occupied by Avery's group at this time, is empty today. Avery's at St. Mungo's, his roommates are in overnight lockup at the Ministry, and any who aren't but were part of Avery's faction are probably hiding up in their rooms. Nobody else has taken their seats, not even the students who usually do when Avery hasn't claimed it for the day.

 Hadrian walks towards the doorway leading to the boys' dormitory, and no one stops him. It feels like the entire room is holding their breaths. Nobody speaks. Nobody even moves until Hadrian is out of earshot.

 The dorm is likewise very quiet when Hadrian enters. Malfoy's bed curtains are already drawn, as are Crabbe's and Goyle's, but Zabini's are open, and he's lazing against the headboard with a book in his hands while Nott is still at his desk doing homework.

 They both look up as soon as the door swings open. Zabini stays on his bed but Nott even stands up as Hadrian shuts the door behind him. His whole frame is tense with a restless sort of energy, and he's staring at Hadrian with shining eyes. They both are, although in different ways. Zabini looks equal parts ecstatic and hungry, while Nott just looks the kind of deeply confused and deeply grateful that makes Hadrian want to set fire to someone, preferably whoever stitched this very expression into Nott's range of emotions out of the pieces they'd torn from him.

 Nobody says anything right away. Hadrian squints at them as he makes his way to his own bed, feeling vaguely perturbed, because he hadn't truly expected them to not connect what happened to Avery back to him, but he hadn't thought they would be so fixated on it either. Maybe a roundabout tactful thank-you from Nott, an offer of a favour at most. But not… this, whatever this is.

 He laments the fact that these two aren't more stupid when it comes to this sort of thing. Ron would be oblivious. Hermione would be determinedly oblivious. Neville… would actually react a bit like Nott, Ginny would react a lot like Zabini, Luna wouldn't react at all but she'd be extra cuddly for a few days, and gods, Hadrian needs saner friends.

 Not that these two are friends of course.

 He manages to get through a shower, brush his teeth, and climb into a bed before Nott is suddenly at his side, eyes still shining with something Hadrian really doesn't want to put a name to. Thankfully, he doesn't burst into any heartfelt speeches that would probably embarrass everyone within hearing range. Not so thankfully, he honest-to-fucking-Merlin bows, all archaic and meaningful in every way Hadrian has never learned and so doesn't understand, but even he can sense the weight and deference behind every word as Nott murmurs, "All of mine is yours, until the end of days. I would be honoured if you would call me Theo."

 "Jesus fucking Christ," Hadrian mutters, because sometimes wizarding swears just don't have enough oomph to encompass the never-ending circus trainwreck that is his life. He scrubs a hand over his face, peeks at Nott - at Theo - who's still halfway bent over, and of course, it's just his luck that he has no idea how to respond in the proper pureblood way.

 He would've preferred the heartfelt speech.

 "I'm a halfblood, I don't know how to respond appropriately," He says bluntly because he doesn't know what else to do. But he also flicks a Silencing Ward at Malfoy's bed, then at Crabbe's and Goyle's as well because you can never be too careful, and then he leans over and hauls Theo upright and catches his gaze and holds it, "I'll call you Theo if you call me Hadrian. One day, you'll be strong enough to take care of your enemies on your own, and you won't need anyone else to do it for you if you don't want them to, but until then, if all of you is mine, then your enemies are too, so I'll deal with them if it turns out that they still haven't learned after today. That makes us allies from now on though, which means we're equals, and that means you never, ever bow to anyone again. Not me, and not anybody else either. Understand?"

 Theo stares again, wide-eyed and lost and so terribly young, and sometimes, Hadrian wonders what it says about just how messed up the world is when broken kids can be bought so easily.

 Finally, almost dazedly, Theo gives some semblance of a nod.

 "Hadrian," He says, and something about him straightens, grows steel, settles.

 "Hadrian," He repeats and dips his head, not a bow, but respectful all the same, and his eyes are still bright with that unnamed creature, but at least he looks at Hadrian head-on. "Thank you. Goodnight."

 Hadrian sighs and figures that this is about the best he's going to get tonight. Maybe it'll dial back to normal in a few days. "Goodnight, Theo."

 Theo smiles, tiny, crooked, a little awkward. It's the first one Hadrian has ever seen from him, and that at least he can't be upset about.

 They can finally go to sleep though. Theo returns to his own bed, Zabini is still watching them both from his bed like they're his new favourite show, and Hadrian resolutely pretends he doesn't see anything else as he takes down the Silencing Wards before drawing his curtains, rolling over, and promptly making a sincere attempt at smothering himself with a pillow.

 His life.

-0-0-0-

End Notes: Ok wow so this got hella long and I didn't really get to all the stuff anon wanted whoops. Theo just… wouldn't stop thinking lmao, and also this AU has the potential to get so big so I ended up cramming in worldbuilding wherever I could. So unfortunately all you get is sort of a starting snapshot of where this is going and how Hadrian is going to turn out and a shitload of Theo's character. I kind of wanted to do him and Blaise's POV but I could only fit Theo, and I feel like getting Blaise through Theo's POV actually added to his character just as much as a personal POV would've. Anyway, those two are basically blank slates in canon so ofc I would pick them to write lolol.

[iphoenixrising]

(6am / Prime Girl back with a hit of randomness hehe)

hi babe!! It’s been a long time since I’ve been around ;; I’m sorry about that! I saw your recent post about some health and family things that have been happening, and I am absolutely heartbroken for you. I really really hope that you’re doing well, and that you and kiddo’s year will be able to finish off well!!!<3 ;;

I’m actually back around bc I thought about you when I was driving home from work today and!!! I just really really wanted to come and tell you how much I look up to you as an author and how much you’ve inspired me even after these years since I first found your beautiful works ><

the way you write about emotion and intimacy and how it interweaves in so many different ways is something I think about every time I write something - I always think about the emotions you made me feel with your writing and how wonderful your works are I also post fics on AO3 now, but it’s particularly my ABO fic I wanted to mention to you because I’ve had multiple comments being like ‘I didn’t like abo before this’ or ‘some other fics I read were weird but this one made me give the genre a chance’ and in my head I’m always like OMG THATS HOW I WAS WITH WINTER BABE!! it makes me so SO incredibly happy and I’m always thinking about and am so grateful that you and your wonderful works literally changed not just the genre for me forever and made me ADORE the concept, but showed me that it can relate to love and yearning and intimacy in such incredible ways ㅠㅠ (I also get tons of comments abt people begging for mercy bc they cry every chapter but that’s not the point LOL)

