#bc i split ophelia into two parts

[quicktimeeventfull]

i am not posting the whole thing bc it sounds absolutely ridiculous in aggregate but i DID locate this death note/hamlet au i wrote absolutely ages ago with the dialogue in elizabethan english so i am sharing the good part(tm) now. ft. light as hamlet and L as ophelia, who is now a paramour sent to the prince as a gift

L knelt in front of Light. For a moment Light thought he was about to bow, but he did not; instead he lifted Light’s hand and raised his knuckles to his lips. Gently, he kissed them. “If my liege can trust my vulgar tongue,” he said, “my duke wants your favour. I myself do not. I want your hand.” He kissed it again, then rose on his knees, leaning towards Light, the heat of him close. He smelled somehow of metal and earth. He must have been looking through the garden for evidence of Light’s father’s killer; Light had asked him not to — he was already certain of who that was — but that meant very little to L. He traced a finger down Light’s arm. Light shivered, and did not pull away. “And your arms.” He touched Light’s throat, which quivered. “And your throat. And the nape of your neck.” A touch. “And your foolish hair.” He brushed it away from Lights cheek. “And your lips, which are no more honest than mine own.” He ran the back of his finger along Light’s lips.

[mayordeas-clone]

i just finished my second playthrough of octopath traveler 2. probably gonna ramble a bit in response. there will be spoilers perchance. (huge emphasis on ramble because i really am just saying whatever shoots out of my ass)

the epilogue gets me really emotional for some reason. the scene where the travelers part ways, each leaving in the reverse order you recruited them. oouuggh. i am in pain. i know ill be keeping them together for eternity while i attempt to beat galdera in this run, but the reality that these guys all have different ambitions in life and therefore they need to split off eventually to pursue those ambitions makes it a very bittersweet finale. at least there’s the class reunion at the very end, but still OOUUGHH THIS GAME MAKES ME ILL IN THE BEST WAY POSSIBLE

on that note, the fact that there’s a proper ending, a proper sequence where the travelers talk to each other and reminisce on their journey and eventually part ways AT ALL really makes this experience special and a cut above the previous game.

bc it reminded me of just how strange the ending fight aftermath of OT1 was. like after you beat the true final boss of that game, pretty much nothing happens. like you get the ending sequence with kit saying thanks but then the game hands you your prize money and now there’s nothing left to do. the travelers just don’t give a FUCK. there’s also the issue of the travelers from that game never interacting or discussing amongst themselves about the revelations learned in the gate of finis; granted, octopath 2 is not flawless in this regard either (like, agnea witnesses a flashback involving tanzy being fuckin sacrificed to extinguish the flamechurch torch and had absolutely no comment) but it was pretty bad in octopath 1. the whole questline to unlock the true final boss is hidden in a chain of sidequests that quietly unlock after beating everyone’s story, whereas in the sequel, it’s a proper sequence the game tells you about and encourages you to prepare for. so i really appreciate the strides the sequel took to tie the overarching story and links between all of the travelers’ quests more tightly. it really makes me feel like all of the travelers are actually pals who decided to travel together and help each other achieve their many missions and goals, and when that’s all over there’s an actual ENDING. TO THE STORY. the strangeness imo of octopath 1’s final battle is that the journey doesn’t feel over even though it definitely is. you know what i mean?

i also just. ADOREEEE the cast of this game. i did like a few characters in the first game like Tressa, Alfyn, and Therion, but again the fact that they never interact outside of missible (and to be honest forgettable) travel banters and NEVER as a collective unit made it harder for me to get attached to them as a whole. were they even friends with each other lol? who knows. plus i feel like a lot of them were kinda pretty basic rpg archetypes? like i found ophelia to be extremely boring bc she feels like the basic cutout of what a nice healer character should be without many extra wrinkles to her to make me interested (though it has been a while since i’ve played the first game). of course, octopath 2 is no stranger to archetypes (no piece of fiction is tbh) but i just feel like there was more emphasis on making the individual travelers and their stories more interesting. octopath 1 laid the groundwork with the ‘eight characters, eight stories that all secretly connect by the end’ concept (plus the GOOD ASS BATTLE SYSTEM) so the sequel could polish it into a nice, respectable shine. it makes me giddy looking back on the ways octopath 2 improved on the flaws of the first game. because i LOVVED the original octopath, but the sequel captured everything i loved and added more stuff. ITS GOOD. ITS VERY GOOD. ALL OF THE NEW TRAVELERS ARE MY BELOVEDS!!!!!!!!

it’s probably a cliché thing to bring up at this point, but the difference in ways the two games handle their eight-character cast and how they interact with each other is oddly reflective in the respective games’ box art. like, the first octopath had all the characters walking in one direction, their own path, all parallel to each other. whereas in octopath 2’s case, they’re all hangin out!!! isn’t that swell! :D

i also liked the improvement of the boss battles that bookend each traveler’s story in terms of their relevance to the individual stories. namely, i like how all of the travelers have a dialogue break between phases (the bosses have distinct phases now! makes them feel more separated from the ones leading up to them). ppl really liked when ophelia talked to mattais during her fight, or therion talking to darius, and now everyone has a personal one-on-one with their final boss. this couldn’t be done with all of them in octopath 1 since some were unspeaking monsters (though ochette was able to pull that off in this game) or opponents that only appeared so the travelers could solve a specific problem (like tressa and alfyn), so no previous attachment was there. in general i love how all the final bosses had some kind of connection to the travelers, big or small.

ochette feels remorse and sympathy for the darkling since it became corrupted because she didn’t choose it as her companion as a child. castti feeling betrayed by trousseau losing his way and becoming nihilistic and genocidal. or throné losing her marbles after finding out the truth of the blacksnakes, and her palpable RAGE during her fight against claude, the only thing motivating her is seeing him dead and breaking the vicious cycle he birthed. osvald’s is obvious because harvey is a mega-bastard, but when you fully boost as osvald during that fight he screams “HARVEY!!” which is super satisfying (oh, and i absolutely love how this game adds in special lines for certain bosses, adds a more personalized touch to each traveler’s boss encounters~). partitio clawing his way to topple roque’s greed and monopoly on technology he believes could change the world forever. THE FUCKING DANCE OFF BETWEEN AGNEA AND DOLCINEA. OOUUGHGGH THE SONG OF HOPE PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND TOO 😫😫😫😫 MY FAVORITE SONG IN THE OST. temenos also feels a bit of vengeance facing off against kaldena, given she was responsible for the deaths of two people he was very close to. and lastly there’s hikari, who fought and lost much to reach the moment he can finally confront his tyrannical brother.

it’s so scrumptious. not to mention the way each character’s theme is woven into the final boss theme during the second phase. actual galactic brain move on the part of yasunori nishiki and everyone else apart of the creation of this game’s ost. i love how there’s a greater emphasis (and consistency) of each character’s theme, namely in how their battle preludes actually take from their character theme rather than just being something else that uses similar instruments. it’s another thing that was really cool and unique from octopath 1 and now made even better and more impactful in the sequel. i especially love osvald’s theme, every iteration of it. the way it’s combined with ‘journey for the dawn’ is actual peak.

um what else…… i guess i kind of alluded to this earlier but the way the stories intertwine is much stronger in this game which made connecting everything together really satisfying. it helps that this sequence is an actual part of the road to reaching the Ending of the game (the credits! i think the credits rolled in the last game when you beat your protagonist’s story. which is kind of crazy town to me looking back…) rather than unlocked through a chain of sidequests (im still not over that im sorry). the moonshade order’s members exist throughout all of the characters’ stories, whether they’re the puppet masters at the top (oboro, arcannette, and claude) or people that were manipulated into the cause (trousseau and tanzy) or simply loyal followers (petrichor, harvey, and ori). the presence of The Shadow, mentioned in 6/8 stories, laying hints to the overarching evil before this final chapter sequence begins. ooooohgh it’s so cool. i wish i could experience the final chapter for the first time again, i remember being so excited going through it (down to all eight travelers talking to each other at the beginning!!!!!!!). i know the final chapter isn’t perfect since a lot of the information is given through Reading rather than actual cutscenes (and again, tanzy’s involvement with the moonshade order and her death elicits zero reaction from anyone that met her), and tbh it would have been cool if we actually fought some of the other remaining members akin to the battle with arcannette (i know the monster near the toto’haha torch is implied to be petrichor, but she’s the only member that never met any of the travelers, and it would have been cool to confront her outright).

this would be where i put my whole rant about agnea and partitio's stories and their relevance to the grand story, but i made it its own post! you can read it here if you want to consume more of my octopath brainworms.

woooh that’s all i have to say. apologies for the text wall, it will probably get longer when i conjure more thoughts </3

i love this game, it’s very good even though it’s very easy to break the battles in half.

[drawlfoy]

detention, retention, and draco malfoy being a little shit

masterlist request guidelines

pairing: draco x reader

request: no not really

summary: golden trio friend y/n y/l/n tries to extract information out of draco malfoy after being placed in detention together.

warnings: swearing, panic attack kinda stuff, just the dark war things that would come w having the task that draco does

a/n: ayo so i started this as a fic i was originally planning on writing in a week. i discontinued it bc i didn’t think anyone was that interested, but i’ve written for it on and off. it’s about 16k words right now standing, but i’m reposting this as a 2 part series. here are the first ~12k words....enjoy :) IMPORTANT: if you’re like “hey i started reading this in october why tf are you reposting the first two parts” just keep reading ok lmao i promise there’s more there’s about through part 6 in here hehe. i just wanted new readers to be able to pick up on it without being turned off by the fact that it was part 3. this will b e 2 parts and at least 20k words

word count: 11.6k

taglist: @gruffle1 @missmultifandommess @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop @naiomimoonshard @jejegu @ophelia-enthusiast @alwaysbeanunknownfan @nearly-memories @litty-dumb @callieclearwater @malfoy-wife15 @charlenasaxen @belladaises @fiantomartell

happy reading y’all

For legal purposes, the york pudding she lobbed at Pansy Parkinson’s head on Monday evening was simply meant to be a joke. She didn’t know that her aim was bad enough that it was going to get in Snape’s hair instead--honestly, it wasn’t even supposed to get past the Ravenclaw table, much less veer to the left to make a beeline for the professors--but no matter how much she tried to explain this to McGonagall, her sentence remained the same: detention every Friday. For two months.

Her life was ending for sure.

“I honestly don’t know what you were expecting,” Hermione told her as she gently wiped off the nib of her quill later that night in the common room. “Even if you had hit your mark, that’s still technically assault.”

“Did you even hear what she said to me? She told me that I looked like the type of kid that bit people in primary school,” complained Y/N. “I didn’t even think she knew what primary school was!”

Hermione snorted. “How long ago?”

“Two days. I’ve been waiting until there was something throwable on the dinner table.”

“How very analytic of you.”

“I’m going to hit you.”

“And you wonder why you’ve got detention.” Hermione tsk-ed at her, her face stone serious but her tone light hearted. “Maybe take this as an opportunity to, I don’t know, do your homework for once? So you won’t have to have a breakdown over the next Potion’s essay and beg me to write it for you?”

“I’m going to go to sleep and think terribly mean thoughts about you.”

“Have fun.”

~ 

Detention.

Something that Y/N wasn’t completely unfamiliar with--she’d done her time organizing Snape’s cabinets, just like every other Gryffindor--but it was different when it came to McGonagall. An impressive old lady, she thought that McGonagall saw something in her. She was always the first to chuckle at Y/N’s jokes and hesitated to reprimand her stupid behavior. And she never gave Y/N detention.

Until now, she supposed. 6th year was changing a lot of things--even their Potions professor--so McGonagall turning a new stone shouldn’t have been anything shocking.

At least, not as shocking as the first thing Y/N saw as she walked into her house head’s office.

“Malfoy?” she spat.

The platinum blonde didn’t even bother to look up from his desk.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor McGonagall chided. “I think we would all prefer if you restrained yourself from getting into any more physical altercations with Slytherins.”

She huffed, plopping down in the chair furthest away from that foul git and reaching for her satchel.

“I’ll be back in two hours,” said the elderly professor. “If I hear anything, and I mean anything, other than the sound of studying, consider your sentence doubled.”

With a swish of her robes, McGonagall was gone, leaving her with Malfoy. 

“So what’d you do to get in here, huh? Did the administration finally get a hold of that video of you licking Voldemort’s toes?”

“What the fuck does that mean?!” he snapped, whipping around to glare at her.

“‘s just a joke,” said Y/N. “Like--how everyone says your family houses him and everything--but whatever. I can tell it’s a sore spot.”

His gaze, never withering in intensity, remained trained on her face. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Apparently so. What’re you here for?”

He exhaled sharply. “If I tell you, will you shut up and let me think?”

“No promises, but maybe.”

“Late work. I forgot to turn in the Transfiguration exam last week.”

She made a tutting sound as she lazily shuffled through the crumpled parchment in her satchel. “I expected more from you. Aren’t you gonna ask me how I wound up here?”

“No. I am going to ask you to stop talking now, though.”

~

“That’s terribly unfortunate,” Hermione said over breakfast the next morning. Ron and Harry were nervously chit chatting at the other side of the table over the Saturday Quidditch game against Hufflepuff--supposedly it was supposed to be quite a high stakes match. Not like Y/N cared much, though.

“Yeah! And the worst part was that he won’t even tease anymore. Like, he just sits there all broody and woe is me. We’re all witnessing our nation’s descent into war--he’s not special!”

“Who are you talking about?” asked Harry.

“Oh, just Malfoy,” said Y/N. “We have detention together with McGonagall. He’s such a nasty little greaseball, don’t you think? I mean, look at him right now, glowering over his cereal.”

“Wait! That’s it!”

“What’s it, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“It’s genius, really,” he said. “Y/N has to spend time with him alone every week, and we know that something is up with him. Malfoy is absolutely a Death Eater and has connections to You-Know-Who, but I just need to find a way to prove it.”

“I vaguely forecast where this is going, and I hate it already.”

“Listen, Y/N. It’s not for that long, and it’s for the health of the wizarding world. If you just get to know him--”

“Ick!”

“If you just get to know him, maybe get him to trust you and find out his secrets...we’d finally have enough to turn him in and throw him out of Hogwarts for good.”

“Is that really necessary, Harry?” Ginny butted in from her seat further down next to Dean. “Malfoy’s probably just exhausted like the rest of you. 6th year is difficult, and we have no solid evidence that he’s a Death Eater. I’m sure being stuck in a room with him for 2 hours is hard enough without pretending to be nice to him.”

“But what if Harry’s right?” said Y/N. “What if he is actually a Death Eater? What if he’s an active danger to the student body?”

“Exactly!” The joy written across Harry’s face at the prospect of someone else finally agreeing was infectious. “So will you?”

“Er…” She dragged her spoon across the top layer of her porridge. “In theory, sure. In actuality, I’m not sure how I could do it. Malfoy doesn’t want anything to do with me, either.”

“Love potion?” offered Ron.

“I don’t care how much of a prat he is, I’m not roofying him.”

“I rarely agree with you, Y/N, but I think you’re right. If you want to do this, you need to get him to trust you for real.”

“Your back-handed compliment skills never disappoint, Hermione. Do you think you could help me out with a plan?”

A slow smile spread across the girl’s face as she nodded. “That’s my strong suit.”

The plan they laid out over the remainder of the day was ambitious but at least do-able. Each week was split into different subtasks, the end goal being a somewhat tentative friendship between the two. 

“If you can flirt with him and get him to have a crush on you without scaring him off, you’d be in the best possible position,” Hermione told her as they walked back from the Quidditch pitch among the screaming Gryffindor fans. They’d won--yet again. “Obviously I don’t foresee that being likely, but if you pull it off somehow he’d probably be willing to tell you anything. The fact that you’re a pureblood is going to carry you through this whole ordeal. He’ll at least be accepting of your existence in the wizarding community.”

The bitter edge in Hermione’s tone made Y/N’s blood boil. There was no reason for Malfoy to be as prejudiced as he was--he’d spent his adolescence in Hermione’s academic dust. She was obviously smarter than him. 

“You got it, ‘Mione,” she said. Her voice barely carried over the cheers of her peers as they ascended the steps to the common room. “We’ll take this little ferret down. I can’t wait.”

“Don’t get too cocky, now.”

The Gryffindor after-party was crazy...per usual. The charmed self-filling goblets, the blasted playlist of Wizpop pumping through the air, and the buzzing energy of the room was giving Y/N a giant headache. She stood with Hermione and Harry by the edge of the crowd, watching Ron get hoisted up on the shoulders of the chasers. 

“No wonder the Slytherins think we’re Neanderthals,” Y/N mused. For once, Hermione didn’t respond. “Hermione? Is everything okay?”

The second she turned away to look at her best friend, gasps and whistles filled the room. She whipped back just in time to see Lavender Brown, a sweet but slightly ditzy girl in their year, pull away from a kiss with Ron.

“Oh shi--Hermione!”

Harry and Y/N shared a glance before darting after the witch--who had impressively already made it to the door. 

“Hermione, wait!” Y/N called as they jogged after her, throwing open the common room entrance and finding her sat by the tapestry on the other side of the hall, knees to her chest.

“‘Mione, what’s wrong?” asked Harry.

“Don’t be daft, Harry,” said Y/N. “You saw exactly what the rest of us did.”

“I don’t understa--”

“Harry.” Her voice was taut. “I know you’re just trying to help, but I think that it might be best if you let us be. Go back and enjoy the party.”

He gave her a tight, grateful smile before darting back through the door. Y/N wasted no more time in walking over to Hermione and throwing her arms around her shoulders.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, hugging her tight. Hermione made no move to detach them, so she continued. “Ron is an idiot. You deserve so much better--your first kiss was Viktor fucking Krum, after all. You’re hot stuff and this place is just unfortunately running dry of men who are impressive enough for you. Once you’re out of here and working in the Ministry, you’re gonna have the time of your life with men actually in your league.”

Hermione managed a sniffly laugh as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “It’s just so fucking embarrassing, you know. Like, I have a crush on him because I think he understands me and I smelled him in my Amortentia and I thought he’d like me back, but…” She hiccuped. “Then he goes off and kisses Lavender Brown, of all people. There’s nothing particularly wrong with her or anything, but she’s so different...I’m so bookish, and she’s so girly and everything I’m not…”

Y/N took the opportunity to tuck a lock of Hermione’s hair behind her ear as she listened.