Thank you so so much for being such an amazing author that not only produces beautiful works, but that has always interacted with me so kindly ㅠㅠ I was going through a lot of things when I was reading your works and they always brought me so much comfort (they still do btw!) and really showed me a way of writing that let me escape from my world for a bit and would have me in tears at 6am ><

Anyways, my life is surprisingly busy nowadays and I know yours is too, but I just wanted you to know that this blog will always hold such a special place in my heart and you inspire me always!!! much much love to you and to kiddo! I am seriously wishing you guys all the best, and I’ll try to be around a little sooner than this next time! 🥺

(p.s. IM SO SO SO SO INCREDIBLY HAPPY YOU LIKED THE CEO TIM PROMPT I WAS GIGGLING KICKING MY FEET ECSTATIC THAT YOU ENJOYED MY TAKE ON IT KDNDKDNSKSNKDNDKSMSKSJSK AND YOUR THOUGHTS???? JUST ABSOLUTELY AMAZING AS ALWAYS???? YOUR BRAIN IS AMAZING ISTG I WAS DEAD AND IM JUST SO HAPPY YOU LIKED IT ><)

BABE. Babe <3 I'm so happy to hear you're writing things and it helps you with everyday life. Oh I'm just so, so happy for you. I've missed you as well and everyone else in the Tim Drake fandom, but the fact you're putting works out on Ao3?? You're writing wonderful things?? You're making people cry because you've pulled them out of themselves to feel things?? This is wonderful babe! This is the best news EVER! I'm so proud of you I can't even stand it. Writing is so hard and it can hurt so much to put things out there to people, and you are so, so brave and amazing to find your way. I'm thankful you've found the strength within yourself to do daring things.

Babe. Congratulation.

Send me links, I beg! I beg. I will read ALL THE THINGS AOB.

I still read the fuck out of fanfics but I've moved into BL (my fandom blog is a mess because I love too many of them) instead of DC, but releasing my fics back into the wild might have spurned something, might have brought back the muse a bit, so I might try to give it another go! I've got some very important chapters to things I promised people and maybe it's time I keep those promises. (Because @satire-please deserve a final ending to Dr!Tim).

I even went on the Capes and Coffee Discord just to talk out some ideas and that's a pretty big step to be honest.

But, even tho life is busy and you're moving into new, exciting things and people are rightfully in love with your fics and your brain, I will always have a spot for you here. You can always come back to me and read or talk out ideas or tell me how life is going. I adore you and hope only great things in your journey <3

(YOUR IDEAS ALWAYS INSPIRE I SWEAR I LOVE THEM ALL SO MUCH BECAUSE THIS THING WAS EASY TO WRITE AT THE TIME AND I STILL FEEL LIKE I COULD FLESH IT OUT MORE SOME DAY)

[specialagentlokitty]

Master chief x male!reader - what you make me feel

Hi!👋 Would you be able to write a Master Chief x male reader fic with this prompt "I'm scared to tell you how I really feel, but I think you need to know." Where the reader says it? You don't have to if you don't want to😊 Thank you very much - Anon💜

You had loved every moment of your job, you loved the friends you had made along the way, and some of the beautiful sights you had seen.

If you had to pick a certain thing you enjoyed the most, it would have to be your late night walks.

It may have sounded strange to anybody, but it wasn’t so much the fact of walking that you enjoyed, though everybody did enjoy a good walk.

It was the company you had on the walk that you enjoyed.

Tonight was no different, usually between a particular dangerous mission you would walk around, you wouldn’t be able to sleep, you’d just spend a lot of time thinking about what could happen.

“You’re very quiet tonight.”

You flicked your gaze up to the man beside you, and you smiled a little bit.

“I guess I’m just thinking. I usually do before a big mission, but I’ve never been on one with you guys before. Most of my missions are usually Spartan free.”

John nodded his head.

“You have nothing to worry about.”

“I’ll always worry before a mission. I’ll worry about my squad, you know? Like if something happened to them, and my mom if something happened to me.”

“I see. You send your mother letters every time, correct?”

You smiled brightly at him, turning around to walk backwards.

“Oh yeah, I mean I send her letters all the time but before a mission I always make sure I’ve got a letter written for her. Each time I come back I bin it and write a new one the next time.”

“What do you write in them?”

“Well, I tell her about what I’ve been up to, what I’m allowed to tell her anyway. I’ll tell her about the books I’ve read, and I’ll always remind her that I still play that song she loves on guitar so when I go home I can play it for her again.”

John nodded his head.

“Is that the song you are always playing?”

“Yeah, she fucking loves it, I don’t know why, but it makes her happy so I don’t mind it really. Oh! And she sent me some of those books you were asking for, they’ll be here next week.”

“Tell her I said thank you. I will return them when I’m finished.”

You laughed and shook your head.

“No, John, they’re yours. You can keep them, she got them for you. And a sweater since it’s coming up to winter, she actually sent all the Spartans one so you won’t get cold.”

John rose a questions brow at you, placing his hand on your shoulder so he could guide you around the corner before he let go.

“She’s a little old woman John, let her have this.”

“Well tell her thank you.”

You beamed brightly at him, turning back around so you could carry on looking where you were walking.

“Do you ever get nervous before a mission?” You asked.

“No, why would I?”

“I guess it’s just that thought knowing that we could die at any given point. I mean I know we can anyway, but know I could die out there it’s kind of scary.”

“Why do you keep going?”

“For my mom, for the dream I had as a little boy to explore space.”

John nodded his head, glancing down at you.

“May I ask you something?” He asked.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“I would like to join you for your holidays again this year, is that okay? I found last year to be rather interesting, I would like to see that again.”

You grinned brightly.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Thank you, will I have to wear that paper hat again?”

“My mom loves the whole Christmas aesthetic, you’re definitely going to be wearing the paper hate and an ugly Christmas sweater which will be the most uncomfortable fabric you’ve ever worn.”

He nodded his head.