“And it can’t help but make me think--was I ever anything to him but a friend? If the girl he ends up choosing is the opposite of me?”

“Girly, don’t think like that,” murmured Y/N. “He’s a teenage boy. They don’t think of love the way that we do--to them it’s a game of availability, not of choice. At least for Ronald. You intimidate him, and by extension, you’re not available.”

“That shouldn’t matter!”

“You’re right. It shouldn’t.” Y/N drew a long breath. “So you should find someone who always has you as their first choice--someone who isn’t intimidated by your intellect. They’re out there. I promise.”

Hermione managed a shaky smile. “Thanks, Y/N. I mean it. Do you mind if I have some alone time? I don’t think I’m ready to go back to the party but I just want some quiet.”

“Of course. Let me know if you need me,” she said, brushing herself off and making to walk down the hall.

“You’re not going back to the party?”

“Nah. It hurts my head and I want fresh air. If I’m not back here in a half hour, assume that I’ve been kidnapped.”

With that, she started her walk. She wasn’t planning on going on a long stroll--there was a small balcony that she often went to when she needed to clear her head. It was beautiful, especially on a snowy night like this.

But the walk was creepy.

There was only one way in and out--a narrow, damp hallway that had absolutely no light fixtures. If Y/N really wanted to, she could cast a quick lumos, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to see what lived on the walls. The stairs were steep, too, but she managed to bound up all 40 of them in record time. 

“Who’s there?”

The sudden voice ripped a scream out of Y/N’s throat as she reached the top, catching a glimpse of the shadowy figure at the edge of the balcony that spoke. She clasped her hand over her mouth and she crept forward to the opening, getting a better look at the person that was in her secret spot.

The clouds shifted in the sky to allow more moonlight to cast a soft glow on Malfoy’s face, hardened with irritation.

“Malfoy?” Y/N asked, rather dumbly.

“What stellar observational skills,” he drawled. 

She felt her cheeks grow hot. “What are you doing here? This is part of the Gryffindor tower. Shouldn’t you be...I don’t know...playing hide and seek with the sewer rats in the dungeons?”

“Very funny.” His flat tone exposed the fact that he did not, in fact, find it very funny. “There’s no rule barring me from coming up here.”

“But why? This is my spot!”

“Because I wanted to get out. Now, I was here first, so unless you want your detention extended, I suggest you leave.”

Y/N bit the fiery comebacks on the tip of her tongue as the memories of her plan with Hermione began floating back to her. 

Week 1 -- Hold one neutral, civil conversation with Malfoy.

“I’ll be quiet. You won’t even know I’m here,” Y/N decided upon. leaning up against the balcony. The rogue snowflakes that made it past the overhanging roof melted on her cheeks. 

“That isn’t a suggestion,” said Malfoy. “I’m demanding you leave.”

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” Y/N asked, pointedly ignoring his words. “I’ve always loved the snow. It’s so quiet.”

“And it would be even quieter if you left.”

“Aren’t you the conversationalist?” said Y/N.

“If you don’t leave, I will hex you,” Malfoy told her through gritted teeth. 

“I just love how the moonlight reflects off of the snow,” continued Y/N. “It’s so...pure.”

“Please leave.”

On her walk back down the dank stairwell, she allowed herself a little smile. 

Task 1? Technically done.

~ 

The first week went largely as planned. Malfoy was cold and certainly suspicious of her, but he wasn’t completely venomous when Y/N asked where he got his quill from in Potions. It was silver, charmed to shimmer with flecks of forest green. He told her Barnaby’s in France, and that was that. She walked away from his table with all of her limbs attached. Perhaps that was all the progress she was going to make in the next few weeks, but the task at hand certainly made the prospect of her lost Friday afternoons more bearable. 

Harry was going completely batty, rambling on about how Malfoy was behind the mysterious cursed objects that had been floating about the castle without explanation. 

“And why would Malfoy bring cursed objects to Hogwarts if he has aspirations other than being expelled?” Hermione would ask over their books.

“You don’t understand, Hermione! You girls need to be careful walking around at night--especially you, Y/N. I don’t want you going missing after detention because of that slimeball.”

Y/N always gave him a laugh, berating him for his slight misogynistic commentary and turning back to whatever her task was, but the truth was that she was worried for him. The mental weight of the impending war and the fact that he couldn’t do anything about it was certainly getting too difficult for him to bear. It was heartbreaking to see the vivacious boy she’d grown up with crumble under the responsibilities of something he should never have to worry about in the first place.

Friday came much sooner than expected, and Y/N reluctantly left her friends in the common room to trek to McGonagall’s office. The walk was frigid and the wind bit at her cheeks as she rounded the last outdoor hall.

Why was this castle so dark?

A thump behind her made her jump, and Harry’s words came floating back to her. 

Remember all those cursed objects? What if there’s someone just...stalking the school grounds, waiting for someone like me to snatch?

She shivered, throwing herself at the office door and slamming it behind her.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor McGonagall greeted, her eyebrows raised in amusement. “Something giving you trouble?”

“No, Professor,” she answered, setting her bag down on the desk next to Malfoy. He sent her a curious look as well. “It’s just cold outside.”

She chuckled. “I need to go speak to Headmaster Dumbledore. I expect that, upon my return, you both are in one piece and alive.”

“I’m not sure if I’m the one who needs to be given that speech,” said Y/N, bored and testing the waters.

“She’s right, Professor,” added Malfoy. “There’s no projectiles here.”

McGonagall exhaled a long, shaky breath before brushing herself off. “Please. Behave yourselves.”

“You got it, boss,” she said as she watched her Professor walk out the door. “So, Malfoy. How was your week?”

“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’d way prefer if you didn’t speak to me,” he said, refusing to make eye contact.

“I’m not up to anything! We’re in detention together and, I dunno, since I see you sometimes at balls, I thought it’d be nice to be on good terms.”

“Good terms?” He scoffed. “You’re a Gryffindor. I’d rather you be a bloody Hufflepuff.”

“How about neutral terms?”

Even though he wasn’t looking at her, she could catch a glimpse of him rolling his eyes. “If neutral terms mean you being quiet, then, yes. Please.”

“I’ll be plenty quiet. After I hear about your opinion on what happened in Potions today with Brown and Weasley. When Snape yelled at them for holding hands.”

He let out a sharp sigh. “Believe it or not, I actually have better things to do than keep up with whatever stuff your house does.”

“But…?” Y/N pressed. She may not’ve spent her time at Hogwarts as Malfoy’s best friend, but she had grown up with the boy, and she could tell when he was holding back.

He stared blankly at her.

“Come on. I’m literally the only person in my house who’ll openly admit that they’re disgusted by that dynamic. I’m begging you.”

She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but she thought she saw a flicker of amusement dance across his face for a moment. “Your house sounds more like a cult than a student group.”

“Oh, says the one from Slytherin,” said Y/N. 

“We only act like that because our families are close. What’s your excuse? Hormones and Quidditch culture?”

“Touché.” As much as she wanted to fight back, she bit her tongue. Whatever she was doing was making progress, and quicker progress than she was expecting. Her next task was to make him laugh, and she was emboldened by the fact that she could potentially be able to kill two birds with one stone. 

They sat in silence for a little bit, but this time, it was a comfortable silence. Malfoy wasn’t staring at the clock on the wall or rolling his eyes at her every move, so she had time to plot.

On one hand, she could make a fool of herself--drop her inkwell, say something stupid in class, fall down the stairs--but she had a sneaking suspicion that her sorry attempts at slapstick humor wouldn’t land well with Draco anymore. He’d become so serious lately, so solemn. This was the most light hearted she’d seen him, even compared with how he acted with the rest of his Slytherin lackeys. 

On the other, she could try to sell out her friends. She could confide in him how “big” Hermione’s teeth were (they weren’t even big) or tell him that Ron smelled of eggs (true, but that was a low blow). Something told her that this would be much more successful, but she wasn’t willing to turn to that so quickly--she was already a week ahead as it was. 

“What is it?” 

Malfoy’s bored drawl cut through her flurried thoughts. Her cheeks turned pink as she blinked, noticing that she’d been staring at him for far too long. “Nothing. Sorry. I just spaced out.”

“Sure,” he mumbled, giving her another suspicious look before turning back to his work. “Can you maybe space out somewhere other than my face?”

“Where’s your vanity, Malfoy?” she pressed as she leaned back in her chair, hair swinging over the back. 

“Shut up,” he snapped. She could tell that whatever connection they’d had in the fleeting moments beforehand was being burnt by the second, but her embarrassment and pride drove her forward.

“Merlin, what’s got you so wound up?” she prompted, noting how deliciously unraveled he looked at this. “Where’s my cool, collected Slytherin?”

He slammed hands on his desk at this, whipping around to glare at her. “What’s your angle, Y/L/N?”

“What?”

“Why are you bothering me?”

“Because I want to.” She beamed.

Malfoy ran his fingers through his hair, mussing up the usual neat manner in which it normally laid on his head. “Compelling. What do you want from me?”

“What do I want…?” She tilted her head at him, narrowing her eyes. “What?”

“You never talk to me,” he explained. “Obviously, I prefer it like that. I can’t help but wonder why suddenly you want to be making small talk. So, what is it you want from me?”

“Malfoy,” she said. “I think you’re a spoiled prick who thinks far too highly of himself and drives me insane. But I also think that you’re funnier than what my friends give you credit for. Granted, you’ve always been annoying, but I don’t want anything from you. I just want to, I dunno, make these next few months less insufferable.” Somehow the lie slipped through her teeth easier than any of her previous bluffs. 

He frowned, his mouth opening once before firmly screwing shut into a scowl. “Oh.”

“No offense, Malfoy, but what else can you offer me other than your dazzling personality?” she teased. “You know my family. I don’t need to blackmail you to pay for jewelry I’ve had my eye on or anything.”

He scoffed. “As if I’d say yes.”

“Exactly my point. It’d be fucking weird. Merlin, I’m not trying to butter you up to buy out Borgin & Burkes for me. Do I give off gold-digger vibes? Is that what this is about?”

“Fucking hell.” Malfoy turned to her in disbelief. “Do you ever shut up?”

“Answer my question. Or better yet, pull out your wallet. Wait, did I say that out loud?” She mimed surprise and covered her mouth. “Oh no! What will my mother say now that I’ve squandered my last chance of hitching you? There’s no way I can go home for Christmas break now.”

He rolled his eyes so hard she found herself worried for a moment that they were going to just permanently get stuck in the back of his head. “Hate to break it to you, but you didn’t really have a shot to begin with.”

Ouch.

She huffed and dramatically flopped over the back of her chair, hoping he couldn’t see that she’d flinched. “So you don’t think I’m pretty??” 

“Y/L/N,” he snapped, his voice a low warning. “Can I please just work? What is with you today?”

Y/N sent him a sour look before giving her Charms work another look. Malfoy was awfully quiet, and when she snuck any glances at him later on, he was angled to face away from her. 

Why did she feel like such shit all of a sudden? She cataloged the past events, trying to pinpoint the exact moment that her stomach dropped. It all made sense when the words “You didn’t really have a shot to begin with” echoed around her head once again. She’d failed Harry. She’d failed Hermione. There was no way that she was going to be able to get him to reveal his secrets now--it’s not like he was confiding in even his closest friends as Harry made apparent when he explained how vague his statements were to his fellow Slytherins on the train. Her only chance would’ve been to somehow get him to fall for her, and that wasn’t going...great. And it had been a pipedream to begin with.

When McGonagall swished back into the classroom to dismiss them, Y/N shot out of there without even looking at Malfoy again. It felt like something was lodged in her throat and she was not going to cry in front of him. No, no. She had to make it to Hermione to tell her what was going on. 

“Y/L/N?” 

Malfoy’s voice made her pause in her flee as she nearly rounded the corner in front of her, but she refused to look back. It was far enough away that it was possible she didn’t hear him.

“Wait!”

She was up the stairs and speed walking as fast as her legs could carry her to the Gryffindor tower before he even saw which way she went.

~

“I don’t think you understand,” Y/N wailed by the fire as Hermione rubbed her shoulders and Harry sat awkwardly perched on the couch. “I can’t do this. The only way this was going to work was if he had a crush on me, and I don’t think he ever will. I fucked it up! The one time you guys need me, I fuck it up! I let you down!”

Hermione’s left hand stopped its rubbing to rest firmly on her shoulder. “Please don’t be upset. You didn’t let us down. Plus, you’re only, what...two weeks in? You don’t need him to like you to make it work. Just getting him to trust you will be enough, and you’re good at that.”

“I don’t think so,” continued Y/N. “Harry said that he wasn’t even that open on the train when he overheard him talking to all of his friends. And those are purebloods that he likes! That he’s trusted and known for years and years! I’m a friend of you guys, and he knows it. I think he’d figure it out quick.”

“We should take every chance we can get,” said Harry from his spot a few feet away, his eyes lazy and unfocused on the fire crackling in front of them. “You won’t let us down if you can’t get anything, Y/N, you know that! But if you got anything from him, it’d be incredible. It’s a win-win. I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”

“I’m not upset,” she said, her tone becoming defensive. “I just...don’t want to mess this up. I know how much it’d mean if I succeeded.”

“So just try!” Hermione said. “There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m sorry he was kind of mean to you today, but I don’t think that should bother you too much. He should be more afraid of what you’d say if you didn’t care about being a good person.”

“Fucking right on there,” she said, wiping away the frustrated tears. “If I was honest with him, he’d leave crying. He should be grateful that I’m taking this bet so I actually have to be nice to him.”

“That’s the spirit.” Harry leaned over to smack her back like he did his Quidditch teammates after a winning match. 

After they’d parted their ways with Harry, Hermione and Y/N made their way slowly up the stairwell to the girls’ dorms. 

“Y/N?” Hermione asked, breaking the silence. 

“Yeah?”

“Do you think, er…” She paused. “Do you think you were really upset about failing us today? Or was it something else?”

“What do you mean?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows. “I don’t see what else it would be.”

“I’m sorry,” responded the bright witch. “Forget I ever asked. It was a stupid thing to wonder about.”

“Weirdo,” she teased as she waved her a goodnight and made her way to her dorm.

The next morning, Y/N busied herself with revising her Charms essay over her breakfast--a cup of tea and a half-buttered piece of toast--while Hermione leaned over her shoulder, nodding or grimacing at the corrections she made. 

“Did you work during detention? Like, at all?”

“‘Mione,” moaned Y/N. “It’s too early for this. I don’t want a lecture. I just couldn’t focus.”

Her warm brown eyes narrowed as they bore into Y/N’s face. “Why were you distracted?”

“Oh, I, uh…” She stumbled over her words as Hermione drew closer. “Merlin, Hermione. I told you last night. I just felt like I was letting you all down.”

“Mhm,” was all she got in response before her best friend tilted her head back down to the parchment in front of her. 

Y/N sat, completely puzzled. What was Hermione on about? She’d been straightforward with what was hurting her--she didn’t want to mess up the only task the Golden Trio had ever given her--and, even if she hadn’t been, Hermione was smart enough to deduce things for herself. So what was she thinking about?

Her eyes drifted over to the Slytherin table where the usual 6th year pureblood gang loitered about, drinking black coffee and sulking--but Malfoy was not to be seen. She jumped when her eyes met Parkinson, her dark eyes burning into her soul as a deep scowl was written across her face.

“Malfoy, what the fuck do you want?” Ron’s voice pulled her back to reality to see him glaring somewhere behind her.

“I wasn’t here to talk to you,” a familiar voice drawled. 

She turned to see Malfoy standing behind her, a sneer written all across his stupidly pretty face.

“Miss me already?” asked Y/N as she raised an eyebrow and cocked her head to the side. 

“For fuck’s sake, stop doing that,” he mumbled, reaching into his pocket and throwing a box at her. “You forgot your quill. I took the liberty of properly storing it, because it seems like you lot like to just throw them in your bag. Makes me physically ill to watch.”

“Oh.” Y/N studied the intricate box in her hands before tucking it away in her knapsack. “Thanks? I guess?”

He nodded curtly, contorting his face into one last scowl to send to Ron before turning and leaving,

“So,” Hermione began, cutting her omelet at a much brisker pace, “I think we need to have a little chat. About...all of this.” 

“Why?” 

“Not right now,” she said, her voice low and her eyes flicking at Ron and Harry sitting across from them. “I don’t think it’d benefit us for them to hear.” 

“Ok?” She cautiously took a bite out of her toast and continued staring Hermione down. “You’re scaring me.”

“It’s...I don’t know. I thought I was crazy for thinking this, but it seems like we need to talk about it anyways. For this little mission of yours to work, we need to be totally open and honest with each other.”

“Sure.” Y/N took another bite. “I honestly have no clue what’s got you so on edge, though.”

“Who’s on edge?” Harry asked, leaning over the table and stealing the croissant on Y/N’s plate. 

“Hey!” she exclaimed. “Do you not see the entire plate of them over there?”

He laughed, sending her an easy grin and dunking a piece into the hot chocolate in his mug. “Finders keepers. Say, Y/N, are you busy next weekend? Ron and Lavender are going to Madame Puddingfoot’s together, and I know Hermione isn’t going to want to take a weekend off studying to go to Hogsmeade, so I thought that maybe we could go cause some trouble at the Cauldron.”

“If you stop stealing my food we can talk about it,” replied Y/N, the corners of her lips tugging up into a grin. 

“Deal.”

Hermione tugged at her arm. “I just realized I need to get something out of my room before we watch the Quidditch game. Will you come with me, Y/N?”

“Sure!” said Y/N. “Gee, I’m rolling in invitations today.”

Once they exited the dining hall, though, it immediately became evident that they were not actually heading up to the dorms. Hermione dragged her into the nearest bathroom before casting a quick silencing charm.

“Myrtle! Are you in here?” Only when she was sure silence was the only response to her question, she seemed satisfied to turn to Y/N and begin talking. “When were you going to tell me that you have a thing for Malfoy?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Y/N felt the heat that had risen to her cheeks from the last quill-encounter re-emerge.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” said Hermione. “Are you seriously going to expect me to believe that you nearly sobbed over some random pureblood git telling you you never had a chance with him because it might slow down your progress with helping us? Actually? I’ve seen you look more ecstatic about hearing that your dear granny passed away.”

“To be fair, she had really good life insurance,” Y/N cut in. “And she was an old hag. Never had a nice thing to say to me.”