“What did you write in your letter for your mother this year?”

“Well, I told her about some projects I’ve been working on, again about that song she loves, I also told her about my pay rise, and the fact I’ve fallen in love with somebody, since she asks every single time we speak.”

“Oh?”

You smiled a little to yourself.

“Yeah, I’ve not said anything yet though. I don’t know if it’s too soon, so I thought I’d wait until after the mission, then say something.”

“Would it not make more sense to say something beforehand?”

“Maybe, but I don’t want the worry of what this person will while I’m out there, I can’t be distracted.”

You stopped by the door of your quarters, and you grinned up at him.

“Anyways, I’m going to try sleep. Later John.”

“Goodnight.”

John made his way back down the hallway while you went to try and get some sleep before the mission.

In the morning you pulled your uniform on, made sure to leave the letter neatly on your desk in case anything happened to you.

Pulling your helmet on you joined your squad to get the mission started.

Everything seemed to be going well, so far you had all managed to stick to your schedule, everything going as planned.

Of course that’s when things had to go wrong, the Coventry got the jump on you.

You all began taking heavy fire, and you were hiding behind some buildings, barking out orders to your squad while John was doing the same thing next to you.

“Focus on the evacuation, we’ll handle the Coventry.” He said.

You nodded your head, patting your hand on the stomach of his armour.

“Be safe.”

With that, you jogged away behind some buildings to help your people evacuate the citizens to the safe zone so they could be taken away.

You had already taken a couple of trips when you heard the cries from some people stuck in a building.

Looking around, you found the small back door had been covered by fallen debris and you rushed over, trying to pry them apart but you couldn’t.

You pressed the comm on your vest.

“I need one of the Spartans, Cortana send my location to them.”

You carried on trying to get the large rock aside, and a minute later there was somebody next to you to help.

John easily moved the rock aside, and you ushered everybody away to a few of your squad.

“I’ll check inside.”

“Be quick.” John said.

You nodded, making your way inside, gun raised as you carried on looking through the rooms one by one.

The ground shook a little and you paused, then you carried on going, and it shook a lot more.

“Let’s go!” John called.

“On my way!”

You jogged back down the stairs, back towards the back door where John was waiting for you, and another tremble shook the ground, this time knocking you over, cracks filled the walls, and before you could roll over there was debris falling everywhere.

“(Y/N)!”

John ran inside, debris bouncing off his armour.

He crouched over you, and you breathed shakily.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

You slowly nodded your head, and you brushed some of the dust from your face.

“I think I just saw my life flash before my eyes…”

The trembling finally stopped and he slowly stood up, carefully not to drop any of the debris on you.

John held his hand out, and you let him help pull you up.

“We need to go.”

“Yeah, let’s move.” You replied.

Both of you made your way out, and you looked around before making your way to the safe zone.

“You know, I think I realised something back there…” you mumbled.

John glanced down at you, then back to where he was looking.

“What’s that?” He asked.

You made sure you comma were turned off, gesturing for him to do the same thing which he did.

"I'm scared to tell you how I really feel, but I think you need to know."

John froze for a second before he carried on walking.

“I love you, I get you might not know anything about that, or what to do or say or whatever and that’s cool, you don’t have to know. I.. I just thought I should put it out there.” You said quietly.

John didn’t reply, and you sighed a little bit.

“Evacuation is complete, let’s go, now.” John ordered.

Everybody filed into their respective aircraft’s, and you did the same thing, standing at the doors as they went up.

You stumbled back a little bit.

“Cap, you good?” Someone asked.

You nodded your head, and you went to run your hand up and down your side, when you stopped, finding that your uniform was soaked.

You pulled your hand away, seeing the red on your skin.

“Oh for shit sake..”

You stumbled back again, two of your men catching you, and they lowered you to the ground slowly putting pressure on your wound.

“There’s some metal in there.” One of the guys said.

“We’ll do that we can until we’re back, just hang in there cap.” The other said quietly.

You slowly nodded your head, trying to focus on your breathing and not the pain that was slowly washing over you.

Your men did whatever they could there and then, they took your vest off, cut your shirt, they tried to get a better view of the wound but it wasn’t safe to remove the metal.

Instead, then focused on packing the wound to trying and stop you from bleeding out, trying to keep you awake, but you were slowly fading.

They didn’t know much blood you had lost.

“He’s got internal bleeding, we need to go, now!” One of them snapped.

“We’re nearly there!” Another called.

One of the guys gently slapped your face, and you groaned a little, turning your head away from him.

“Come on cap, I know you’ve got a little more fight in you.” He said.

You mumbled something he couldn’t understand, and he wiped the blood from the corner of your mouth on his sleeve.

“We’re gonna get you home and you’ll be alright…”

The aircraft landed, and a team of medics were waiting nearby, as well as the Spartans who were waiting to take over to take the civilians somewhere safe.

Your squad helped you on to a stretcher, and the medics rushed you down with your squad following close behind.

John was walking back with the admiral when he saw the stretcher rushing past, and he caught a glimpse of your face before you were rushed away.

“You’ll be of no use while he is in surgery.” The admiral said, “take them to the agreed upon location then come back.”

John slowly nodded his head, pulling his helmet back on, a sense of urgency in his step as he rushed to aircraft.

He needed to get there and back as soon as possible, he was beating himself up over it, how hadn’t he noticed? How did he miss that? How did cortana miss that?

He felt responsible for the condition you were in, maybe if he was quicker, maybe if he’d noticed sooner he could’ve done something about it, he could’ve helped you

[likecastle]

another ronance smut prompt for you if you’d like to write it! no pressure if not!!

but literally just robin with a strap

OK, this one's sort of a cheat, because a while back, @crushcandles sent me an ask about exploring the D/s dynamic in Ronance, and I started working on a PWP that did just that, which happened to involve Robin wearing a strap. Then couldn't quite decide how to finish it, and I kind of lost steam. So when I got this ask, I decided to use it as an opportunity to finish that fic. Two birds with one stone, I guess? Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Explicit sex behind the cut. Strap-on sex, including a woman's strap-on being referred to as her "cock." A little bit of reflection on gender and biphobia. D/s, orgasm denial or at least control to some extent, overstimulation. I dunno, there's a lot of sex in this one.