“Life insurance or no life insurance...you can’t seriously expect me to believe that you were just upset about not being able to help us as much. That was ridiculous. I don’t buy it. And the way you blushed like crazy when he came over to talk to you--the way you try and pretend like you can flirt...please. Y/N, it’s clear as day. I know you, and I know you have a crush on him.”

“Hermione!” hissed Y/N. “You have no clue what you’re talking about!”

“Yes, I think I do,” she pushed. “And you need to be honest with me if you want to be of any help right now.”

Her bossiness lit a fire of rage in Y/N’s chest, but she sucked in a deep breath, shutting her eyes before releasing it. “Believe me when I say I haven’t ever acknowledged any feelings I may or may not have towards him.”

“Ok.” Her face softened. “I know it might take time, but I honestly do think I’m right. Please just...be careful. This is a really odd situation to get caught up in if you actually have feelings for the other person. You’re trying to manipulate him, for Merlin’s sake.”

“And if I have these feelings for him, I’ve done a pretty damn good job of suppressing them for however long they’ve been here.” 

Hermione sighed. “That’s true. I’m just saying that spending this much time with him is probably only going to make things worse. Will you please tell me if anything changes between the two of you?”

“Anything changes?” Y/N’s voice was dripping in disbelief. “You’re joking. Even if I was obsessed with him I don’t think there’s ever a chance of hell in anything ‘changing’ between us. He said it himself.”

“You know what I mean, Y/N,” responded Hermione. “Just promise me, ok?”

“Ok,” said Y/N. “I promise.”

That seemed to satiate Hermione as she nodded approvingly at her friend. “I think it goes without saying that Ron and Harry shouldn’t hear about this.”

“There’s nothing to hear about, but yes.” She shuffled her feet before meeting Hermione’s eyes again. “Er, I’m sorry for this being a weird question, but would you mind coming along with me and Harry to Hogsmeade? I don’t really see him like...that...and I don’t want to read into it too much and reject him if he is doing it just platonically, but just in case. Y’know.”

“Sure,” said Hermione, even though her face took on that curious expression yet again. “Anyways, you actually did forget something--you’re not wearing a single piece of Gryffindor colors for our game today. You should probably run back to your dorm before Harry and Ron notice.”

After they said their goodbyes, Y/N found herself turning over the things Hermione had said to her in her head. Did she like Malfoy? No, no fucking way. But a part of her really did think he was funny. And of course it was natural to feel rejected when anyone insinuates that they’d never consider you as a romantic interest without jest. 

Once she’d made it up to her room and grabbed a few scarves, Y/N made to put her red cloak into her satchel. Her fingers ghosted over the box that Malfoy had given her and scoffed once she saw the Malfoy crest engraved into the rich wood. 

Narcissistic snot.

Her curiosity got the better of her as she reached over to open up the elaborately decorated box. What met her was not just one quill but two--one of which was most certainly not her own. 

She took them both out, tossing the old one in a pile with her other trusty familiar white feather quills and picked up the other one. It looked familiar--identical to the quill that she’d complimented Malfoy on in Potions about a week ago. Butterflies began to flutter like crazy in her stomach as she turned it over in her hand, watching the gray and green glitter together and the magic sparkles cast a gentle light over her bed. She generally avoided dipping into her family’s pockets to get school supplies any more than she had to--it’s not like it made her friends feel good about themselves when they were reminded how rich her family was--but this might be what she could consider to be an exception. She hadn’t even liked his quill all that much when she first saw it in Potions--but it was one of those things that was so noticeable that it made sense to compliment him. 

She gave it one last look before tucking it back away into the elaborately decorated box. Perhaps she had spoken too soon when she’d told Hermione all hope was lost. 

~ 

When Monday morning Potions class with the Slytherins rolled around, Y/N wasted no time. Malfoy was alone--even his Slytherin lackeys seemed to know not to bother him. Just what she needed.

“Malfoy,” she greeted, setting her bag down on his table and looking him dead on. He raised to meet her eyes, his eyebrow raised.

“Can I help you?”

“I just wanted you to know that I also really like your immense fortune,” she said. “And your manor.”

“Well, a lot of people do,” he mumbled as he looked away to dig through something in his bag. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought he was blushing.

“I’m just letting you know,” she continued. “In case you were wanting to give them away. It worked for the quill, so I thought, well, why not?”

He exhaled, a deep and annoyed sound escaping his lips as he rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “I knew I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You really didn’t have to.”

“I was getting sick of it,” he told her. “I never can stick with one quill for too long, and I thought it’d be a shame to toss it. I thought it’d be better to be charitable--it’s not like your family could get an appointment at Barnaby’s if they tried.”

“Hey!” Y/N said indignantly. “You don’t know that!”

“I’ve heard your parents try to speak French,” he said. “If you’re anything like them, you'll be barred from ever entering the country.”

“Malfoy!” 

His lips turned up into a smile, a soft laugh escaping his lips. Y/N suppressed the urge to grin in return. Task 3? Done. “What?”

“I can’t even argue with you,” she said. “It’s tragic.”

She stared at the empty stool next to him, wondering if she should just take the leap and sit with him. Malfoy seemed unbothered by her presence as he opened up his Potions book and set it next to his cauldron. “Do you want a partner?” The words left her lips before she could stop them.

He cast her a curious look before glancing at the empty stool. “It depends. Are you going to be annoying?”

She gasped in faux-offense. “What makes you think I could ever be annoying?”

“On that note, I think you better get back to Potter.” He motioned with his head towards the side of the room where most of her Gryffindor friends were chatting. Harry was staring at her, his fists clenched by his side.

Y/N smirked and sent him a wink. 

“On that note,” she said, careful to imitate Malfoy’s drawl and sending him a smug grin, “Maybe I better sit here.”

“Hm.” He awarded her one more uninterested look before rolling up his sleeves and setting out the ingredients for the potion they were brewing--Amortentia. 

She tried not to make it too obvious that she was staring at his left arm, but there was nothing on it like Harry had told her. It was just pure, unblemished pale skin that shimmered under the light. Before he could catch her looking, she quickly sat down and started pulling out her own things. After a short pause, she decided to take out the silver quill. She’d left his box back in her room--she wouldn’t be caught dead with something that had the Malfoy crest on it--but she’d wrapped it in a pouch with her own family’s emblem on the front, shimmering in gold and red.

“Why don’t you just buy your own charmed quills?” asked Malfoy after they had chopped all of the gillweed. 

“You already know. We’re an abomination to the French. We aren’t allowed entry.”

“That’s not what I mean.” His tone was meant to read as exasperated, but his words still seemed good-natured.

“I...well.” She frowned. She’d never confessed this to anyone, but she supposed that Malfoy wasn’t going to find a way to use it against her. “I don’t like to flaunt my family wealth. I think it makes people, at least in Gryffindor, like me less. I learned that pretty early on.”

He hummed something in response before sliding all the gillweed into the cauldron, turning the clear liquid into a bubbling forest green. 

“Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?” she asked. 

He took his time finishing the note he was jotting down before he answered. “I’m not being nice. It’s just called being civil. You said it yourself, we see each other at balls sometimes.”

“We probably won’t anymore, though,” she mused. 

Malfoy’s eyebrows shot up, but his voice remained low and steady. “No. I suppose that we probably won’t. Is your family part of the Order?”

“Hm. Are you a Death Eater?” she asked brazenly. He had no business asking her something like that, and he knew it. Especially not with his family connections.

“What do you think?” he drawled, waving his bared left arm in front of her face.

“Bullshit. That doesn’t mean anything after we learned Glamour spells last year.”

“Guess you’ll just have to trust me, then,” he responded, focusing intently on the bubbling liquid in front of him instead of her face. 

“I guess so,” she replied. The weight of her Glamour comment began to sink in--she was right, after all. How had she not thought of it before? 

But he was right when he told her she just had to trust him. Could she? Y/N rested her chin in the palm of her propped hand as she watched him work. A piece of disobedient moonbeam blonde hair dangled over his forehead as he diced up the unicorn tail, his eyebrows furrowed in focus.

“Is this why you want to be my partner?” he finally asked after a few moments of silence. “So you can just stare at me while I do all the work?”

“There’s the vain Draco I know,” she said, grinning as she leaned over to punch his shoulder. 

He rolled his eyes again, scooting out of arm's reach before flipping back to Amortentia in his book. “You’re insufferable. And it’s Malfoy to you.”

“Fine, fine, Malfoy,” said Y/N. “What do you want me to do, then?”

He shoved his cutting board towards her, the half-diced unicorn tail staring up at her. “Finish dicing this and then stir it in. 9 times clockwise. I did almost all of the work, but it should be finished after that.”

Y/N sent him another glare before doing as he said. The glittering quill kept catching her attention from the corner of her eye, and she couldn’t help but notice that Malfoy was writing with just a plain white quill for the time being. HE really did just give it to me. 

After the final ingredients were diced, she began to stir, each rotation around the cauldron turning the potion to a different color. It began as the bubbling green, then a deep sea blue, then a royal purple, a crimson blood red, a glimmering gold--before settling into a pale silver.

“Wow. It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “It’s like...liquid starlight.”

“All thanks to me,” said Malfoy. “You didn’t even have to crush the Mandrake root.”

“You’re such a gentleman, Malfoy.” Her voice dripped in fake sincerity. “So, what do you smell?”

Y/N was expecting him to scowl at her and tell her that it wasn’t any of her business, but he actually leaned over the cauldron and shut his eyes. 

“I’ve never been good at explaining what things smell like.” 

“Fair.”

Once he leaned back, she took his place, shutting her eyes and breathing in a tendril of the beautiful potion. “Whoa.”

“What’s it for you?”

“I don’t...know,” she admitted. “It’s not something I can describe note by note. It kind of reminds me of something, though.”

“Something with Potter, I presume?” he said, casually twirling his generic white quill around his fingers.

“No,” she answered, surprised at how honest she was being. “It’s…I’m trying to think. Er, it’s very lavish. It reminds me of when I was younger and my parents would drag me to galas and balls and whatnot.” 

He stared at her in silence.

“What about you? Does it remind you of anything?”

“Yeah.” Malfoy reached forward to put a lid on the cauldron, effectively shutting out the steam from reaching either of them.

“Ooh, have you figured it out yet?” she teased, crossing her legs and turning to face him head on. “Let me guess. Is it someone like…”

She paused, a wicked smile stretching across her face. “Oh my god, is it Hermione? Or Luna? Or...help me out here!”

“No.” His voice was sour. 

“Ah, it’s Parkinson then, isn’t it? Tell her I’m sorry for throwing food at her if you ever have the chance. Make sure to add the part where I’m more sorry that I missed.” 

“Y/L/N!”

“It’s okay. I’d be a little let down, too.”

“Can you please just…” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Please just stop. I haven’t figured it out. Okay? Happy now?”

“I’ll leave you alone,” said Y/N. “Under one condition. You give me a hint. I’ve given you everything I know! This isn’t fair.”

“This doesn’t have to be fair,” he hissed.

Y/N kept the easy smile plastered on her face while she waited, her eyebrows raised in anticipation.

“You’re not going to let up until I tell you, are you?”

“You’d be right on that,” she said, sugary sweet.

“Fine. It’s something kind of floral.” 

“How descriptive,” she snorted as she slumped back in her stool, thinking hard. Where had she smelled it before? Y/N shut her eyes, leaning her head back and trying to immerse herself into the memory that had surfaced. It smelled like grandeur, like an open ballroom full of guests wearing expensive perfumes. She could feel spinning, spinning like she was with a dance partner. Who was it? She couldn’t quite remember--the last ball she’d been to had been years ago--but after she leaned forward and smelled the Amortentia once more time, she came to a conclusion.

“I had to have danced with him at a gala before,” she announced to Malfoy, who was looking quite unimpressed. “So I know it’s no one from Gryffindor.”

“Interesting,” was all he said before turning to his parchment and jotting something down.

Late that night, while Y/N was settling into bed, a strange idea struck her. Sure that the thought that was nagging her was completely fruitless, she had no trouble with reaching into her desk and pulling out the Malfoy box. She just had to check if she wanted to sleep well.

Here goes.

She closed her eyes, imagining the expensive scent of her Amortentia. Then she opened it, stuck her nose into the fabric, and breathed in.

Well, fuck. 

~

The internal debate going through Y/N the next day at the breakfast table was intense. On one hand, she really, really wanted to just tell Hermione that Malfoy had been in her Amortentia and she was completely fucked, but on the other…

She glanced at the witch next to her as she methodically sliced her toast into perfect, equivalent squares before dunking them in jam. Y/N liking Malfoy was not going to fit into her toast cubes. If she said anything, she would lose her excuse to talk to her about him. And her excuse to try and get close with him. 

Perhaps I can figure it out tomorrow. 

When tomorrow came, she still hadn’t made progress. Y/N was beginning to think that her so called “revelation” after they brewed Amortentia was truly just complete and utter bullshit. So what that his quill box smelled like it--all rich people kind of smelled the same at some points, and so did their houses. There was a reason why she couldn’t immediately pin the scent to anything--it wasn’t like she even knew what Malfoy smelled like.

But the truth remained that she was still attracted to someone who happened to be a rich Slytherin--so naturally, her mind began to wander. There’s no way it was Zabini--his mother owned a fragrance line, and she would’ve instantly recognized the cologne that she knew Mrs. Zabini made him wear--and there was absolutely no way that it was Crabbe or Goyle, so the only other Slytherin it left was...Nott? But that didn’t make sense either--she’d never spoken to him before in her life, even less than Malfoy. So perhaps it would be better if she didn’t think on it.

The next day of potion brewing came on a stormy Wednesday. Malfoy and Y/N worked silently together to brew a Draught of Dreamless Sleep. She was surprised to see how practiced his movements were--he didn’t even have to reference the book to recite the exact measurements and directions.

“Do you have bad dreams or something?” she asked, mostly as a joke. He didn’t seem to pick up on the light-heartedness and stiffened up.

“No?”

“Gee, you’re talkative today,” Y/N said, trying to ignore how her hand brushed his by accident when she added the scoop of anjelica. 

“Excuse me for not entertaining you,” he drawled. “I wasn’t expecting to have such a needy potions partner today.”

“I am not needy!” she gasped, smacking his arm. “I’ve sat in silence for a full hour!”

He rolled his eyes (he was always rolling his eyes) and gave the potion one more final stir before setting the lid on the cauldron. “Think you can do that again? It needs to simmer for that long.”

“Just because you’re so sweet to me,” crooned Y/N before pulling out a heavy book from her satchel. Her Charms exam was tomorrow, and, naturally, she had decided to save all of her revising work until the night before. The textbook stared back at her as she jotted a few notes onto a previously blank sheet of parchment. The quill in her hands was light and glided across the paper like the tears of Merlin, something that she had forgotten quills could do. All of her familiar basic quills were okay, but they were prone to skidding and breaking. This nib hadn’t worn down in the slightest, still at a smooth and defined peak.

Y/N couldn’t believe that, out of all people, the person to give her such a thoughtful gift was Draco Malfoy. She tried to sneak a glance at him then, moving her curtain of hair away from her face. It took all she had in her to not be startled at the fact that he was already looking back, a slightly concerned expression etched into his face.

“Is something wrong?” 

He snapped out of it the moment the words left her lips, his face hardening. “No.”

“Forget I ever asked,” she responded, turning away from him for good and focusing on her textbook. No, there was no way he could be what she smelled in her Amortentia. She liked to think that her subconscious wasn’t secretly a masochist.

~

Friday evening swung around again, much to Y/N’s dismay. She’d had a talk with Hermione later on in the week, confirming that no, she did not smell Malfoy in her Amortentia, and that yes, she was still abiding by the plan that Hermione had so carefully laid out for her. It did bother her a bit that she could be lying to her on both fronts--but at the end of the day, she was going to get the answers that Harry wanted, no matter what. 

She just had to get through the scary ass castle first. She’d forgotten how spooky Hogwarts was after her previous sprint to the door, and this time she was positively trembling by the time she turned another dark corner on her way to McGonagall’s office. Yet another cursed item had been found in the girl’s lavatory on the 3rd floor, right by some of the classes that she had taken earlier in the week. The fact that whoever was out there was capable of dark magic and actively wanted to hurt people terrified her, all that Gryffindor bravery be damned. 

So when she heard footsteps suddenly right beside her, it was no wonder that she jumped feet in the air.

“Fuck!” she sputtered, turning to see a very familiar blonde in Slytherin robes. He was frozen in place, curiously looking her up and down.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Malfoy,” Y/N said, resisting the urge to melt into a puddle of relief at the sight. This wasn’t right--wasn’t he a suspected Death Eater? “You scared me.”

He scoffed, digging his hands into his pockets. “You’re supposed to be the brave ones, right?”

“Huh?”

Malfoy motioned to her Gryffindor jumper. 

“Oh.” Heat rushed to her cheeks as she realized what he meant. “I dunno. I just get jumpy around the castle at night.”

“No shit.” They’d begun to walk now, side by side. Y/N couldn’t remember ever walking with him before--she’d always been late. “Do you think I forgot the way you screamed when you saw me at the tower?”

“Shut up,” she grumbled, reaching over and giving him a healthy shove. 

They walked in silence together. Malfoy moved noticeably slower than he normally did so he wouldn’t leave Y/N’s shorter legs in tow. McGonagall seemed pleasantly surprised to see Malfoy hold the door open for her.

“I’m glad to see you two getting along,” she said, giving Y/N a hesitant nod before grabbing the stack of papers on her desk. “I’ll be back momentarily.”

After she exited the room with a swish of her deep maroon robes, Malfoy turned to her. “Are you scared of the dark or something?”

She turned, ready to send a biting retort his way, before she noticed how gray his pallor looked...and how big the circles under his eyes were. “You look like shit, Malfoy. Is everything okay?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Oh. Um…” Y/N pause before deciding that the little tidbit of information she was about to reveal wasn’t that important anyways. “I’m just on edge at night at Hogwarts is all. Especially with all that weird shit going on with all the cursed objects. So I kind of hate walking to and from detention.”

Malfoy let out something that sounded like a strained laugh.

“You didn’t answer my question. Is everything okay?”

“None of your business,” he snipped. “I just had a bad night.”

“Do you have trouble sleeping?” she asked, unable to keep herself from prying.

“Something like that.”

“Have you tried lavender?”

“I’m sorry?” He frowned.

“Lavender. Like the essential oil. It’s nothing magical,” she explained. “I just like to spray it in my bed sometimes before I sleep. Or I’ll use a few drops in a diffuser. I have trouble sleeping too, all the time, actually.” She shut her mouth before she had any chance to ramble further.

“It sounds a bit too floral for my taste.”

“Here.” Y/N dug around in her satchel, searching for the tiny spray bottle she kept with her at all times. “Borrow this and spritz your pillow with it before you sleep, and then tell me it’s too floral. I promise it helps.”

He glared at her. She extended her hand with the white bottle that was covered in purple decor, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “I won’t tell anyone that you have it if that’s what you’re worried about or whatever.”

“Fine,” he snapped, snatching it from her hand and dragging his fingers over her palm for just a second. “Don’t expect me to actually try it, though.”

“Just give it a sniff.” 

He huffed, but to her surprise, he actually uncapped the top and held the spray hole up to his nose, inhaling in once.

The effect was immediate. Malfoy’s face completely drained of color, becoming even grayer than he’d been when she first saw him under the light. The briefest expression of surprise fleeted over his face before he wiped it off, replacing it with something unreadable and tossing it back at her. “I’m not using this.”

“Why not?”

“Not quite my taste,” he spat.

Y/N was shocked by the sudden outburst, watching as he continued to glower at his desk. “I don’t understand. It really does help you sleep. I know it seems stupid, but I...really think you should try it. Just once, if anything.”

“Why does it matter so much to you?”

“Because I--” Y/N stopped herself before she let her mouth run without check. “I know what it’s like is all. I feel like shit if I don’t sleep. Plus, I have to spend time with you every Friday. I imagine that you’ll be slightly more tolerable if you sleep more.”

“Hm.” He sent her a particularly venomous glare. “Thanks for your concern. Consider me uninterested, though.”

“You break my heart,” she teased, pulling back her hand and placing the bottle on the corner of her desk. An idea struck her.

“And just what are you smiling about?” Draco said. His lips were turned into a sour frown. 

“Nothing, nothing,” she responded, her voice adopting a sing-song quality. All she had to do now was wait. 

He exhaled, a deep and exasperated sound. Then he turned back to whatever was in front of him.

McGonagall entered the room a few minutes later, nodding cordially at the comfortable silence the two students were in. What she didn’t know was that Y/N was waiting, just waiting for Malfoy to dig through his satchel and stop paying attention to his quill.

She got her opportunity a few minutes later, when McGonagall called him up to look over his latest Transfiguration homework.

“Mr. Malfoy, I’m happy to see that you’re taking more initiative in getting your assignments done...I have to say that you had me a bit concerned…”

While her professor kept Malfoy occupied, Y/N darted over and grabbed his quill. 

Ha.

Malfoy frowned down at his desk when he returned, giving Y/N a suspicious look.

“What is it, Malfoy?” she said, hoping her voice conveyed nothing that might hint that she took something of his.

“Nothing.”

“Hm.”

The rest of detention passed without any more discussion. Y/N was eager to run up to her dorm and set up her plan to be carried out the next morning, but she calmed her bouncing leg and forced herself to keep a straight face when McGonagall dismissed them.

“Got somewhere to be, Y/L/N?” Malfoy’s voice called after her as she sped down the hall towards the Gryffindor tower. 

“What’s it to you?” she fired back.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he picked up his pace until he was walking next to her.

“Aren’t the Slytherin dorms the other direction?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Are they?” 

She allowed herself to be amused by the way words flowed out of his mouth when he was slightly out of breath. “Why are you walking with me?”

“You said it yourself.” He kept his eyes cast on the cobblestones below them. “You don’t like walking alone at night.”

“Uh...oh.” Against her will, her feet froze and she was glued to the ground. “You’re joking, right?”

If the lighting wasn’t so dim, Y/N would have good reason to believe he was blushing with how intently he was studying his fingernails. “By all means, I can be.”

“No! No, I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth. “Er...I’d like you to. If you want to, that is.”

He shrugged, an elfish expression spreading across his face as he took in how nervous she was. “Well, come to think of it, you didn’t ask me to. I suppose I better get back to the Slytherin dorms anyways. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the Gryffindor Tower right now.”

“Why?” she squeaked.

“Oh, you know, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that most of the cursed things showed up on your side of the castle, yeah?”

She gulped.

“I gotta get going. Don’t want to stand around here too long. This place gives me the creeps.” With that, he turned and began walking away.

“Malfoy?” She hated how timid her voice sounded. “Consider this me asking you to walk with me.”

He slowly faced her, a sly grin plastered all over his face. “Oh? Did I hear that correctly? Do you want me to?”

“I’m only going to say this once,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and trying her best to look intimidating. “Walk with me. Please.”

“I guess I’ll take it.” Malfoy glided down the hallway to her in just a couple steps, sending her yet another smug look.

“You made up that whole ordeal about Gryffindor Tower being targeted, didn’t you?” asked Y/N as they rounded the corner to reach the staircase leading up to the common room.

“You bought it, didn’t you?” 

“Who says I didn’t just want you to walk with me?” pushed Y/N. This was as close to flirting as it would ever get for her--but it looked like, somehow, things were falling into place. The heat in her cheeks must’ve been from the excitement of making progress. 

Malfoy’s toe caught on the first stair and, if it weren’t for Y/N’s steady grip on his arm, would’ve made him go sprawling across the stone steps. 

“Merlin, Malfoy,” she said, immediately dropping her grip from his shoulder. “What’s gotten into you?”

He responded with an unceremonial snort and a withering glare. The rest of the walk was done in silence, and Y/N noted how careful his footwork became around the Gryffindor steps.

“This is me,” she finally said once they reached the tapestry for the Gryffindor dorms. He seemed surprised, and only then did it strike her that he’d probably never seen the entrance himself before. “Thanks for being such a gentleman.”

“I live to serve,” he drawled.

And just like that, he was gone.

~

Her plan was simple. She had located an extra monogrammed pouch in her cabinet, a rich mahogany color with her family crest in a vivid gold, and placed both his quill and the lavender bottle. She would corner him after breakfast or follow him out of the Great Hall and show him then.

However, it was becoming increasingly obvious that Malfoy was not coming to Saturday morning breakfast. Many people didn’t, but Y/N had never known him to miss it. His normal spot was vacant, and it certainly wasn’t a house-made decision as all of his Slytherin friends were present and accounted for. Y/N couldn’t say for sure, but she could see Parkinson turning her head to the entrance every time the doors thudded open before glancing back to Malfoy’s empty seat when it turned out to be someone else.

Where was that loser?

“Excuse me,” she said to the trio as she stood up and brushed off her skirt. “I think I’m going to go get some fresh air. I have a bitch of a headache.”

Hermione and Harry expressed their sympathies while Ron gave her a characteristic mumble through his mouthful of bread, and she was off with the pouch secured in her cloak pocket.

It was a clear November morning, clearly Mother Nature’s attempt to slowly move the world from the crisp autumn to a cold winter. The sky was clear and the sun’s rays warmed her skin at a slanted angle, casting weak shadows across the courtyard.

If I were Malfoy, where would I go to sulk?

The obvious answer was either the Slytherin common room or his own dorm, but that was without a doubt out of question for her. She wasn’t even sure if she possessed the knowledge to guess which corridor the entrance was in, much less work out the password herself. Beyond that, just getting into the common room and waiting would be...She shivered. It would be a terrible idea while she was clearly wearing a cloak in Gryffindor red and gold trim. 

As she continued her aimless wander around the castle, she heard the slightest sound from the girl’s bathroom on the second floor. It wasn’t ever really in use--no one came in there to actually use the loo unless they wanted Myrtle to materialize and tell them her supernatural troubles while they were in the middle of their personal business--but it was often the source of strange happenings. 

Like the cursed objects she thought to herself, her nails digging into her palms. But did she care about that right now? Surely cursed objects seemed somewhat...suspicious. Dark magic was difficult to hide, and to a pureblood eye that grew up around magical objects, cursed things shouldn’t be impossible to spot. 

And, plus, it was Malfoy she was looking for. None of the students had died from the curses so far, and if she was able to break through and learn something, or at the very least gain his trust, the reward to the Order would be more than worth it.

She stepped in, expecting to see an entirely empty bathroom with perhaps a ghost rattling around at the sink. Instead, a different sight awaited her.

Draco Malfoy was clutching the edge of the cracked sink basin in front of him, rocking himself back and forth and shaking. From her vantage point, she could see that he was dressed in his normal garb--a black ensemble--but his hair was unruly and messy, sticking up in the back like he’d hurriedly tugged something over his head.

A strangled gasp grounded her and halted her curious observations. Malfoy began to make these awful sobbing sounds, like he could barely manage to breathe. 

Y/N was frozen in place as she surveyed her options. If she stayed and tried to talk to him, he might react in anger or hurt her. But if she just left him, like this, all alone...She swallowed once before stepping forward.

“Malfoy? Are you okay?” Obviously he’s not, you bint said a voice deep in her brain. She pushed it aside as he swung around, his wand raised and his eyes blazing. “Whoa! I’m not going to...Put your wand down!”

He stared at her, his eyes wide with horror as he continued to shake, so much so that his wand slipped out of his hand and clattered to the floor. Without thinking, Y/N reached into her pocket and flung her wand away, holding her hands up.

“I’m not going to try anything. I promise.”

As she drew closer, she could see the remnants of tears on his wet cheeks and the way that his silver eyes were rimmed with a bloodshot red. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he hissed, his voice weak and cracking. 

“Neither should you. This is the girl’s bathroom.”

final a/n: ok so lmk if you guys wants me to continue. i really did not edit the last half fjkdsal;f also kinda made this an au where malfoy tried to assassinate dumbledore. with more than one cursed object but dw it’ll all make sense ill clear that up 😭

[ghost-town-story]

FebruarOC Day 15: Ophelia (Lia)

(Also known as Pretentious Art Boys bc that’s how I kept referring to it when I was procrastinating on it :P)

Lia leaned against a bare patch of wall, levelling an unamused glare at her friends. “You know,” she said, “when you said I should “get out of the house for once” and “stop drowning my sorrows in ice cream”, I thought that meant, you know, doing something fun. Not this.” 

She gestured at the room with her wine glass, really the only highlight of this whole event. 

Derek gave her a sheepish grin, while Esme looped their free arms together. “And is this not fun?” she asked. 

Lia gave her another deadpan stare. “The alcohol is the only thing making this tolerable.” 

“And it’s better than drinking alone, eh?” Derek teased. 

“Drinking alone on my couch in my pjs, or getting all dressed up to drink wine and listen to pretentious art boys ramble on and on?” Lia raised her eyebrow. “Take a guess which one I’d prefer.” 

“Ophelia, darling.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Lia grumbled. 

Esme continued on undeterred. “You know I love you, but there comes a point where staying in with ice cream and wine, it’s just, well…” 

“Sad?” 

Esme gave her a sheepish grin. “I love you darling, but yes.” 

Lia sighed unhappily. “Okay, you know what, I won’t argue that point, yet,” she added pointedly as Derek and Esme shared a triumphant grin, “but I will question your sanity once again. Dragging me out here to listen to pretentious art boys, really?” 

“Pretentious art boys?” Lia spun around at the unfamiliar voice. 

A couple had wandered within earshot of Lia and her friends. The man’s expression was somewhere between bemused and amused as the woman smacked his arm, though she looked to barely be containing giggles of her own. 

“Yes.” Lia crossed her arms and decided in a split second that this was the hill she was going to die on today. “And you have something to say about that?” 

The man opened his mouth, and the woman elbowed him. “Don’t even start,” she warned. 

“You’re one to talk about not starting arguments, Jasmine,” the man retorted. “Anyways—” 

He suddenly cut off. “Fuck. Hold that thought,” he said to Lia. “I’ll be back.” 

And he and the woman disappeared into the crowd again. 

Lia rolled her eyes, taking another sip of her wine. “Pretentious art boys, all of them,” she muttered.

~

Lia quietly muttered curses under her breath, wishing her favorite coffee shop wasn’t quite so damn crowded. For a second she debated just leaving, but she needed the caffeine and sweetness, and all the other places within five miles were subpar at best, so she would just have to endure. 

Somebody bumped into Lia, causing her to stumble and fall into a stranger. Cursing her luck, Lia quickly straightened herself out, an apology already on her lips as she looked up. It died partway through. 

“You!” 

The man blinked before a smile graced his features. “You’re the “pretentious art boys” girl from that art show the other day! You ran off before I could return to continue our discussion.” 

Lia had left as soon as she finished her wine, Derek and Esme dragging her home with them to watch terrible movies until the early morning. 

“I can’t see why you’re surprised,” Lia said defensively. “Because obviously I was having the time of my life at the art show.” 

“You make a fair point,” the man conceded. “But you wouldn’t hang around to try and put me in my place?” 

“You have a lot of nerve, starting arguments you’re so sure you won’t win,” Lia said. “Plus, arguing with pretentious art boys in their natural habitat is probably a bad idea anyways.” 

“Am I a pretentious art boy?” The man smirked. 

Lia’s response was cut off by a woman cutting through the crowd to join them. Lia recognized her as the man’s date from the last time they’d met. 

“Jeez this place is busy today,” she muttered to the man before noticing Lia. “Oh hey, I’ve met you before, right?” 

“Briefly,” Lia said. 

The woman smiled. “I hate to cut this meeting short too, but we need to go.” She handed off a drink to the man before taking his arm. “I refuse to let Hayden worm out of letting me meet his boyfriend yet again.” 

Lia heard her name called. “And there’s my drink anyways,” she said. 

“Till next time then,” the man said. 

“You sound sure about that one,” Lia raised her eyebrow. 

The man laughed. “Maybe I just believe in coincidences?” 

The woman tugged his arm. 

“Yeah, okay Jazz, I’m coming.” 

They disappeared into the crowd, and Lia made her way to the front counter, contemplating the coincidence that had let their paths intersect once again.

~

The halls were dark and quiet, except for the sounds of Lia’s footsteps. If she didn’t trust Derek and his judge of character, Lia would honestly wonder if he wasn’t setting her up for some weird murder-or-selling-her-organs-on-the-black-market scheme. As it were though, this place was creepy. 

But as Lia rounded a corner, the windows let in more sunlight, and she heard muffled music coming from one of the studios, instantly alleviating the creepy factor. 

Lia curiously peered in the window as she passed, only to stop dead in recognition. 

Well fuck. 

She knocked on the door, and a voice called, “Come in.” 

As she opened the door, the man turned down his music. “Can you gimme a couple more minutes Jase?” he asked. “I’m almost done, I promise.” 

“Not Jase.” 

The man glanced around. “Ah! Pretentious art boys! Told you I believed in coincidence.” 

“Is that going to be my name for the rest of time?” Lia asked. 

“Only for as long as I don’t know it.” The man winked, his dark indigo eyes sparkling. 

“Lia.” 

The man smiled. “Nice to officially meet you Lia. I’m Alex.” 

Lia glanced around the small studio room. “This stuff yours?” 

“For the most part, yeah,” Alex said. 

“So I was right,” Lia smirked. “You are a pretentious art boy.” 

Alex laughed. “You are at least half right, I’ll give you that much.” He turned back to his easel. “So what brings you here, to the heart of pretentious art boy territory?” he teased. 

“Ha ha, very funny.” Lia leaned against the doorframe. “I’m supposed to be meeting my friend and a couple of his buds, actually.” 

“Heh, same thing, funny enough,” Alex chuckled. “My cousin’s boyfriend was talking about introducing us to some of his friends.” 

“What a coincidence,” Lia murmured. 

“And I believe in it,” Alex repeated. “It worked well enough to have us meet three times now, didn’t it?” 

Lia hesitated, then huffed. She didn’t have a good argument against that. 

“Exactly,” Alex replied, interpreting her silence. 

From the hallway, Lia heard a voice calling. “Think that’s for you or me?” she asked. 

“You, probably,” Alex answered. “Jason knows I’ll be here. In fact, he’d be concerned if I moved.” 

“Really?” 

“Usually if I tell him I’m going to paint while I wait for him to get his shit together, I lose track of time real easy,” Alex laughed. 

Lia thought of how time slipped away from her when she was watching a show or reading a good book. “Yeah, that’s fair.” 

The door behind Lia opened, and Alex’s date from the past few times they’d met popped her head in. “Hey Alex, you ready—oh!” She blinked in surprise. 

“Like, two more minutes Jazz?” Alex asked. 

“Yeah, sure. Didn’t expect to run into you here.” 

“This is my studio Jazz—” 

“Not you you spork.” 

“Ah. Jazz, Lia. Lia, my cousin Jasmine.” 

Lia blinked. She had definitely misread that relationship. 

“Cut it out Alex,” Jasmine rolled her eyes. “Just Jazz is fine. Alex likes to think he’s witty.” 

“Because I am,” Alex shot back with a grin. 

“In your dreams Jaybird,” Jazz retorted. “Anyways, you wouldn’t happen to be one of Derek’s friends, would you?” 

“I am,” Lia said, ignoring Alex’s cough that sounded suspiciously like he was saying Coincidence. 

“Cool. Derek’s been looking for you, so let’s go find them and Alex can join us when he’s ready?” 

“Sounds good,” Lia said. 

Alex gave them a salute. 

As Lia followed Jazz out, she had to admit that Alex may have a point, believing in the coincidence of all their meetings.

~

“Fourth time’s the charm, eh?” Lia asked, leaning against the doorframe. 

Alex chuckled, looking in her direction. “Starting to believe in coincidence?” 

“I would, if this weren’t Derek’s apartment and I didn’t know that he invited you all to join us,” Lia responded. 

“Aw shucks.” Alex didn’t look too upset though. 

“So why are you hiding out in here?” Lia asked. 

“Not really my thing, to be honest,” Alex said. “Movies, and all that. Well, sometimes it is but not in this context.” 

“Oh?” Lia crossed the kitchen and hopped up onto the counter next to Alex. “And may I ask why not?” 

Alex blinked. “Oh,” he said, his voice suddenly quiet. “Oh, shit I kinda can’t believe it hasn’t come up yet.” 

“What?” 

Alex hesitated, turning his cup in his hands. “I’m actually blind.” 

Lia blinked. “What?” 

“Yeah.” Alex shrugged, then took a drink. “Not like, completely, but I can’t watch movies unless somebody’s narrating what’s happening most of the time.” 

“I think that’s an option on Netflix,” Lia said, “if you want.” 

“Nah.” Alex ruffled her hair and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Thanks for the offer, but I really don’t think I’m missing out on much.” 