By the time Nancy climbs on top of her, Robin is already desperate. The slide of Nancy’s thighs as she sinks down onto Robin’s strap is smooth as silk, and her weight, slight though she is, adds a tantalizing pressure as the base of the toy pushes against her.

Robin lets go of the strap as Nancy settles herself, circling her hips experimentally with a gratified sigh. Before Robin can even roll her hips, Nancy is lifting up again and sliding back down, fucking herself on Robin’s cock.

There was a time, once, when Robin might have hesitated to call it that. She’s known her share of women who don’t think of things that way, who might, even, consider such a turn of phrase a sort of betrayal. She’s known plenty of women, too, who would be insecure if their girlfriend—especially a girlfriend who used to date men, who was maybe a little too eager to see Eyes Wide Shut because she still hasn’t gotten over her adolescent crush on Tom Cruise—liked getting fucked this way, but Robin loves it.

She loves looking up at Nancy above her, at her small, soft breasts bouncing as she rides Robin’s cock. She loves, too, the way she can put her hands on Nancy’s hips and feel her moving, see her muscles flex under her pale skin. The sight of Nancy slipping a slender hand through her dark thatch of pubic hair to touch her clit is one Robin thinks she could watch forever. She loves how she can feel it when Nancy is about to come, her thighs starting to tremble as she bears down on the pleasure pooling in her hips. Nancy’s curls fall wild around her when she throws her head back, and Robin would have to be an idiot to pass on such a luxury, to say nothing of the lean column of her neck, her wet and parting lips. And perhaps most of all, she loves feeling Nancy use her for her own gratification, the way she won’t stop until she’s satisfied and there’s nothing Robin can do but keep giving it to her.

Still shivering from her orgasm, breath hectic in her chest, Nancy leans down to capture Robin’s lips in a kiss. “You feel so good inside me,” she says. “If you fuck me just right, sweetheart, maybe I’ll let you come, too.”

A moan punches out of Robin, her cunt clenching hard between her legs. Nancy licks into Robin’s open mouth, a teasing flick of her tongue that makes Robin’s hips buck. Nancy is so wicked like this, all cruel mischief and selfish self-gratification—dangling what Robin wants right in front of her, always holding it just out of reach.

“Do you want to come tonight?” Nancy murmurs, lips still close enough that Robin can almost taste another kiss.

Robin groans and nods her head.

Nancy draws back enough so that Robin can see her smirk. “Do you think you can do it?” She circles her hips again to remind Robin of the pressure of the strap—close to her clit but not quite near enough to get her off. “Can you fuck me well enough to earn it?”

“Uh-huh,” Robin moans, so desperate for her—to make her happy, to make her come, to take whatever Nancy will give her.

“All right, then,” Nancy says. She leans in close, so that their bodies are almost flush, and presses Robin’s wrists to the mattress, which sends a hot flush of need through Robin from scalp to toes. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The rhythm Nancy sets this time is punishingly fast, fucking herself on Robin’s cock as quick as she can. Robin rises to meet her, snapping her hips hard enough to make Nancy cry out. Robin is drenched in sweat within moments, the muscles in her belly shaking with the effort of keeping up with Nancy’s pace. But, god, the sight of her when Robin fucks her is worth it. Even if Nancy decides she doesn’t deserve to come tonight, it’ll be everything Robin needs just to watch her like this. She’s so serious, chasing her orgasm like she pursues anything she wants—recklessly, relentlessly, without hesitation. And the stunned pleasure that breaks across her face as Robin grinds her cock into her just right is so gratifying. Robin did that to her. Robin can give her what she needs.

Robin wants to get her hands on Nancy, but Nancy’s grip is firm on Robin’s wrists. The moment she tries to lift an arm, Nancy redoubles the pressure against the mattress. “Don’t you want to be good for me?”

The question makes Robin groan, cunt clenching between her braced legs. She does want to be good for Nancy, always, always, but, god, she also wants to come.

“Tell me,” Nancy says, rocking herself rough and shallow to meet Robin’s thrusts. “Tell me what you want.”

Right now, it’s all Robin can do to breathe. Talking—let alone in full sentences—feels like asking too much. But it’s Nancy who’s asking, so she tries to focus. “Wanna fuck you till you can’t stop coming.” She’s not even sure that makes sense, but Nancy moans above her and kisses her encouragingly.

“What else?” she gasps.

Robin can tell from the breathless note in Nancy’s voice that she’s close again. She’s letting the close clench of their bodies help her along, rubbing herself off against Robin’s hips, and it makes Robin weak to feel Nancy using her like that. Robin likes to be of use.

“What else,” Nancy asks sharply, and, fuck, Robin was supposed to be talking.

“Wanna make you come,” she hurries to say, tongue-tied with lust. “Wanna give you what you want, all of it, till you can’t take it anymore. Wanna taste it on you, how good you feel, how well I made you come.”

Nancy comes with a shout, the way she used to be self-conscious about, and Robin loves it, loves her loud and unrestrained, loves the wild tremor that shakes her so hard she dislodges herself from the strap. She keeps rocking, though, pressing her hips against Robin’s leg, her belly until her orgasm finally recedes.

“Oh, fuck,” Nancy says, when she finally catches her breath. She lets up her grip on Robin’s wrists and immediately Robin wraps her arms around Nancy’s waist, holding her close. “That was so good,” she says, catching Robin’s lips for another kiss. “You were so good for me.”

Robin whines against her, and then gasps as Nancy’s thigh catches her dripping cunt.

“Is that what you want?” Nancy asks, pressing harder so that Robin quakes. It’s not going to take much to get her off. If Nancy just stays where she is, Robin’s pretty sure she can get enough friction to tip herself over the edge.

“Nance, please,” she begs. Nancy likes it when she does that.

“Is it?” Too late, Robin hears the mischief in Nancy’s voice. “Because I thought you said you wanted to taste me.”

Nancy slips her thigh from between Robin’s legs and Robin lets her head drop back on the pillow in despair.

“Well?” Nancy asks, impatiently, though she’s smiling down at Robin with that wicked smirk of hers.

“I do,” Robin croaks.

“Do you want it more than you want to come? You can only have one.”

The ultimatum makes Robin’s hips jerk, and she thrashes her head on the pillow for a moment, because it’s either that or come unraveled.

“Which do you want more?” Nancy asks, and as she speaks, she reaches down to take hold of the strap, which is still slick from inside her. She pumps her fist up and down, and this time the angle is just right so the base of the strap rubs against Robin’s clit.

Robin’s toes clench, and her thighs strain to lift her hips into the pressure. She could come like this, she can feel it, Nancy jerking her off with slow, steady pulls to her cock.

“Is all you care about getting off,” Nancy continues, in that deliciously judgmental tone of hers, “or do you want to do what you promised you would do and eat me out?”

Robin groans, pushing her hips up into the sweet pressure of the strap one last time before she says, “I wanna taste you.”

“Good girl,” Nancy says, and lets go of the strap. It bobs, forgotten, as Nancy climbs up Robin’s body to straddle her face.

Robin moans into the dark between Nancy’s thighs. She’s so wet against Robin’s tongue, the taste of her so rich and thick. It doesn’t matter if Robin never gets to come again, she thinks feverishly, not if she gets to do this for Nancy. She’d wait forever, it Nancy asked her to.

“Hands on my thighs,” Nancy says in a warning tone. “I don’t want you trying to touch yourself while I can’t see.”

Robin wouldn’t, but she puts her hands on Nancy’s thighs anyway. She loves the flex of Nancy’s muscles under her fingers, the way it lets her pull her in closer. Nancy rides her face fast, fingers working furiously on her overstimulated clit. Robin’s head spins, her hips rocking in time with Nancy’s, her forgotten cunt throbbing below her bouncing cock.

It doesn’t take long before Nancy’s coming on Robin’s tongue, her thighs shaking against Robin’s ears. Even once she’s come, Nancy keeps rubbing her clit, drawing her pleasure out a little longer. Robin revels in the knowledge that Nancy is as loathe to let this end as she is.

When at last she climbs off Robin’s face, Robin shivers at the sudden chill of the cool air meeting the spit and slick that’s smeared across her face and throat. It makes her feel filthy in the most delicious way, debauched for Nancy’s eyes only. She closes her eyes and breathes in Nancy’s heady scent, licks Nancy’s wetness from her lips. She loves being covered in her, loves the thought of waking up tomorrow and still being able to smell traces of Nancy on her skin.

“I love seeing you this way,” Nancy says from somewhere too far away. “And you love it, too, don’t you?”

Dazed with desire, too exhausted to give a coherent answer, Robin nods.

“Do you want to show me?”

Curious, Robin cracks her eyes open to find Nancy sitting down by her feet, watching her fondly. “Hm?” she manages to ask.

Nancy smiles, and runs a hand up Robin’s leg. Even just that light touch feels exquisite, in the state Robin’s in, makes her tremble with a much more intimate touch might. “Do you want to show me how good I make you feel?”

Of course Robin wants to, she wants to give Nancy everything she can, but she doesn’t really understand what Nancy is asking her to do. The trailing touch of Nancy’s fingers on her calf is so good, she almost wants to cry. When she tries to ask, all that comes out is a whine.

“Will you make yourself come for me, sweetheart?” Nancy asks, more pointedly. “Can you do that?”

Robin blinks, head spinning. “But . . . ?”

Nancy leans down and drops a delicate kiss on the side of Robin’s knee. “I changed my mind,” she says. “You were so good for me, I think you deserve it. But you’re going to have to do it yourself.”

Robin wants to sob. She wants to come, has been desperate for it all night, but she’s so tired now that all she can think about is curling up beside Nancy and falling asleep.

“Can you do that for me?” Nancy asks, almost wheedling.

Robin nods. With stiff fingers, she loosens the harness just enough that the strap slaps against her thigh. When she slips her hand between her legs, she can’t help but moans at how wet she is. Her vulva is sensitive from the pressure of the strap, but the ache is good.

“Legs open,” Nancy insists. “I want to see you.”

Her thighs burn as she draws her legs up and out, exposing the hot core of herself to the open air. She can feel Nancy looking at her, and that’s almost as good as a touch. She imagines it like a wave lapping against her as she rubs her clit.

“You’re so wet for me,” Nancy says admiringly. “I don’t think it’ll take you long to come, at all.”

Robin quickens her pace, wanting that to be true.

“You were so good for me tonight,” Nancy says, and Robin shakes. “Only thinking about what I needed, always putting me first. You fuck me so well, sweetheart, you’re so good to me.”

Robin feels herself flush all over, her legs shaking. “Nancy,” she gasps. “Please.”

“Are you going to come?”

Her hips are shaking, her breath frantic in her chest, but she can’t feel it, the closing of that circle inside her that means she’s close. She whines urgently, tossing her head against the pillow. She pressed harder against her clit, willing her aching arm to move faster, fuck herself better. Nancy wants her to come, she has to give it to her.

“What if I told you to stop?” Nancy asks abruptly.

It takes her a moment to understand what Nancy’s asking, but the moment she does, she takes her hands off herself and lies there trembling.

“You’d stop just like that?” Nancy asks. “Go to bed right now and not touch yourself again until I said you could?”

“Anything,” Robin breathes, not even knowing what she means. “Anything, anything, please, just make me.”

Nancy must take pity on her then, because the next moment, there’s a shifting weight on the mattress, and two fingers slip inside her. She cries out, writhing as Nancy fucks her. She tries to raise her hips to rock back into Nancy’s touch, but at this point it’s all she can do to brace herself for it, let it happen.

Nancy fucks her rough and insistent and Robin can feel herself unraveling, the circle inside her tightening at last. The shaking in her is beyond her control, and when Nancy crooks her fingers inside her, crooning to her, calling Robin her sweet girl and telling her how good she’s been, how of course she deserves this, Robin cries out and comes so hard her calf cramps.

“Sweetheart,” Nancy murmurs as she eases Robin down onto the sweat-damp mattress.

She’s crying, she realizes, in amidst her sobbing breaths. “Love you,” she gasps. It feels essential to say it right now. It’s maybe the only thing she knows in this moment, when her whole body is pushed to its limit. She wraps her trembling arms around Nancy’s neck.

Nancy holds her close until she’s still again, and then a little longer after that.

[goldenglock-preacher]

Since you were looking for short goldenglock ideas...