Lia flushed slightly. “Depends. Is your taste in media cheesy horror?” 

Alex shuddered. “No thank you.” 

“Then you’re not missing out,” Lia affirmed. 

“Ophelia Davidson, you’d better not be dissing this!” Esme called from the living room. 

“None of your business Esme Larkson, and don’t call me that!” 

“Ophelia, huh?” Alex was smirking. 

“Don’t you dare Alexander,” Lia threatened. 

“Jokes on you, Alex isn’t a nickname.” 

“Don’t you dare, Alexander Jay Lunacen.” 

“Hm, you’ve been talking to Jazz. Or Jason,” Alex added. “But the point of my first name still stands.” 

“And how will you stop me?” Lia sassed. Alex was still smirking at her, his arm still around her waist, and she’d had just enough wine to fake some confidence. 

Alex hummed. “Don’t call me Alexander, and I won’t call you Ophelia,” he bargained. “Sounds much too formal anyways. And if that won’t convince you…” 

Alex brought his free hand up to Lia’s cheek, his thumb tracing the corner of her mouth before he leaned in to kiss her. 

“Maybe I’ll just have to find some other way to silence you,” he murmured when he pulled away. 

“But Alexander fits the pretentious art boy vibe you have going,” Lia teased. 

“Do you really think I’m a pretentious art boy, Ophelia?” 

“You are definitely an art boy,” Lia said. “And I have seen no evidence yet saying you’re not pretentious about it, Alexander.” 

Alex huffed, leaning in to kiss her again. “One might think you’re trying to get me to shut you up,” he murmured. 

“What do you think Alexander?” Lia teased back. 

Alex hummed, thinking about it for a moment. “That I’m right.” 

And Alex kissed her again.

[madokasoratsugu]

so hmst. ever think of fritz/lucette in a realistic scenario world w/out curses bc i do, way too much (even w my admittedly shitty knowledge of medieval times LMAO). pls have this dumbass meta that got way out of hand at 4.5k words lol..... aka i just really wanted to write forbidden romance about queen lucette and her personal knight fritz :”)))

ao3

happily ever afters are not for someone like lucette.

she is crown princess of angielle, the most prosperous kingdom to enjoy peace for over a decade on the continent and she will make it remain so, no matter what she must do. mother taught her to be unkind and unforgiving, but father’s rule taught her what that would cost. (‘your very life’; and lucette could die of laughter. her life was given to her country the moment the king placed his crown upon hers. her life was given to her citizens the moment she took her mother’s life. her life was no longer hers to live the moment she gave her first cry as a babe. )   

her mother taught her how to be a ruler, her father teaches her how to be a queen - what lucette must be willing to take (land and gold and unworthy men), to give (her future, her dreams, her happiness - but what are they, in the grand scheme of angielle, of her citizens’ days of peace?

what is she worth that they are not?) she knows the answer, through mother’s lessons that bear cruel truth her father never speaks of, but her knight makes her doubt.

jewels and gold lay heavy upon her, with him beside lightly dull in that scuffed armour and pressed uniform. surely, lucette knows, her worth is more than all the citizens in the land, not just for her riches and beauty, but for the blood that runs through her veins, the royal authority she wields with the ease and capability both rulers before her did. (her rule is made of fear and compassion and kind unkindness - blood must be split as must peace reign, one cannot go without another. cruelty is easy, forgiveness is easy, to find the balance is not but lucette rules with perfect grace balanced on that taut line, ready to cut her throat like the executioner’s axe on the council’s ruling at any moment.) but when he smiles, a secret crook of lips and a carefully angled head, the perfect fall of hair over face; the worth of a man tips, unbalances, and she finds herself slip, slip, slipping - and it’s roses and sunbeams and delicate gentleness lucette wishes she wielded instead, pretty and perfect and pure like all fairy tale heroines are, like all knights will rescue and cherish. lucette is a queen, but she is twenty and longing and impervious to the worst and only curse to befall any royal - love. aching, unattainable love for her very own knight.

(‘give none of yourself to them.’ mother gasped, blood dying her lips a beautiful crimson. ‘for they will give nothing back, my love. they took me, but in the end, i return to you.’ lucette cannot draw the blade out, hands tight around the hilt the queen had forced into her hands. in the end, her mother returns to her. and she returns to no one.)

lucette will use every means to claw her way to the crown, every man given to her to escape death even for another day, another hour, another minute. (bent over choking on her own vomit, steel boned corset catching knives and needles; continuous rescheduled trips to the outdoors; after all, men can be so, so inventive in the ways of killing. yet what is suicide but another method of death?) trained poison courses her veins, experimental cuts litter her abdomen, bows and arrows whittled thinly useless; lucette riella britton will give all of herself but her death. her mother might have taught her not to give a life she doesn’t own, her father might have expected her to die for his cause; in the face of both their righteous morals, lucette swallows another bud of aconite. palms pressed against lips, swallowing, relishing the bitterly sweet poison.

fritzgerald aiden leverton is assigned to her at age eighteen. he is clumsy and imperfect and a man by no standard other than the sword, but at fifteen and still feeling phantom daggers in her sides, poisons burning her guts, lucette has no complaints. not in the way he handles himself, not in the way he fights, not in the way he is, charming and captivating and strong. only in the way he intervenes. (“i can’t let you do this.” torch in hand, ready to burn the flowers at a moment’s notice. “would you rather your liege die?” hesitation on one’s part, and the ache of realisation of the likeness of all men throbs through another. “i’ll protect you.” “not forever.” “watch me.”)

in merely two years, fritz has had her entire personnel overhauled; incompetent fools who turn blind eyes to last minute changes in the menu or unnamed guests who request to be let in at balls. natural charisma, an unrelenting tongue and the favour of the king; using everything and everyone at his disposal and then some. throughout it all deflecting swords and arrows and daggers, both others and her own. and it infuriates lucette, how easily he overturns her expectations, her denials and rejections and pessimism and weaves it all into useless, tragic hope a princess like her cannot have. and it enrages lucette, how quickly the knives are turned against fritz instead; ministers’ cutting sharp proposals of misconduct, advisors’ petty contributions, the maids’ gossips, the blade of his own father. and it - confuses lucette, how familiarly fritz still smiles, and calls her title with a lilt that bears no trace of anything, anything at all. (“i can’t let you keep doing this.” roles reversed; the knight heaving a laugh that nearly goes south. “i was trained for this much.” voice muffled behind a gloved hand, face pale, forehead drenched with cold sweat. even water can be deadly, in a castle. “are you disobeying me?” “on this, i will be.” a slightly lowered hand, a mischievous smile, something foreign and insatiable curling, twisting in the princess’ abdomen. “i could have you executed for treason.” “that’s harsh, my princess.” “then promise.” “i promise nothing but to protect my charge, irregardless of cost.” a sword in one hand, her behind the other. fought for and protected and cherished and lucette - crumbles.)

fritz is made of soft and kind things that royalty are not allowed to dream of. wildflowers, the brays of sheep, a bookmarked bird feather. untethered kites, whirl of spinning threads, the first bloom of a morning glory. first, there is jealousy and spite, childish cold shoulders and biting words. knight to e5; restricted, leashed, threatened. next, there is echoing envy, hidden looks of sullen frowns and biten back sighs. knight moved to its leisure, lengths long. then, there is complex, contorting, confounding - (‘they will give you nothing back’), not-quite quiet smiles and lower lips that ache to be bit. knight and queen left. (check.)

feverish and in pain, still he smiles. (“you shouldnt be here.” voice so hoarse his usual laugh is grated to nothingness from tire. “neither should you.” the words come out unintended; meant as a scold, an order, a warning. he is hers to command, but knelt by his bedside, silks spilling around her and rough cotton covering him; imbalanced, neck running an invisible line of red, she cannot find the power. polished crystal cold against her lips, but his chapped ones are warm, so, so warm. fritz swallows the force fed antidote, eyes closing, breathes evening, calming; lucette wonders if he felt as she did when he first arrived before her, like a spring storm.) flushed and oddly turbulent, she finally smiles.

it is a year after the failed coup that lucette hears her mother again, newly crowned. the head knight takes more than just the people’s trust in the royal family - and lucette becomes queen a year after her father breathes his last. ophelia is still in mourning, emelaigne already promised to brugantia, rod too young and too occupied with the patrons of his songs. there is no one else more worthy. again, weighted by gold and jewels, lucette does not meet fritz’s eyes once during the ceremony. (“my queen.” a bow, a light quirk of lips that cannot lift her spirits as it usually does. “i cannot do this.” a sudden low whisper, an afraid admission. “i am not mother. i am not the king. i -.” brilliant, beautiful, ugly red staining her lips, sunken teeth breaking them. a quick thumb wiping the red, then gently, easily, cradling her clasped hands. lucette is nineteen and aching and still feels the grooves of the hilt she’d buried in her mother; but when fritz calls those tightly overlapping fingers a prayer for the dead who do not deserve her nor the forgiveness she still gives, lucette bends over and drips tears onto their hands, and wishes, for the first time in her life, to be worthy of the person before her; holding her gentle and kind and soft in a way lucette is not allowed to dream of.)

fairytales speak of both truth and lies - princes upon white horses will always arrive to sweep their princesses off her feet, but not all princesses have a prince voyaging for their hand. it is those dainty and delightful that do, like emelaigne and her charming prince klaude. lucette is made of too many thorns to bloom into a rose, too many rules and laws to be accepted without hesitation. perfect princes are rare, and only to be paired with the most pure, most perfect of princesses; with a cheerful disposition, an innocent worldview and no blood on her silky smooth hands. lucette does not mourn for her loss, not when she has never wanted such a gain. but during nights, as she flips through the books her sister left her with, she finds herself tracing over the figures of men in shining armour and wonders if the same rules apply to knights, too.

still; knights are dirty and scuffed in tunics and dull metal, too scarred bodies that are meant to wither on a battlefield, with too naive thoughts and too bloodied hands, too alluring smiles and too bright a laughter, paired with gentle eyes and chapped lips and kinder words than she knows, she’s heard; that captures, enamours her to him, to a mere knight who will not lose to any prince; for he is no less endearing or kind or perfect - but lucette is a queen and cannot be galvaning with a born commoner. her father lost the respect of nobles for his flight of fancy, died for it; lucette will not. lucette will - (throughout the coronation, fritz stands beside, decorated in white gold and an ivory white uniform pressed to his form, a one shouldered cape’s strap diagonally bound across his chest that bears a multitude of colourful medals, hair pinned back on one side, showing off a scar that runs over his jaw. he is lightly dull and when he bends at an angle, head tilting and lip curving a secret crooked smile, her chest dips and does not rise for a long, long, long time. the new weight that rests upon her head reminds her to let the breath out.) not.

it takes another two years into being queen before the talk of marriage is tossed upon the table. it’s late, by lucette’s expectations. she’d have thought those ugly vultures would have said something six months after her crowning. a king from a nearby country laughs when he hears of her disdain during a ball, and lets her in on the terror and awe the new queen had inspired into countries since her rule. with time, things have only just become stable, he supposes, a too shrewd guess from a small kingdom’s king. if he and his brothers were not already taken lucette would gladly join hands with them. (“but i am sure that is not what you are concerned with.” the king smiles, knowing. lucette eyes the man said to be the calm before a storm, warned against even neutral as their country’s stance is, and he returns her look with a finger pressed over his lips, keeps his impassive smile. “may fortune favour the lovers.”)

it does not come as a surprise why he is the only one who expresses his support for her. not only is he one of the only royals to have figured out lucette’s little infatuation (“jack of all trades indeed” fritz had whistled nervously when lucette showed him the king’s letter.), in terms of wealth, political and military might, there is only one other country to rival angielle’s. it may be on another continent, but that is of little consequence to a power hungry king, eager to wage war. and lucette knows all too well the easy way nobles and aristocrats alike give up on their futures, so the lack of enthusiasm surrounding her love life other than to increase angielle’s might is something she’s always expected. but the sudden pain in her chest at the thought of marrying another, spending her future without fritz by her side, is not something she had ever expected. (she pulls fritz to her personal library one early evening, for reasons unknown to even herself. it is decided, the date, the venue, the person. letters are being written as she stands, plans being made, people informed and gossip being spread; her heart is thudding painfully and her eyes are sore and her hands shake - “my queen?” “i’m sorry.” it is the only thing she ever seems to say to him, apologies and more apologies, and she wishes she were smarter, prettier, purer, lovelier, more worthy - then fritz is cupping her face and kissing her, and all that fills lucette’s head is longing and love and fritz.)

this is not smart at all. they are in a library, and even with it being reserved to the queen herself and the door locked behind them it is not smart. but in the heat of the moment, hands clutching, roaming, tangling, nothing is clear to the duo but the breathless, flushed person before them. (“are you - are you sure? i can stop.” a silencing kiss, a soft, soft murmur of consent. and the next word he utters is her name, and the happiness she was supposed to have given up on wells up in her in waves, breaking out of her by the returning call of his name.)

everything comes to a promised end after the night. one last, dear memory, and by morning, lucette is in her office, signing the document dismissing fritz as her personal knight, post-wedding. it will be easier for them both. it will be kinder, she convinced herself, as she wept into his chest and he held her, lower lip trembling. (“i’m sorry.” it is not the first time fritz has apologised, but the sorrow that aches in his words is new and vulnerable. lucette shakes her head, burying her face deeper into his chest, his arms tightening around her waist. “thank you.” it is the first time lucette says the words properly, instead of conveying it through action and blushes, and it makes the happiness in her ache as much as the sorrow must in fritz.) lucette’s hands do not shake as she presses the royal seal over the melted wax. once more, she hears her mother’s pained words, and closes her eyes. once more, everything of a queen is taken from her, and she returns to no one.

adding onto her already packed days, wedding preparations only serves to leave lucette with no time for her own at all. the choosing of silks and satin, the decor of the ceremony, the fine details that must go into it, and the continuous correspondence with her soon-to-be allies - the list only goes on and on and on and lucette is glad, if only because she can take her mind off her knight that still fastidiously stays by her side; still there at daybreak outside her chambers, still there late into the night outside her office. the words they exchange are strictly managed, limited, by their incapability to let go and forget. it is sudden jerked back hands, forced down laughter and sealed away smiles. some days they forget, and lucette stills with a held back sigh as fritz brushes a wayward strand of hair away from her eyes, as fritz’s lips linger too long over the back of her hand, as fritz smiles. but they are quickly reminded, as fritz smooths her hair beneath lucette’s crown, as fritz lets go of her hand too swiftly, as fritz turns away. (the hurt grows and grows and grows until it roots itself in lucette and numbed pain wars in her body every second of every day, burning and screaming and killing her. lucette does not think even the death of either parent had hurt this much. she aches and aches for his word, his touch, his smile, to simply be by his side again. buries these feelings, these needs, deeper and deeper and deeper down until she cannot remember them; until she is asleep and wakes up with tear stains on her pillows, her cheeks. presses her palms to her lips, swallows down the screams for a man a queen cannot allow herself to long for, and agonises in the bitterly sweet name she cannot speak.)

it is a week before the wedding, six months since the night, when a pain strikes lucette’s chest. it is the last of the celebratory balls prior to her wedding, and with a hand twisted into her chest, lucette finds herself wracked with pain she’s forgotten in the midst of her heartache; dressed in complacency and a plain wired corset, lucette curses, loud and uncouth, angry and tired and drowning sadness. everything swims in her vision, blurring, hazing, and lucette cannot tell the difference between this night and the ones of the previous six months; tears are gathering in her eyes, her gut is twisting, her every bone is threatening to shatter and she slides down the side of her bed, the need to live warring with the screaming need to simply let everything come crashing down and end. she has betrayed her mother, her father, her kingdom, her love - lucette has given all of herself over and over and over and she suddenly understands her mother’s last words not as chains but as warning sirens; lucette feels the grooves of the hilt like the petals of aconite, and remembers death is her own to take. (but before she can truly make it so, someone is hauling her up, forcing her into a stagger into the lavatory; gloves clattering metal as they hit the rocks, fingers are forced down her throat - vomit spilling out and lucette is made to live another day. when she runs out of liquid to expel, there is a cold cloth gently wiping her mouth, a worried gaze staring down at her. lucette is the one to turn away, this time. “you should have left me.” she says, throat raw and scratched from the scorching bile, from crying senselessly for the man who she leans against. fritz holds her with his clean arm, presses those lips she’s longed for for days and nights now against her crown, murmurs, “never.” lucette bites down on her lip, tastes beautiful red and bites harder. “leave me.” pushes him with an arm, forcing distance between them. “leave me!” a scream that does not break under the weight of the words, a sob that doesn’t translate. the warmth leaves her, his reluctant footsteps fade, and the emptiness of death is all that remains; long tipped from balance, lucette bows down into her skirts that billow silk around her, muffled cries spilling out of her cold, cold lips dyed crimson.)

the days pass by in a giant mass, and lucette lets herself be pushed along with the changing days, performing her role as well as any queen should. returns to being lucette riella britton, a queen, a monarch, a beloved ruler worthy of the titles she’s earned and the country she governs; wills herself to forget about lucette, a queen, a monarch; a woman unworthy of the love a clumsy, imperfect man by every standard he is measured by blessed her with. (with her own hands, lucette kills the cherished, protected, beloved girl; kills her weakness, her happiness, her mother and father both had taught her she is not allowed to have in their own ways, in their own deaths.)

lucette sits by her window, the outfitting of the day done. maids’ dismissed early, servants ordered not to disturb her until dinner, lucette’s gaze flits over the dust that catches in the setting sun, gloved hand fingering the multiple strands of pearls that lace her neck (“so you never forget.” her fiance had written in the card of the gift, sadistic in his connotations behind the choker, the collar.), and thinks of her inherited kingdom, the inherited grudges. closes her eyes, and forces herself to breathe. to not think of what another would have gifted, would have said, would have laughed and blushed in the way she delights at the new treasure (a roadside store pendant, a cut flower, a fluttering kiss). breath hitching, suddenly unclasping the latch of the choker, tossing it onto the vanity with a loud clatter. the burst of frustration quickly gives way to deflated resignation, and lucette puts away the accessory in a drawer. it would not look good if she damaged a wedding gift on the eve of the ceremony itself.

reaches up to undo her hair, when there’s a sudden bang, then a crash, and frenzied yells mixed with the clanging of swords and armour meeting floors. lucette stares at her door, jumps as a masked man barges in, and sweeps her onto one arm, the other outstretched and wielding a familiar blade. lucette barely has time to speak, to think; the man moves faster than her thoughts can, than her trained knights do. the cries for help not leaving her, instead bubbling, incredulous laughter nearly does; as the queen clutches tighter onto her kidnapper whose hair blends seamlessly into her gown, pure white and silver. (he is made of soft and kind things that royalty are not allowed to dream of, lucette knows, but forgets that even the gentlest of creatures turn into beasts when what they protect is threatened, forgets that fritz’s hands are dyed with the same beautiful crimson that her mother and her had both tasted, forgets that fritz is aconite - elegant and deadly and the only one she has given her death to.)

“you are not happy.” fritz says plainly, when they reach the stables. he knows his queen like the back of his hand, that his poor disguise is nothing to her, that her calm command over the past months is nothing but a poor facade to him. still, duty bound, royalty, the crown heavy on her head, lucette cannot answer. is not allowed to. the horse whinnies, and fritz shushes it fondly, strokes it’s mane. the saddle upon it is adjusted for two. “lucette.” he says, with a lilt that bears no trace of anything, anything at all. “it’s your choice. i will not blame you for anything. i never have.” under the rising moon, his smile does not wane; sure and gentle and accepting and whole. and it dumbfounds lucette, how effortlessly he comes to her aid, frees her, loves her, and asks for nothing but her happiness in return. (it is the same as when she was fifteen, when she was seventeen, when she was nineteen, and now twenty-one. it is the same. it always has been.)

her life is not hers to live, but her heart is hers to give. (”take me away.” lucette says, a whisper so loud it is a command that makes fritz’s lips curl in a wolfish fashion, as light as lucette feels, even clad in jewels and gold.)

now, there is simply love, a smile that has always stayed, always yearned, and a girl who has lost her bite, perfectly imbalanced. knight to queen. (checkmate.)

yet in the end, queens are queens, as knights are knights. happily ever afters are not made for a royal whose smallest sigh can bring an end to another’s empire; in these stories, tales of a knight who absconded with his queen is not a fairy tale to be told.

in the end, people will tell tales of the day angielle’s queen returned with the body of her knight who met his tragic end saving her from a daring abductor, of the inauspicious day angielle’s queen both murdered and married. he tried to take their queen from them, the people will say, and so their queen took his life in return. people will tell tales of the courageous knight who gave his life to take back their queen, who died for his kingdom. people will mourn and cry for the country’s loss of a brilliant soldier, but not for long enough; but not as long as the queen. people will tell tales of angielle’s brave queen, who loses her knight and her husband months apart of each other, and still rules with the grace and authority of those before her - unlost to grief, to pain. a worthy queen, a blessed queen, a queen to guide and rule and lead even alone, people will say. truly, even with all the tragedies that surround, lucette riella britton was a woman who was born to bring angielle to heights no kings have witnessed, people will say, already forgetting their past cruelty to their young queen in the face of prosperity she brought.

people will continue to spin tales and stories, but only one will read the truth by candlelight in his chambers (he earns the right not by being king jack albrecht cygnea, but by being the only friend the lonely queen had, the only one who had offered his kingdom, his hand, not as a prize but as solace), the hand pressed aconite a testament to its truth. (the letter writes of lucette riella britton, a woman loved by fritzgerald aiden leverton’s, truth. she begins her tale by clearing up the mysteries that surround. the king who tried to own her who dies by her schemes. the identity of her kidnapper. the truth of her escapade. she tells of the second life that she ends with a knife pressed into her hands, the first life she ends willingly. she gives her life to him, he gives his death to her. it is only poetic, it is only right, it is the only solution a queen and a knight can find, in this society that will not allow them to be together. he had forgiven her for sinning by doing the same himself, so to this man who has loved her from the very beginning, to the very end, she gives all of herself that he takes; from queen to woman to wife. then, years later now, with her kingdom secure in the hands of her nephew, she forgoes her title with death given to her by her sweetly bitter aconite, reclaims the name ‘lucette’, and finally returns to him.)

[ask-shakespearehigh]

Q&A post with the Mods!!!!

This is going to be a long one oh boy

How strict is the delineation of creative control vis-a-vis characters/plays between the mods? (@pedanticlecturer)

We generally have the plays split up along lines of “what we know”— we have a list at the very beginning of the blog. Sometimes we’ll draw the others’ characters (mostly me drawing some of Star’s…) but even then the final say on characterization is up to the “main” mod for that play — mod aster

what aster said -- mod star

What is your favorite play? What is your favorite character in terms of how they were written in the source material? (@pedanticlecturer)

I think my favorite play overall is Macbeth, just because I like the vibes (and the fact that I too could kill Macbeth), the fact that you don’t say it’s name in theatres, and the fact that it’s a play I did a full read through and analysis of in class. Favorite character? Puck from Midsummer. — mod aster

uhhhh,, hmm. ive always had a soft spot for midsummer since i saw it with aster esp bc of how fun the costumes were. of the comedies it has the largest potential to be the most visually pleasing bc of the concept of fairies,,,and im gay and dramatic so i love that. id die if i got to costume design for midsummer,,,or be in it,,,yeah. fav character. hmm. probably mercutio?? i recently saw a version of romeo and juliet where mercutio was played by a woman and oh my god it was amazing!!! not to mention mercutio’s portrayal in baz luhrmann's INCREDIBLE version of r n j!!! (I based my mercutio design on him) he just spends the entire time making dick jokes. love that. -- mod star

How do you answer asks so fast? I mean it's great but I'm impressed 😂 (Anon)

Personally, it’s a mix of: notifications on, quick drawing speed, and using the blog to avoid my class work — mod aster

aster is fast and (as you can see from all of my answers) im lazey -- mod star

Are there any elements/characters of the plays you're covering that you would have liked to work into this blog's plot, but couldn't due to the constraints of the setting or the synthetic nature of the blog? (@pedanticlecturer)

I wanted to make everyone gay but unfortunately due to plot constraints we have to have some hets but that wont stop me from making it lgbt as possible. -- mod star

I did want to make The Tempest more of a central play, but it just didn’t translate well. Similarly, other supernatural elements like the witches in Macbeth. This isn’t so much a constraint mentioned, but my own time/energy means that I want to show the Macbeth backstory, in a specific format, but I can’t right now— mod aster

Is there a hierarchy of import when it comes to each play's individualized impact on shakespeare high's general arc? If so, what plays are crucial to the foundation of the story? Which ones did you do mostly for shits and giggles? (@pedanticlecturer)

This is phrased like an ACT question and i might not answer it right so sorry in advance but: mod aster and i only selected a few plays for each of us to do given we dont know all of shakespeare’s works, but we tend to put more emphasis on the the more well known. But it also comes down to 1. How much we have plotted out for each play and 2. What the followers ask about most. Our two most popular are hamlet and macbeth bc people are familiar w those but around march caesar always becomes relevant again. I didnt even have designs for some of the characters until someone asked about them. -- mod star

I would say the same as star— it generally comes down to what people ask about. I will say that the overall plot is sort of separated into “has happened” and “is happening”. Like, the human potion of Midsummer, Julius Caesar, and Macbeth are all in the “aftermath” portion, while Twelfth Night, Hamlet, and Romeo and Juliet, among others, are happening. We’re trying to incorporate as much as we can, and I don’t think any of them were really put in without some thought.— mod aster

What personal significance does shakespeare hold in ur guys' lives? (@pedanticlecturer)

I go to a theater school rn and so ive dealt w shakespeare (although not all of them) it also helps that i was in loves labours lost last year as moth and that i read hamlet and r n j. Theres also a theater in my state that always does One Big Shakespeare per season and they always do them super well!!! My love for shakespeare probably started w seeing midsummer at that theater w mod aster!!! So. Theater kid rights!! -- mod star

To be honest, I got back into Shakespeare Because of the blog. I’ve been friends with some people that got really Pretentious about Shakespeare, and it kinda put me off of it. I did have a book of abridged plays (the plays’ plots written out in prose, basically) that I read as a kid, which is what got me into not only the plots of a lot of the plays, but also the idea of having them illustrated. And, same as star, the theater in state does the One Big Shakespeare— and they tend to do some really cool things with the costumes, setting them in diff time periods. I haven’t been able to see any lately since I’ve moved, but they still slap. — mod aster

🥰😘💙🥰🥰💜💟🥰I 😍💗💚😍😍LOVE🖤🖤 YALL ♥️♥️🧡💛💚💝❣️💕💘💖💗💓💞💝❤️💛💜 okay now i have a question i swear— how long have the two of you been doing art??? and what were your first shakespeare plays??? (@hellaghosts)

Uhh i started drawing when i was like idk 12 and i have the giant boxes of sketchbooks to prove it!!! I moved to digital art at abt 14-15 but mostly stayed traditional until this yr when i got a Neat New Tablet so some of my sketchbooks are sitting abandoned rip. My first shakespeare was either romeo and juliet or midsummer nights dream and i love both of them v much!!! I have a very old piece of art that i did for r n j for my freshman class assignment on it and it hasnt aged well alsdjfjafd circa 2016 i think??? -- mod star

Oh man. I started drawing when I was about 10, but it was Bad. I don’t think I got much into drawing again until I was about 14? Sometime around the end of middle school/beginning of high school. I would say I started getting into drawing as more than doodling/coloring edits sometime around 2015-16? I would draw on my iPad with my finger, then I got a tablet for my computer, and now I pretty much stick to my iPad with an Apple Pencil. My first Shakespeare play was….. uh…… probably Midsummer???? I have No idea. We would go to plays when I was little, so I honestly don’t remember if I saw others before. It may have been Romeo and Juliet— I had that book where it was the original and the “modernized” with the little dog that explained things— which, if you know it makes sense, but if you don’t is probably a bonkers answer. — mod aster

Do you think this blog has like? An overarching thesis (be it b/c intentionally or simply b/c ur own take on the world has bled thru to the point where u believe it’s central to the piece at this point)? (@pedanticlecturer)

Not gonna lie, I had to read that like three times AND dm you to figure out what you were asking from us and all I have is “be gay, respect women, write your own happy endings”. — mod aster

This blog started with an ides of march shitpost and you think we have enough brain energy to write a whole thesis? I projected feelings of found family onto my half of the blog but idk if that counts. Be gay do crime 420 69 -- mod star

What’s the nature/rough dynamic of ur relationship? How do y’all know each other? (@pedanticlecturer)

Met mod aster when i was like 4 and even tho we didnt live close we became like, best friends although the Best part didnt start until we were like 13-ish and eventually we talked like non stop (about anime and homestuck. Yknow. 13 year old kid things) and we didnt see each other a lot bc of Distance and now its even worse bc aster is in colleg.,e but we consider each other siblings regardless of family bc we’re adopted into our own respective families so that bled over into our friendship and it would feel weird calling him anything other than my brother now. We’ve seen each other at our best and worst and if you really want a good insight on what we’re like as siblings watch griffin and justin mcelroy’s overview video of catlateral damage wherein i am griffin and he is the long suffering justin. -- mod star

Star is basically my long distance sibling and functionally the only cousin I recognize bc like their parents are basically an aunt and uncle and like our dads look enough alike that we’ve both accidentally gotten the wrong dad for a hug or similar so like. Anyways yeah Star is the Griffin to my Justin, complete with our absent middle brother who we love dearly— mod aster

Dubiously relevant q but what kind of music do y’all listen to when u do art (if that is indeed a habit either of u partake in) (@pedanticlecturer)

It can depend on the piece? I was working on some (unrelated) oc prints that were song-focused, and for those I just listened to said song on loop. Sometimes I have playlists. Sometimes I’ll just be in a Mood and throw a song on loop. But a lot of time for the blog, I’ll listen to The Adventure Zone for the billionth time, because I have Too Much Attention. I’ve also, on request from Star, linked the most recent “loop song”.— mod aster

I tend to obsess over the same like 3 songs every few weeks so those get listened to on repeat but it also depends on the tone of what im drawing or who im drawing i might genre switch bc of that. If im drawing ophelia i stick to lana del rey and if im drawing hamlet its the neighborhood, horatio is sufjan stevens etc. i have categorized,. Most of the characters i draw into different songs/genres/energies of music but not like i ever follow that. Sometimes i just pull up a really long nonsense video and forget to draw. Essentially: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ -- mod star

How’d y’all come up with ur pseudonyms? (@pedanticlecturer)

I love space so much and my main blog is starryeydsailor space gay rights!! Im also tiny and full of energy and bright so basically i;m star -- mod star

Uhhhh i was like “hey i want to do uhhhhhh flower?” And then I google searched flower names until I found one I liked —- mod aster

How did you end up deciding the rough timeline of events in canon? (@pedanticlecturer)

It’s mostly determined by like. How we choose per story? If that makes sense. Like, we just take story by story, and decide “is it happening, has it happened, and when?” And then we fit them together in relation to each other just by dint of. All existing at once. Like, I knew I wanted Macbeth to be in aftermath, because like, even though there’s no murder, the way I’ve translated it to the AU is still kinda heavy, and it’s something that I don’t know that I could do properly if it were happening right now. Also, it’s more interesting IMO to have them at different times. Tl;dr we wing it per story and slot them together— mod aster (mod star agrees I just can word better, in theory)

If you could tell the story of shakespeare high in a different format than an ask blog, would you? Obviously y'all are making very good use of the format, but would you want to write this as a animated series or like? a comic book? or is the form inseparable from the story? (@pedanticlecturer)

I kinda wanted to do a webcomic or maybe to plot develop through like, animatics but the element of surprise comes from the asks we get and really makes us think so the blog is a good start. We didnt think we’d get this far -- mod star

Pretty much what Star said— there are certain elements where it’d be neat to do as a comic or as an animatic. Like, the fantasy dream is like, an anthology webcomic of each story, where you can like, see other characters in the background and stuff. But to be honest, we develop a lot by what we’re asked— there was a post about developing worldbuilding by being asked questions and then pretending you’ve thought about the answer, and it’s not far off. Personally, it’s hard to just lay out a story, because I have a whole WORLD and what’s relevant? What are people interested in? It’s by getting questions that I can then focus in on an area to develop. And yeah, we Super didn’t think we’d get this far lmao — mod aster

Any headcanons about your characters that you don't think will ever come up on the blog through asks or plot posts? (@pedanticlecturer)

I could make a whole separate post for this!!!!! Mostly its voice headcanons (and by mostly i mean like 1 or 2) or relationship hcs!!!! -- mod star

Honestly same. I don’t think I have voice headcanons for mine, though I bet I could find some. I’ve got a bunch of miscellaneous headcanons that just kinda float around, but like they’re scattered, too numerous for this post, and also not always things I’m sure are canon yet.— mod aster

[hardyimagines]

Part 4, Final — The Decision

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Can I ask for a request? Alfie had to give up the reader because hes facing a powerful and dangerous enemy but he doesnt tell the reader. She ends up dating tommy (who doesn't know about her past with alfie) and on their wedding day Alfie shows up. Idk what happens next lol but I just would love to read about tension and emotions and alfie just like being vulnerable. Thank you 💜💜💜

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Omg so your new Alfie fic is amazing! I've never requested anything before or made a suggestion but I wanted to suggest that maybe (if you want), can you include a part where the main OC does end up getting hurt and she's possibly pregnant (maybe loses it) with Alfies child and he doesnt know but then he finds out?! Whether she gets hurt bc of Tommy or Alfie it's up to you but I'd like to read that

Word Count: 5.5k ||| Status: completed

Requested by: @fuckitsharam & @stylingco 

Part 1    Part 2      Part 3  

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The sun in the sky shone down brightly on the occupants of the garden. You stood on the porch, hand resting on the skin above your eyebrows as you watched your little girl run throughout the yard. Shielding the bright rays of sun from hitting you directly in the eyes, a small smile graced your lips. It was spring. The air wasn’t exactly hot, but it wasn’t cold either. The hours of daylight increased now and the flowers were beginning to bloom. The trees were growing back their lively leafs, previously shed in the fall and winter. It was beautiful. Your daughter was the most adventurous and lively kid that you’d ever known. “Come on, Ophelia, daddy’s expecting us!” It was her third birthday. The plastic crown that sat atop her messy curly head of hair bobbed lightly but didn’t fall. The little combs on the end were buried in her precious locks, clinging to her securely as she ran around the grass. Her small feet, coated in mud and dirt, clambered up the short steps toward you. “We’re gonna go see daddy?” The child chirped, eyes bright. “Yes, angel, but we need to get some shoes on.”

Your lengthy nails brushed along the soft skin of her forehead, tucking her baby hairs away and beneath the silver tiara. “Come on, then, beautiful.” The door to the house opened with a quiet creak and the two of you piled inside. Cyril lifted his head in question, big brown eyes studying you before you scratched the top of his head and assured him that you and Ophelia would be home soon WITH Alfie. You pinched the puffy pink coat that hung beside the door. Opening it, you moved up behind Ophelia, warm eyes drifting along your little girl as she smoothly slipped her small arms into the arm holes. Settling the fabric on her shoulders, you leaned in and kissed her forehead, careful not to knock off her little diadem. The child wasted absolutely no time before she leaned up on her tiptoes, trying to grip the doorknob. “Hang on, my little angel, we have to get your shoes!” You moved down the hall to retrieve her grey boots, head spinning as you briefly paused. The never-ending worry hit you again. This was the third time today. Alfie had missed Ophelia’s birthday twice now. Her first birthday was spent, just the two of you, curled up in the kitchen as she ate the cake on the center of the table with nothing but her greedy hands. You’d given her a bath and a new toy and then she’d gone to bed. Alfie hadn’t come home until the following morning, apologetic as always. He made a promise to be there for her second birthday, but when you were once again left alone in the empty park, you’d stared down at your little girl. She played carelessly, oblivious to the lack of her father’s presence. He was hardly ever around anyway. You glanced over your shoulder. “Mommy, come on!” The girl pleaded, her little voice whiny and loud. Your shoulders hunched defeatedly. You couldn’t take her to the distillery, not until she was old enough to understand what to touch and what not to touch. Your hands found the bones of your hips, head tipping back as you let out a loud sigh. Alfie would be here. He swore.