Grisha notices that John is like...severely depressed today. More than usual. He starts trying anything to cheer him up, just throwing himself at John in every way possible, cuddling with him, babbling on and on about nothing to keep him entertained, etc. Until eventually he resorts to telling John outright how much he cares about him, and that's the one thing that seems to get through.

(No pressure, idk if you take writing prompts!)

Omg thank you and yes please send me all the prompts you can come up with I will take every opportunity to write about these fuckers and not worry about the main fics plot progression. That post was basically asking for prompts.

Things take place after the 4th movie so John cuts ties with everyone and is in Grisha’s circle “full-time”, living with him. Decided to make it take place in a longer span than a day because Grisha is way too dumb to find a solution that quickly. 

Idk how we got here but now there’s also insomnia??

“I worry about you.”

John is hands down the calmest person in Grisha’s circle. Nobody has the same amount of emotional control, which often made him the supportive rock involuntarily. This group full of relationship drama and misunderstandings would just gravitate towards him, like a voice of reason, even though he wasn’t the best at giving advice. 

Being able to make him smile was Grisha’s biggest accomplishment but recently…he just couldn’t manage to do it. Everything that worked before just suddenly stopped and he would see John get lost in his own mind more than usual. 

- John, listen, something bit Volodya in the ass and now he’s throwing an absolute shitstorm my way, so we have to leave in like-

- I’ll stay.

Grisha’s thoughts break off, as he tries to put on his leather jacket in a haste.

- Are you…sure?

It might sound silly but this was somehow the thing that triggered Grisha’s alarm. Nearly every time Grisha tells John about his plans, the man is already at the door. He doesn’t always end up being useful but he still finds these little adventures entertaining enough to join in even on the most mundane tasks. They were basically inseparable. 

- Yeah…

Grisha would have stayed, if the phone wasn’t aggressively vibrating in his pocket right now.

- Okay then…see you for dinner?

John nods.

God, it felt weird saying that. 

****

He felt bad being out of the house for so long and when he came back, he expected to see John asleep at this point…but he wasn’t. He was laying on the couch, staring at the blank TV screen. There was an empty take-out bag in the kitchen. To Grisha’s surprise, John seemed to have ordered delivery while he was home.

Grisha completely stopped using delivery once he moved in, because John would rather cook himself. So all of this was really uncharacteristic for him. 

- I’m home.

He finally spoke up, watching John slowly sit up.

- What, not even a bark?

Grisha lets out a laugh, hoping that he will break John with just the stupidity of that sentence but it’s like he didn’t even register the words.

- What are you doing up so late anyways? It’s…

Grisha checked his watch

- 3 AM.

- Just…didn’t feel like sleeping.

John answered in a mellow voice. 

- C’mon John, I was gone for just a day, no way you started missing me this much already!

He was sure that this would at least pull a protest out of John but, once again, it’s like he didn’t have any energy for Grisha’s antics, which made the conversation awkward, to say the least. His joking was completely cut short and now he didn’t have any ideas. 

****

He took a whole day off, just to stay with John and convince him to go outside. They were side by side the whole day, just one on one, with nothing to do but bast in each other’s company…but it didn’t help. John still seemed to not be entirely here, instead drowning in his thoughts that Grisha, sadly, couldn't read. He was desperately showing John love at this point, not letting the man’s skin breath without him for too long. Shoulder grabs, holding hands, hugs, as if his touch could send a message. John didn’t push him away but wouldn’t respond much either, like a stone statue. 

****

Is insomnia contagious? It started to feel like it is. Grisha was laying on the bed for what feels like an eternity but the inner turmoil of knowing that John is not happy right now, makes his eyes stay open. He couldn't just leave him like this...so he got up.

Grisha walks into the living room and leans on the wall, crossing his arms, watching John mindlessly sitting on the floor and staring at the screen. He wasn’t actually watching it, none of the channels registered in his brain. He just pressed the remote button over and over again, in a rhythm, even. He wasn’t really asleep but also not awake. It was hard, seeing him like this. Despite his talents and strengths, lack of sleep can take anyone out.

Grisha sighs, with a bit of hesitation, but finally gets enough courage to step towards him.

- Sorry, did I wake you up?

John addressed him first but didn’t look away. At least he’s aware that Grisha is standing there, next to him…which is something.

- I worry about you.

He delivers it to him straight, which seemed to have grabbed his attention. John’s finger stopped clicking the button, now looking at nothing but static. He was still silent so Grisha didn’t have much choice other than just continue. 

- I’m watching you get tortured by things outside of my understanding and there’s nothing I can do. 

John gently places the remote on the floor, as if to make sure the sound doesn’t interrupt him.

- I want to give you everything. I want to make it better but I’m just…too stupid to figure out how.

He couldn’t be sentimental without at least an awkward joke for too long. John lowers his head, looking at the floor. He’s trying to hide his face with his hair.

- You deserve happiness…or sleep, at least. 

Grisha gestures to the TV.

- I’m so lucky to have a chance to be the one to give you that happiness…but I don’t know how to help a man who’s stronger than I could ever be.

After a beat, John picks up the remote once again but only to turn the TV off. He leaves the remote on the floor and finally gets up on his feet. His eyes, slightly watery. 

- Let’s go to bed.

[hedgiwithapen]

Dammit Hedgi Day BEGINS

Prompts are now OPEN Until the 24th of September I’ll be taking prompts, and as you all voted, beginning on the 23rd (saturday) and continuing till the 25th the EIGHTH anniversary of my first Dammit Hedgi (courtesy of Mosylu on Can’t Live in Dreams, I'll be posting them for your suffering and enjoyment

What prompts am I accepting? Originally an ANGST fest, it can get a bit more broad especially in recent years, so: Many!  I reserve the right to ignore shipping requests and just write gen, DHD is a smut-free zone, and it’s my day so  I will write about characters with my viewpoints so prompt with caution if you like a character i do not :)  you may rig your prompt for fluff, but do not count on it. like I said, Angst. and it's Dammit Hedgi Day, not "awww Hedgi that's so sweeet" day.