Your boots tapped the floor softly as you retrieved her shoes from the closet before you made your way back toward the front door where Ophelia was impatiently waiting. “Daffodil, how about mommy takes you to the little toy store up the road and you can buy anything you want?” You offered, crouching down in front of her as you spoke. Her innocent eyes shone brightly with curiosity before she pursed her lips in thought. “What about daddy? Is he gonna come too?” Your head shook lightly. “I don’t think so, peach, but he’ll be here tonight for cake and ice cream. He promised, didnt he?” Ophelia nodded, lifting her feet one by one so you could slip her white socks on to her feet and then help her into her boots. “There we are.” You smiled widely before rising. The child zipped up her coat before pointing to the door, cheeks tinting red the second you pulled the door open and the icy air kissed her skin. “Hold my hand.” You instructed. She obeyed instantly. Her hand fit snugly in your bigger one, little boots hitting the ground audibly as she skipped alongside you, singing a quiet rhyme. The toy shop wasn’t far, so even if Alfie did decide to come home, which you doubted he would, it would be impossible for you to miss him.

The metal door opened quietly, little bell dinging to alert the women behind the counter that they had customers. The redhead pushed her hair out of her face before greeting you and your daughter. “Hello, are you looking for anything particular?” She inquired, moving around the counter. Her high-heels clicked against the floor audibly, tapping against the tile as she approached the two of you. “Oh, no, it’s my little girl’s birthday,” you pointed out softly. “She’s going to pick out anything she wants.” You told the woman before leading your little girl toward the toys, thanking the woman quietly. Along the shelves, stuffed animals and dolls decorated the walls. There were various types of things for her to play with. “Anything you want, my love.” The bouncy girl ran her small fingers along the soft toys before slowly lifting a little bear. “This looks like daddy.” The girl pointed out, wiggling the toy for you to see. Your arms folded over your chest, smile visible as your lips turned upward. “Daddy’s not that cute.” You smiled lazily before squatting down in front of her. “You’re such an easy girl.” You mumbled before kissing her head, knowing she wouldn’t have picked up the bear if it wasn’t what she wanted. Your small fingers curled around the teddy’s arm before you stood and moved toward the counter to pay.

Alfie was sat in his office, hands folded behind his head as he slumped back against his seat, eyes rolling as Ollie told him of all the issues they’d encountered this week. Yes. For the third time, it had slipped his mind that it was Ophelia’s birthday. He couldn’t help it. The second he came into the distillery, he was bombarded with work. He never had a second to himself anymore. These last three years were hectic, he hardly even got to see you. His large palm slid along the length of his face, tiredly rubbing it down. “Look, mate, yeah, I just want to get this shit fucking settled, right, so I, yeah, can fucking go home before it’s time for the sun to rise.” His eyes were growing heavier overtime. He had gotten little to no sleep this week and what little he had, he couldn’t savor. He missed you. More than he could put into words. The second you and Alfie had been together officially, he’d made you his wife. Life had been more than amazing. He hadn’t pushed you away or kept little secrets from you. Business was important and it was necessary, but you were more important and he shared every little detail of work with you. No more lies and no more splitting up. The man stood as Ollie continued to ramble on. “Right, Ollie, the sun’s come and gone, mate, which means it’s fucking time for bed, innit. My wife’s probably all tucked away, ready to sleep, and my little girl-“ he froze on the spot. The guilt that gripped his heart made him feel faint. “Fuckin’ hell.” The man, angry, strode toward the door to retrieve his coat. He yanked the fabric on his broad body, not bothering to give his right-hand any form of explanation. He set off down the stairs and along the corridor, boots thudding noisily, alerting everyone of his presence. His cane tapped quietly along the ground, a significant contrast to the absolute hollow sound his boots created. Men halted at their work stations, each one assuming something was wrong, but they’d never guessed Alfie was beating himself up because once again, he would miss Ophelia’s birthday.

The cold night air was a whisper against his skin, brushing over his warm flesh, accompanying him on his journey home. He hadn’t picked up a gift for his little girl and at this late hour, he knew that no shop would be open. The man brushed his hair back and out of his face as it messily stuck out in this direction and that. He knew you’d definitely gotten the child a gift and cake, so he could at least pretend like he’d taken some part in that, but he knew you’d be upset with him. The lights on the porch twinkled when the little house came into view. He could see a set of balloons tied around the bannister, a proud annunciation to the neighborhood that your little girl was growing up. Alfie slowed his pace, taking his time to study the exterior of the home before he entered. He knew he was in for a long talking to and he also knew he deserved it. He’d been late. Again. For his babygirl’s birthday. The door opened quietly, but closed a little louder. Alfie drew off his heavy coat before draping it over the back of the sofa. His large hand wiggled between the skin of his neck and the collar of the shirt he wore, loosening it smoothly. On the table in the living room, crumbs from the strawberry cake you’d made stained the surface. There was no sign of life in the room, so he assumed you must’ve had dinner, cake, presents, and were now relaxing somewhere — or sleeping. The ticking clock in the corner grasped the man’s attention and when he gave it a lingering look, he sighed breathily. It was late.

Ophelia was wrapped up beneath her pink blanket. Her hair was braided neatly, draping over her shoulders as she clung on to her daddy bear. The teddy resembled a real life bear, but was as soft and as cuddly as a brown, fake looking stuffed animal. One leg was buried beneath her duvet and the other hung off the edge of the bed, movement-less. She was passed out. Alfie poked his head into the birthday girl’s room, studying her features as she lounged on her flower patterned bed. Her lips were sticky and she had little bits of icing glued to the corners of her mouth. Alfie let a smug smile cross over his lips before you, smoothly and unexpectedly, dipped in front of him and caught him off guard. “Welcome home.” Your hands pressed to his chest. You knew Alfie would go into Ophelia’s room and wake the pretty little girl if you didn’t stop him. He had no recognition of ‘she needed this many hours of sleep’ and the fact that she had a bed time. “She’s just gone to bed, she’s been hyper all night because of the cake.” Your voice was low. A mere whisper. Alfie had to strain his ears to hear what you were saying, but once he had, he straightened defensively before lowering his eyes to the floor so he could eye his boots. “I’m late again.” He sighed before shrinking back and retreating to the living room. You closed Ophelia’s door with a gentle sigh before following after the man. “Yeah.. we noticed.” The man lowered himself down on the sofa, feet kicking up to rest on the coffee table as he rubbed down his face, breaths heavy. He was exhausted and really could’ve gone to sleep right then, but he wasn’t a complete fool. He knew he needed to talk to you. “When I became Mrs. Solomons.. and I left Tommy to be with you.. and I made the decision that I’d trust you’d put me and your daughter before work, was I wrong to do all of that?” Alfie’s hand fell away from his face and instead dropped to the cushion that he was sat on. Picking at the loose strings, the man fixed you with a pained look before standing. “Don’t say stuff like that, Y/N. I’m doing my fucking best here, ain’t I?” You scoffed lowly. “If this is your fucking best, then I’d like to get a divorce. Good god, Alfie, Ophelia hasn’t seen you in days and I’ve hardly seen you! What do you think that does to us?” Alfie’s brows furrowed and his stare hardened. “To you? Right, what do you think it fucking does to me, yeah? I’m missing my little girl grow up, right, and I don’t even get to fucking spend a fucking day with my wife anymore, yeah, it’s fucking killing me too, innit!” Your eyes watered as he spoke, jaw clenching. “Stop shouting or you’ll wake her.” The man sighed heavily, arms folding across his chest stubbornly. He hated being told what to do. “It’s your job, Alfie. You’re the boss. You can leave when you want and don’t lie to me and say you can’t because you use to leave work all the time before the day had hardly even started just so you could be with me.” You lifted your hand to wipe away at the tears that tried to spill from your tired eyes. Alfie sighed heavily, studying your features before he licked his lips and spoke again. “It’s harder now, pet. I’ve got a lot more to do. A lot more things need my attention.” You let out a defeated sigh. Your small hand curled around the blanket on the sofa. “Yeah, well, your wife and daughter need attention as well.” With that, you turned on your heel. Alfie expected to hear your feet, hitting the stairs softly as you went to the bedroom the pair of you shared, but when your footsteps never came, he craned his neck and realized you were going to sleep in the guest room.

An uncomfortable twitch of sadness held his heart. He didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t as if he’d lose his job if he didn’t show up, but he was sure he’d lose his family if he didn’t spend more time with them. His hand scratched the back of his head, nails pushing through his messy hair before he stood and moved toward the phone. Calling Ollie, he pressed his shoulder against the wall, the sole of his boot rubbed absentmindedly against the recently cleaned floor. “Right, lad, I’m not going to be coming in for the week, yeah, I’m needed at home.” His voice was soft, ears ignorant of Ollie’s worried shouts. “You can handle it, lad, yeah. If anything’s too fucking much, you just send whatever it is on over to my fucking house, right. No people, only papers explaining the issue, right, or just fucking call me. I’ll see you- yeah, Ollie, right, I fucking know that, alright, yeah, bye.” Hanging the black phone back on the wall, Alfie pushed his hands through his hair once more before heading toward the guest room. He could only assume Cyril, as usual, was asleep beneath Ophelia’s bed, snoozing away, but ready to wake up in an instant and protect her.

Alfie removed his shoes, laying them on the hard brick beside the fireplace. His eyes slid around the room. He’d contemplated just leaving you be and letting you sleep, but the man had been deprived of you for too long and needed to be held tonight. His bare-feet scuffed softly against the carpet as he made his way toward the room you were in. His shoulders were hunched and there was a little limp in his step. His knuckles hit the door quietly, but he waited for no response before he pushed the door open and entered. “Pet?” Your hot tears stuck to your cheeks and stained the pillow you laid on. You didn’t move from your spot, eyes closed tightly as you desperately tried to hide the fact that you’d been crying. You held your breath, refusing to let your body shake as a silent sob escaped. Alfie, not really caring if you’d already gone to bed, began to pull off his shirt and then rid of his trousers. Your skin had goosebumps already, just from waiting. Waiting for him to climb into bed and embrace you like he always did, no matter how angry or upset you were. His arm looped around your waist, dragging your little body backwards and into his own. The movement elicited a breath from you finally and it was then that he leaned over to peer at your face. The moonlight illuminated your worn features, so broken and hurt. You could tell he was sorry by the way he stared down at you, regret shining visibly in his eyes. “Please don’t cry..” He whispered softly. “I know I’m doing a horrid job at this, but I’ll do better.”

Alfie, in truth, was the best father you’d ever seen. Though he was, a lot of the time, very busy at work, he was his daughter’s best friend. She lit up like a star when he came home, beaming and bright. He spent all night playing with her, doing whatever the hell she wanted until she’d lay on his chest and fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat. Alfie spoiled her and she was definitely a daddy’s girl. You were more of the disciplinary one, but Alfie always backed you up. “I can’t do this anymore with you, Alfie. I need you at home.” The man nodded softly, lifting his hand so he could brush away the tears that killed him to see. “Right, pet, im taking off a week at work, yeah, see how that goes, and then I’ll see what I can do to be home more, won’t I?” Your head nodded gently before you rolled on to your side and wiggled so he was spooning you. Your hand curled around his much larger one, dragging it around you tightly. He possessed a strength that you were very aware of and sometimes, when he’d really missed you, he’d squeeze the hell out of you while he slept and you’d have to slap his arm to wake him. “Please don’t try and squeeze me to death tonight.” You mumbled sleepily, but a little smile pulled at your lips. Alfie couldn’t help the involuntary breath of amusement that left his lips. Kissing your cheek softly, he nodded. “I’ll do my absolute best to control myself.” Your smile widened. “I love you, Alfie.” You turned your neck, gazing at him with the love and adoration that you held only for him. “I love you too, Y/N.” He mumbled quietly, lips moving to yours for just a few seconds.

When the kiss reached its natural end, neither of you distanced from the other. You instead embraced him, hiding your face in the cool skin of his prickly neck. It didn’t bother you. The little hairs that occasionally stabbed the sensitive skin of your face, they simply made you smile, sometimes playfully wince. Alfie always offered to shave, but you’d always whimper and plead for him not to. He looked so good with his beard and stubble. You couldn’t bear to part with it and you knew he wouldn’t want to either. Your eyes grew heavier and heavier as he held you. It felt so good to actually go to sleep with Alfie opposed to you waking up in his arms, just as he was pulling away to head to work. Within a few minutes, sleep took over and you were out like a light, alongside your husband who was beginning to snore like a grizzly bear. You were so use to it at this point though, the noise brought you comfort. He was here.

——

Ophelia stood at the foot of your bed, hands curled in the ends of the grey duvet as she loosely tugged on the fabric to wake you and her slumbering daddy. The pair of you began to grumble sleepily, refusing to wake instantly. You rolled to the side, burying your face further into the pillow as you tried desperately to cling on to the sleep that was slipping away. The mattress groaned audibly as the little girl lifted herself up and on to the foot of the bed. Her knees sunk into the fabric, small hands balancing on the back of your thigh and Alfie’s knee as she crawled along your bodies. “Please wake up.” She pouted, small fingers curling in the duvet. Your eyes droopily opened at her words, studying her innocent expression. “Alfie.” You mumbled sleepily before nudging him with your cold foot. The ice-like feel of your toes made the man growl. He was awake. He just tried to do the same as you and go back to sleep. His blue eyes slid open, blurry from sleep. Little crusts from his slumber rested in the corners of his eyes, but he smoothly wiped them away before sitting up. “Why are you up so early, little one?” The man’s large arms curled around the beauty before he lowered himself back down, pulling Ophelia with him. The room was quiet opposed to their soft voices, responding to each other smoothly, quietly, afraid to wake you. Though, you hadn’t gone back to sleep. Lifting your head, your messy hair draped over Alfie’s shoulder as you leaned against his back to peer over him and down at the little girl that was laid in front of him. “Its 9 in the morning, daddy, it’s not even early!” The child exclaimed, her long lashes fluttering before she lifted her hand to pull lazily at her father’s beard. “Fucking hell, is it that late already?” He was already sitting up again when you spoke. “Language, Alfie.” You mumbled before rolling toward your baby as Alfie slid off the bed. “Right, come on, let’s not spend our day in bed, let’s go downstairs and have some breakfast.”

You leaned up slightly, the sleeve of your nightgown rolling down and off of your shoulder. You fixed it smoothly, small fingers dragging the lace back up and into its proper position. “All we’ve got is cereal, darling.” You told the man as you followed him out of bed. Ophelia scrambled toward her father and he, with open arms, easily hoisted her up and on to his hips. She clung to him like a baby and you smiled fondly. Initially you’d thought you’d be jealous if you weren’t the favorite parent, but in this case, since Ophelia hardly ever saw Alfie, you couldn’t blame her for being so attached to him. You slipped on your blue slippers before grabbing the yellow robe off of the hook in the corner. The silky fabric wrapped around you snugly, tied in a little bow at the front on your belly. Alfie led the pair of you downstairs and to the kitchen where Cyril was waiting hungrily. A low growl escaped the animals belly and then a quiet whine. The dog food was kept tucked away in a high cabinet because Cyril had a tendency to find the food and dump it out all over the floor, devouring as much of it as he could— to the point where he was left with a bellyache.

Alfie removed three bowls from the cupboard, after feeding the mastiff, each one carefully painted a permanent pink. The pattern on the sides of the bowls was a matching set which was what you’d always wanted and he’d purchased the kitchenware for you for your birthday. His soft eyes flickered to you as you began to fill each bowl to the brim with whatever oats were in the last cereal box. Alfie didn’t like milk on his cereal. He preferred to just eat it with his fingers like a cookie. You loved to bathe your food in milk, bowl nearly overflowing from how much contents were jam-packed in the round glass. Ophelia liked only a little milk, not a drop or two, but maybe the size of two shot glasses. The milk didn’t even fill half of the bowl, but at least she liked to have a little bit. The little girl was knelt up on her chair, hunched over the table as she watched you finish up with the milk. Alfie slid her bowl toward her before offering her a little wooden spoon. She took it gratefully, beaming up at her father before she eagerly began to dig into the breakfast. You ate much slower, though you hated how soggy your meal ended up being, you couldn’t help it. You didn’t want to make yourself sick from eating to quickly. Your eyes moved to Alfie. He had no patience. His beard was crumb infested within seconds, but he’d use his palm to try and wipe away the messy food. It really wasn’t the food that was messy, it was just Alfie.

Breakfast went by peacefully and you told yourself silently that if had there been another little baby, situated beside Ophelia, things would not be running as smoothly. Luckily, you looked down at your belly, it was as empty as ever. For now. Your eyes lifted to Alfie. Maybe one day, when things weren’t so chaotic and you had time to actually sleep with your husband, then you could discuss having another baby. You stood, gathering the empty dishes so you could clean each one. Ophelia looked to her father, watching as the man lifted his glasses on to his face and began to read over the little notes on the table. Mental reminders he was writing down so he knew what needed to be taken care of when he returned back to work. “Daddy?” Ophelia spoke softly. The large man, furrowed brows and hardened stare, lifted his eyes to his little girl, features instantly softening now that he was focused on her opposed to work. The little girl pushed her fringe out of her eyes before inhaling deeply. “Are you gonna be home more?” She asked quietly. Her big green eyes were wide and the hope that danced vibrantly in them was hard to miss. “Yes, Love, as much as I fu- can be, yeah? I miss you too much when I’m away at work, don’t I?” Ophelia cracked a slow smile before leaping down off of her seat and moving around the wooden table so she could instead perch herself up on Alfie’s lap. The man held her close, absentmindedly pushing her hair out of her face as she stared up at him. She was the spitting image of you.

The cloth on the counter was used to dry off your hands after you’d tucked each dish away. Turning on your heel, you dropped down beside the two of them, eyes shimmering as they moved between your handsome husband and darling girl. “Yes, Daddy is going to be around a lot more often. I’m going to make sure of it.” Alfie’s eyes slipped to you when you spoke, a slow smirk pulling at his full lips. “We’ll see.” He whispered teasingly before leaning back in his chair. “We will see.” He muttered again, arms tightening lightly around his angel.

—

The remainder of the day was spent lounging in the living room. Your bare feet slid along the carpet as you danced goofily for your family. The laughter that echoed around the room was joy to your ears. Ophelia was having the most amazing time and you were grateful. Just having Alfie here seemed to brighten her mood significantly. Alfie didn’t partake in the silly dancing, he simply lounged on the sofa, chuckling loudly as your body twisted and turned and your daughter’s tried to follow. He could’ve been at work, head buried in his hands as the weight of work resided on his shoulders, but he’d much rather be here, watching you make an absolute fool of yourself.