Dammit Hedgi started with The Flash, but yeah I quit watching that at season 6 and i don't wanna think about anything past like... season 5 maybe. Send me Flash stuff anyways, but let's stick to the roots. same with young justice (i did NOT watch s4) and of course the LoT and early Supergirl characters live in my heart. Big clinging to Stargirl, though, and I'm currently loving My Adventures With Superman, getting more comfy writing Leverage characters...

Y’all know me, you know my fandoms, and what I’ve been watching so as always, go nuts! Can’t promise I’ll fill it all (last year I had 65! prompts! and did fill them all so...) prompts for my RPG characters, for my shows, for the wild crossover of ur heart (Old Guard/ Flash crossover? why not. Leverage and Shazam? Sure!  Stargirl and the Librarians, heck yeah.) Feel free to send shit in, and I’ll either do it or I won’t, that’s DHD babes. I’ll try, anyways!

New to Dammit Hedgi Day? All I need is a character or two/ fandom and a dialog or narrative prompt!

You can send me a couple characters and an angst prompt from a list like  this one or This one,  Or this ….or  if there’s a whump post out there that grabs at you, you can use that.

You can send me an episode and a character for me to do a reaction fic or introspection, like Jax at the end of White Knight (LOT) or Beth in Stargirl: Summerschool episode 11. 

If we've chatted about an Au? send it! if there was a prompt from past years you liked and want More Of? (roundups for 2020 , 2021, 2022) hell yeah!)

canon stuff? post canon? pre canon? for want of a nail because canon is fake? go for it.

Canon suffering!! aus make everything worse!! you can ask for missing moments, or whatifs. We’ve had 7 (good lord you guys) of these now, you know the drill.  go for it.  I may not get to all of them. but I’ll write a lot because  now it’s a challenge! Current aus and hiatus fics are hella open to be extra angsted upon.  Any angst potential posts you’ve seen from me, canon angst that the writers ignore! Prompt away!

 HELL YEAH SMORES PARTY IN HELL! WHOOOO!!!! (join the Discord!)

[laesas]

Hehe! Yokpol #45!

My Committment to the bit is unparallelled. I wrote over 1000 words for absolutely no reason. Sometimes you have to invent an entirely new tag on Ao3:

For the whole time Pol's worked for the family, Khun nu has remained either in his suite or somewhere around the compound, usually with at least 2 bodyguards by his side. But now Tankhun is out and about… Pol is out of practice. It's not entirely his fault he keeps losing everybody - he keeps getting reasonably distracted.  Usually, in the end, he just sits at the bar and waits for Arm and Khun nu to get back. At least there he's not short of entertainment. Yok is wickedly funny and has a hundred different stories to tell. She's also an excellent flirt, so overall it's no hardship to spend a few hours with a beautiful lady while technically still on the clock. Luckily, losing Tankhun hasn't become a real problem yet. Arm hasn't even been particularly angry with him, and even gracefully accepts his endless apologies about it. But still, it must be frustrating: Khun nu can be a handful, and occasionally Arm has come back looking more than slightly dishevelled. Poor guy. 

Read the rest on AO3 Here.

Amateur Arborist - 1K - Rated T for Tankhun - YolPol and ArmTankhun nations rise up ✨

ANYWAY!

send me a kiss prompt number and a pairing and I’ll write a ficlet! or. in this case. an entire fic. why not. 💕

[hongssami]

swipes my sword under your door and begins swinging hi chip

requesting evil pirate!hongjoong au, do with this what you will 🧐

scratches head hey anne ahah so uhh i might have gotten a bit carried away by mc's backstory rather than evil pirate joong, kinda rushed but i really want to see this as a full fic anw i hope u enjoy :^DD

part of my force me to write drabble game requests are open until June 30, 2023 !

title: tainted blade

genre/prompt: (evil) pirate! hongjoong, pickpocket! gn! reader

warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, weapons, kinda graphic violence, bumjoong is a plot point, no romance joong and mc develop an almost sibling bond trying to find bumjoong

word count: 1.7k

Hongjoong hates losing.

You know this even before you personally met the headstrong captain thanks to his brother. You don’t cross paths by chance, but by the consequence of your amateur pickpocket skills.

Bumjoong allows you to painstakingly slit open his leather coin pouch as he stands idly by a fruit stand, quietly smirking at the way your desperate hands try to collect as much gold and silver pieces in two handfuls. Only when the coins start to flood past your outstretched hands and clatter obnoxiously to the ground do you sprint away from the mildly amused man.

Now that you think back to it, it was the way you haphazardly zipped through the very well known path to the underground city that ratted you out in the end. Unsurprisingly, Bumjoong is there at the hidden entrance when you reach it.

You remember trying to break free from his hold as he raised you like a scolding mother cat would with its child. He was smiling the entire time, not in the way that would send shivers down your spine and let you fear for your life, but in fondness of all things.

You scowl at him when he begins tutting, and he bursts in laughter when you stick your tongue out menacingly. The coins you “stole” from him are scattered under your defeated form now.

“You’re so much like my little brother.”

That’s the first time you met Hongjoong.

You meet Hongjoong a lot more after the first.

-

Hongjoong hates receiving help when he isn’t asking for it.

Again, something you learn from Bumjoong when you found yourself stuck in hand-to-hand combat with some drunk at the local tavern. Your lip is split and you’re pretty sure the liquid dripping from your eyebrow is not sweat by its metallic taste. Your opponent is doubled down, clutching his gut, he’s not faring any better than you with the bruise forming around his left eye and the way he’s heaving to breathe properly.

Your knuckles throb from the reckless punches you’ve thrown, knees buckling from the adrenaline leaving your system, but you stubbornly keep yourself on your toes in case he could strike again. Raising a shaking fist, you aim for the side of the man’s head before another hand holds you back.

“That’s enough,” Bumjoong’s prim and neatly pressed navy uniform contrasts heavily with your worn out attire. “You’ve done enough damage, kid. To the both of you.”

You pry your arm from his grip, wiping the blood trickling by your eye with the back of your hand. “I don’t need your help, Bumjoong.”

He sighs. “Alright,” he relents, and stands to the side.

This time he doesn’t give you a scolding after you land a final blow (although admittedly much weaker than you’d wish), he knows you know what the consequences of your actions are. The walk home is silent, save from the jingling keys strapped securely on his belt.

“You patronize me too much for someone in the navy.”

He snorts, “I’m your big brother first before a government servant, kid.”

“I’m not your brother.” You look at him perplexed. How did this guy manage to pass the mandatory government background check with you hanging around him for most of your teenage life anyway? “And I’m pretty sure that’s not how that works.”

Bumjoong stops in his tracks to look at you. His gaze isn’t gentle, rather it burns with the trails of a promise. “I’ll protect you for as long as I can.” 

You look away, unable to hold the intense eye contact. “I can protect myself.”

“At least try to learn how to use a dagger or two,” he says and continues walking ahead.

Twin daggers are the last thing Bumjoong leaves in your possession before he disappears out of your life.

-

With nothing but a couple of blades and a bundle of clothes to your name, you wander near the docks just as you had before you met Bumjoong. Pickpocketing the captains and crewmen of the merchant ships proved to be a task similar to child’s play now that you’ve developed better skills under him.

You guess you have that to thank him.

Soon enough you had made a name for yourself as a seasoned thief. And with the title along came the very real danger looming over your head, hence why you kept acquaintances and allies at a distance. Adapting a nomadic lifestyle helped, but the more you traveled from town to town, the more you came to realize you would always end up in towns along the coast. Almost as if your subconscious was telling you something was waiting across the reef.

You end up thinking about what Hongjoong would do in your situation.

Hongjoong hates making empty promises.

But who’s to say Hongjoong was actually a real person, for all you know Bumjoong was making him up for you to empathize with him.

-

He tells you this himself the very night you meet him in person. At a tavern of all places.

You slip up when you draw one of your daggers to openly threaten him in front of his entire crew at the most lawless coastside town you’ve ever set foot to. “You’re the famous Hongjoong, huh?”

There’s a twinkle in his eye when his gaze lands on the hilt of your blade. You brush it aside as fascination, but deep inside you have a sneaking feeling he recognizes it. You let the tip lift his chin for him to look at you instead. “Depends who’s asking, sweetheart.”

“Cut the bullshit, pirate.” Retracting your dagger, you contemplate on telling him the full truth about Bumjoong’s disappearance. The words leave your mouth before you have the willpower to filter them out. “The navy has your brother.”

This takes Hongjoong aback. He knew his brother always wanted to be a nameless bounty hunter, but the navy? “I’m taking he took you under his wing or something?”

You scoffed, “More or less. It doesn’t matter. I need to find him.”

“And you think I’d go out of my way to assist you, thief?”

“Geez, he wasn’t lying when he said you’re stubborn.”

“Promised he’d protect you, didn’t he?” He stares into his beverage, eyes glazed over with something you can’t quite put your finger on. “Don’t you just hate being offered empty promises?”

You don’t answer. You don’t have an answer. All you knew was that Bumjoong was taken against his will and that something tells you he couldn’t be reached by traveling on land.

Hongjoong gets up from the booth, pint still half-full discarded on the table in front of you. “Welcome aboard, thief.”

-

More than anything, Hongjoong hates liars.

Hongjoong’s rapier has always stayed sheathed in the sheath-cane hybrid he customized himself. You’ve seen the crew spar with him along the main deck during the fortnights away from shorelines, but never with the actual blade he carried around.

Which is why you don’t immediately recognize the tip of the blade that rested threateningly beneath your chin.

The Aurora sits docked among smaller fishermen’s ships on some island away from authorities, a waning crescent moon taunts your vision as you lay leisurely on the sterncastle deck. The crew unanimously elected you as the watchdog for tonight while they drink their asses away at the nearest tavern, and you are left with no choice but to sharpen your daggers in solitude on the deck.

A short yelp leaves you when the thin blade enters your vision, mostly out of confusion rather than fear. The daggers you’ve been sharpening discarded at your side when you recognize your captain’s heavy boots. How did you not hear him coming with those on?

“Some pickpocket you are with those reflexes.” Hongjoong disengages, his tone almost harsh.

He turns his back on you when you stand, back leaving the stability of the mast. “You’re upset.” It’s evident, it always has been. Hongjoong is terrible at masking his displeasure and it’s no different now that it’s only the two of you on the ship.

He takes a few steps forward before he leans on the railings, rapier and sheath-cane dangling over the calm waves in his grip. A shaky breath and a small chuckle nearly disappears into the sea breeze but you pick up on them and deduce he’s somewhat inebriated. “Captain, if you wish to talk-”

“I know what you did to my brother.”

He turns again, now looking at you, looking conflicted for a split second before his glare turns hostile. Chin raised, he tries to conceal the hurt by being intimidating. It almost works. “How dare you walk up to my ship with his blood on your hands?”

“What?”

The question hangs unanswered between you two, nothing has made any sense since Hongjoong joined you tonight. You shift in place, discreetly trying to pick up your daggers in case he jumps you.

“It took me a while, but now I remember. Those daggers,” a step forward, “are a gift from the ocean, you see.”

You flinch, stepping on the handles of your blades as he inches closer. “It keeps the blood of its previous owner in the hilt, it spills right through the fuller when they pass. Explains the pretty scarlet you got there.”

What was he on about?

“That night, during the raid.” The corner of his mouth tilts up in a sarcastic smirk, a challenging brow rises when he finishes. “That was you.”

If you crouch to pick up your weapon now he could freely strike you, so you opt to stay in place. 

“You killed Bumjoong.”

You laugh. He can’t be serious, right? Does he really think you would actually kill the closest thing to a brother you had? And what was all that talk about daggers as gifts from the ocean? Guard down, you crouch and finally pick up your twin daggers. “Yeah, sure and Aurora is a sea merchant’s boat. Where did you even get that from-”

Slash.

“Shit!” You cradle the wound forming on your forearm. Hongjoong’s blade is under your throat again, this time you see his muscles tensing to land another strike. You freeze. “I didn’t kill your brother!”

Another swish of his wrist and a cut appears on your cheek. One look into his hooded eyes tells you he’s dead serious.

“Get off my ship,” he growls, gripping the hilt of his blade tighter as if his body and mind were playing opposing sides to the order.

You’re shaking when you stand. His rapier follows. “Never show your face around me again.”

You scrabble off the deck and down the gangplank into the nearest establishment.

Had Bumjoong really died by the daggers you carried?

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