You were his fool.

Wednesday was spent lounging in the sun in the backyard. Ophelia had an addiction to the outdoors, always happiest when her sun-kissed skin was darkening beneath the rays. She’d chase the butterflies and play in the water that sprayed from the hose. She was muddy and soaked, but beaming. You’d spent the entirety of the day, laying on Alfie’s chest as the two of you watched over Ophelia protectively. Alfie refused to ever take his eyes away from her, even when you’d leaned in for a little kiss. He couldn’t risk it. Children were taken in the blink of an eye and he’d be damned if he ever let anything happen to his child. She was entirely too good for this world. And entirely too good from him. He knew that.

Thursday was the quickest day. Alfie had taken Ophelia to the park so she could play for a few hours and although they had begged you to come along, you just weren’t feeling too great. Your small hand pushed through your hair, continuing to clean the constantly filthy house. It didn’t bother you, letting them go out for some father, daughter time. No. They deserved it. Alfie, you knew, would push Ophelia on the swings, keeping a close eye on anybody who dared play to close. He didn’t care if it was a child, he didn’t let anybody approach his angel. You tried to explain to him that social interaction was good for her. It was good for her to talk to her peers at such a young age, but he wasn’t having any of it. “She can talk to them when she’s not living under my roof.” He’d dramatically told you that night. You’d scoffed at his words and had easily pushed them to the back of your mind. That wasn’t rational thinking.

On the weekends, Ophelia had a little group called ‘The Little Ducklings’ that she attended. The class helped teach children about growing up. It was basically a daycare, but it didn’t have the ridiculous prices nor did it have teachers who only cared about the money. These women were taking amazing care of your little Ophelia. She babbled all evening when she returned home about everything she’d learned. That being said, while Ophelia was away, learning her abc’s, colors, and numbers, you were learning too, trapped beneath your husband, bodies joined in the most physical and passionate way possible as he taught you some of the ‘new moves’ he’d been daydreaming about. He left you breathless and writhing for more. The passion in this relationship was never-ending. The man seemed to have no off switch. He was always ready for you. And you’d be lying if you said you weren’t always ready for him.

The week came and went entirely too fast. One minute you’re extremely grateful that Alfie had made the wise decision to stay home from work and spend time with his family, but the next thing you knew, the calendar read Monday again and it was time to bid the man goodbye. His warm lips pressed to yours, hands gliding along your arms before he cradled your hands in his own. “Things will change, pet, yeah, I fucking promise you that, I can’t fucking stand, right, being away from you for so long. I’ll handle everything today, right, I fucking will.” He’d given you several kisses that day before he’d left and then he’d given ophelia double. You couldn’t admit to anyone but yourself that you were jealous your daughter had received more kisses than you, but the thought still made you smile. You wouldn’t trade anything in the world for your family. They were one of a kind. The light in the fireplace was beginning to die that evening, it’s orange embers fading as the light began to give out. Ophelia was fast asleep on your chest, mouth partially opened and eyes heavy as she nuzzled into you. Alfie would be home soon, you were sure of it. He would keep his word and things would get better from here. After-all, you had married one of the most amazing men in the world. Your head rolled back, eyes meeting the ceiling. Alfie Solomons would keep his word and he would be home every night before it was too late. Your eyes flickered to your wedding ring. No matter how many fights or how many disagreements the two of you had, Alfie was your forever and you’d never be without him. Your eyes moved to Ophelia. And neither would she.

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[lizardrosen]

Andrew Scott Hamlet (2017)

I'm finally watching the Andrew Scott Hamlet and it's so good!

This post is mostly a liveblog I did on twitter, but edited for reading clarity, and with a few notes I took that I didn’t talk about in my posts.

the watchtower scene is in a security guard room filled with screens, and the ghost makes the camera short out

Andrew Scott is just. a perfect hamlet - AUGH, his bitter laugh at “unmanly grief”. He stays inside while everyone else is dancing on the balcony outside, and sits on his suitcase in the dark. He’s a good sad boy.

and he's FRIENDS with both laertes and ophelia - he and laertes share a genuinely friendly hug before laertes leaves, and then it’s so clear how much ophelia and hamet care for each other, and she holds him as he cries, and cheers him up.

Polonius is a Good Dad, and while most of his advice is stuff he's said hundreds of times before, "this above all..." isn't rehearsed, he really just wants to say what he means to a child he loves dearly

oh cool, i'm loving how they rearranged and merged the scenes here!

Hamlet's "too too solid flesh" merges into him kissing ophelia and hiding behind the couch while laertes and polonius tell her not to trust him, and then he speaks with horatio, and they just miss r&g - he hasn't gone to see the ghost yet, so he hasn't put on an antic disposition, which means claudius was already planning to keep him in line before he gave any cause for it, and I just love how shifting a few scenes changes everything so dramatically.

Hamlet and the ghost: - horatio is so frantic for his friend's safety! but then Hamlet runs to find the ghost anyway. hamlet reaches out hesitantly to touch his father's face and they CLING to each other, then "pity me not." the ghost speaks of his death super fast, as if afraid to dwell on it, then slows as he charges hamlet "taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul proceed against thy mother." But then two minutes after being told not to blame his mother Hamlet goes "o pernicious woman" he's not very good at following directions. and then, poor baby, he picks up the gun and uses it to follow claudius as he walks down a hallway on the security footage.

a very well structured scene!

polonius gave laertes a watch as a parting gift, and then after hamlet makes horatio and marcellus swear, he gets engrossed by his own watch in a way that feels dangerous, and then goes "the time is out of joint" this is a GOOD parallel and i hope it comes up again because DAMN!

Up to Me, by Bob Dylan is just. the perfect song for the transition to act two, i can't handle how well it works with the action on stage - hamlet walking off sadly, then claudius and gertrude being flirty and cute, then hamlet kissing ophelia in the bath and perusing her face

Oh man, Polonius forgetting what he has to say when speaking to Reynaldo is a moment of such stillness and silence that it’s one of the most tense and compelling things I’ve every seen. I was half convinced he was going to have a stroke right there, or that his heart would be what actually killed him in the closet scene later.

When Ophelia tells him about Hamlet charging into her room, he’s super wrong, of course, but he cares for his dauther truly. She deflates when he says “the very ecstasy of love” though, because it’s clear she won’t get any real help there.

ooh, they put To Be or Not to Be before polonius talks to him, not before the nunnery scene. interesting! It’s a fairly common visual trope for Hamlet to be barefoot at around this point in the play, but it’s always fun to see.

Polonius has a mic on him so Claudius and Gertrude can hear their conversation, and all of his asides are whispered into it, a fact Hamlet clearly KNOWS, because “Except my life” is said while mockingly lifting the collar of his teeshirt and whispering into it.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are perfect here, omg!!! Guil is a black woman, and Ros a tallish man, and you can tell all three were good friends. when Guil finally has to say "my lord, we were sent for" you can see on both their faces that this play just became a TRAGEDY. "o what a piece of work is man" isn't a show this hamlet is putting on, he's baring his soul, and ros and guil are literally CRYING for and with him, because they can clearly see how he’s changed. but because they know they have split loyalties they can't come closer to him to comfort him. poor babies! rosencrantz is very proud that he was able to save them by bringing up the Players, and behind hamlet's back, guildenstern mouths "tragedians" and gives him an approving nod when he gets it right. i love them so much, and they're up there with gary oldman and tim roth!

The Player is the same actor as King Hamlet, I’ve never seen that specific double casting, but it’s so perfect! Poor Hamlet trying his best to remember his speech — he’s trying his best and the actual players are very patient with him.

the middle of "O what a rogue and peasant slave" is the first moment when you can visibly see Hamlet lose it, instead of sinking into depression or twisting his own and other's words like he had been up to now, but then he pulls back suddenly and goes "why what an ass am I"

"He asked no questions, and was of our demands most free in his reply." ROSENCRANTZ, you LIAR! 27-3 and you think he might have had the edge?? But as he says this he puts his hand on Guil's shoulder to make sure she'll also keep to that story.

hey ouch, this was one of the most painful nunnery scenes i've ever seen! she's all dressed up for him, but so scared, but she rolls her eyes at the book Polonius has her read. they get a few moments to be cute together before they break up for good and they're just crying, and they KNOW they're being watched. then he laughs at the favors and just drops them on the ground before he walks away, and after she gathers them up and starts to go, he comes in through a different door to kiss her violently and throw water on her face, and everything just HURTS. (the water has a daisy in it!)

Polonius briefly checks that she’s okay but then goes back to talking to Claudius about sending  Hamlet to England. Meanwhile, in the background, she’s become fascinated by the daisy. She flinches away from everyone’s touch and stares at nothing, and I really like the clear progression in her, that her later breakdown isn’t just a reaction to one single shocking event, it’s all the slings and arrows that have been aimed at her throughout the play and her whole life.

ALERT, ALERT, HE'S PLAYING WITH HIS WATCH WHILE HE TELLS HORATIO HOW MUCH HE LOVES HIM!!!

(he also says Horatio is "not a pipe for fortune's finger to sound what stops you please," which is a line that's often left out, so i'd forgotten that metaphor was already on his mind)

the rest of the court enters through the auditorium, and sit in the front row to watch the show! and i only just now realized that when hamlet says "and my father died within these two hours" he's speaking ~madness~ but ALSO talking about the length of the play he's in.

The dumbshow is to the tune of One Too Many Mornings by Bob Dylan again, and shows papa hamlet's gonzago’s entire courtship with his wife, and them raising hamlet together and seeing him off to college, which then leads directly into the dialogue part of the play! it's SO GOOD.

The Lucianus monologue is very good, and then Claudius just walks out grimly, and it's presumably the intermission bc the screen goes staticky.

there's been a conceit of a camera following characters around and the image shows up on two sets of screens above the stage, so we get to see the play within the play AND hamlet et al's reaction to it at the same time.

Hamlet talks very fast and impatiently to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern as they try to tell him to visit his mother, and they’re trying SO HARD to connect with him. Interesting that the “My lord, you once did love me” line is given to Guildenstern, but it makes sense for how these characters have been played so far. I’m not at all worried that they did that to make the play straighter, because they do not shy away from the homoerotic subtext. And he pauses and really seems to think about his answer before saying “I do still, by these pickers and stealers.” And the recorder scene is just sad on both sides, everything is SAD

oh DAMN, claudius watches hamlet come into the room with a gun and then does his "O my offense is rank, it smells to heaven" speech, and seems to forget his audience as he tries to pray, and right after hamlet decides not to kill him yet, he stands and smirks and tells him "words without thoughts never to heaven go" and stands with his arms open, DARING hamlet to actually kill him. the last thing we see is his fingers trying to get a grip on the handle, and then a blackout.

if you don't know this play you might think he does it now.

when ros & guil find him he's wiping his bloody hands on polonius's shirt, and during the sponge bit he wrings it out so it drips on the floor. andrew scott is so gooood at this role but also legitimately scary.

and he's been playing with his watch more and more as everything gets more dire, i love this detail a whole bunch.

after hamlet calls claudius his mother, he hugs him and claudius reluctantly returns the embrace. for a brief moment hamlet seems to be seeking comfort here, and then he sniffles and breaks away. "To England" he says as he goes, mocking the accent.

so. ophelia. she's wheeled in strapped into a wheelchair, presumably at a psych facility. mostly she's turned inwards and singing softly, except when she hits her head and screams as if to say "you hurt me and ignored me, but you can't ignore the hurt you make me do to myself." and like. i get it, and i'm mostly glad that it's not the same version of mad ophelia you tend to see, where she's all over the stage and ripping her clothes, but still. it feels icky and ableist and like. fear tactics? shock factor? something like that.

laertes comes in looking truly unhinged -- actually gets gertrude kneeling on the ground with a gun at her temple, before claudius calms him down, and he's jumpy in a way that mirrors hamlet right after killing polonius. poor horatio is the first to come in and gets a gun pointed at him for his it. no one deserves any of what’s happening to them!

but laertes stills entirely when he sees ophelia. ouch.

flowers!

rosemary - the nurse who wheeled her chair

pansies - claudius

fennel and columbine - claudius's security guard

rue - gertrude

she drops the daisy on the ground and turns to laertes to apologize about the violets.

when claudius goes "where the offense is, let the great axe fall" gertrude looks at him sharply because THAT wasn't part of the plan, and he brushes her off with "I pray you"

the Bad Quarto scene with her and horatio is in here, and makes a LOT of sense given that interaction.

gertrude is in the doorway, unseen, as claudius tells laertes the only reason hamlet's not dead is because gertrude loves him so much. and then she's CLEARLY watching for his response when the messenger tells him about the letters from hamlet. i like this gertrude a lot.

(and I’m pretty sure I saw Hamlet being a sneaky boy and passing behind the window right by Claudius, as Claudius is handed his letters)

ooh, hamlet's wearing white and khaki when he comes back from the pirates, and he seems much calmer than he did the last time we saw him.

and laertes is so lost and sad when he says "what ceremony else?"

they're such good foils for each other, i can't stand it!

hamlet seems amazed as he asks "what is he, whose grief bears such an emphasis" and he's not angry when he climbs into the grave, more like he's expecting to be welcomed with open arms, and then he's just surprised when laertes tries to strangle him. when he says “yet have I in me something dangerous” he’s trying so hard to convince himself of this, oh kiddo.

welp, hamlet is no longer calm, as he screams about how much he loved ophelia, and writhes around on the ground. then he stands up like nothing happened and says "what is the reason you use me such?" and sounds so hurt.

some hamlets did not date laertes, but this one SUPER did

Hamlet feels bad about Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, but moves on quickly because he feels worse about Laertes, and it’s so painfully clear that he knows what genre he’s in. Osric is just a security guard (and later the judge for the fencing match) with no noticeable character but that works really well for this production, and Laertes has enough going on without having a boyfriend.

“Hamlet does it not… his madness” isn’t him giving up empty excuses, but real sorrow and despair, and maybe he really does believe he briefly became another person. I’m ! So ! Sad ! and oh SHIT, when laertes says "this one's too heavy" here, it's NOT to make sure he gets the poisoned blade but because he was moved by hamlet's apology and is BEGGING claudius to let him off the hook of needing to kill his friend, but claudius shakes his head and so they play.

HEY WOW RUDE!!! the music during the fencing match is Not Dark Yet (also by Bob Dylan) and everything HURTS

laertes FLINCHES and runs forward too late to stop claudius from putting in the poisoned pearl, and then he does his best to fight badly, and i'm going to CRY. hamlet's about to drink when gertrude runs forward with her napkin, then claudius grabs the cup from her and she maintains eye contact and they clasp hands as she drinks. she turns her choke into a laugh, while in the background laertes offers claudius preemptive sympathy. but everything is drawing to a close so he has to commit to hitting Hamlet, no matter his reservations.

the music stops as soon as hamlet is struck, and the brightness of the fencing match returns to the darkness of Act Two, but one by one they rise as ghosts, hand their watches over to King Hamlet, and go into the party upstage. And Laertes and Hamlet exchange forgiveness! it's a soft hopeful darkness though, something horatio wishes to be welcomed into, but hamlet tells him to "absent thee from felicity awhile" and he agrees.

hamlet gets scared for "the rest is silence" then it all snaps back to real time while he convulses in horatio's arms.

The play closes as it opens: with a bunch of news stories about the death of danish royalty.

And the closing credits are One More Cup of Coffee by Bob Dylan, it's so good!

[slanax]

Big ol’ infodump post for Conquest (Lunatic) and how to survive it

(because @xpegasusuniverse asked and I ain’t letting an opportunity to infodump slip by)

Part 1/?: General strategies and earlygame

*cracks knuckles*

Overall, all of this is naturally just a suggestion, not the only way you could ever play Conquest. Especially on modes below Lunatic, you definitely don’t need to follow it to a T to still beat the game, but it’s what I found works best for me (and I played this mode an unhealthy amount :P)

- You’ll want Corrin to be female (you want Jakob earlygame for the insane Def and Avo boost to the avatar that his personal provides) with a Speed boon (Quick) and a Luck bane (Unlucky). Speed is the best stat, and Luck is both the least important and the easiest to patch up because you get a Goddess Icon pre-route split that should fix her Luck for most if not all of the game.

- For her talent, I’ve had the best experiences with Fighter to go Hero later. Generally, you’ll want to stay in the Nohr Noble line until Lv5 promoted to grab Draconic Hex, then switch to a sword class of your preference. I personally find Fighter!Hero to be better than Merc!Hero for its skills; other options include Swordmaster and Paladin. Lategame (one chapter in particular) has a lot of effective weapons that you need to tank though, and your other two main tanks will likely be Xander and Benny, so a regular old infantry class can be beneficial to not get completely screwed by beastkillers and hammers. Hero has a nice balance of good Str, Spd and Def (especially with the Fighter’s HP+5 and its own Sol helping out its bulk) and Axebreaker is great for reliably tanking otherwise risky Berserkers. They can’t crit what they can’t hit.

- For her spouse I usually end up with Jakob (mainly because I tend to want the extra paralogues for EXP and support points) though as her mid to lategame support unit I’ve come to appreciate Gunter a lot, especially reclassed to a Wyvern Lord. Str, Def and Mov on pairup is great, the ability to ferry her quickly thanks to being a flier is awesome, and his personal giving you +15 Hit and +3 damage is a huge boost to her offense. It also means that the Fighter’s Gamble skill amounts to a free +10 Crit since the Hit penalty just gets eaten up by Gunter’s personal. I ended up ditching her Dragon Fang for more Sol procs (the game rolls for Dragon Fang first, so if it procs you can’t proc Sol, and I want Sol procs for more bulk) and using Gamble crits as my “offensive skill”

- Early on, Silas is your best friend. His personal gives him +3/+3 to attack and defense if the avatar is below half health, so just start killing things with her and as soon as she is weakened (or heck, deliberately get her a little banged up) have Silas take over. As soon as they have a C support, you can also pair them up to stack his personal with the avatar’s, giving him a total of +5/+5 and humiliating the game even on Lunatic. I affectionately refer to it as “Juggernaut Mode”. Just make sure to start working on his lance rank ASAP for Javelin utility.

- Make use of Elise! Her personal is incredibly useful at keeping you alive, giving you a huge defense buff if you keep her adjacent to your frontline fighters (watch for ranged enemies though ofc, she is very squishy and can easily get oneshotted) Make sure to have her heal a lot so she hits Lv10 by Chapter 10, early promoting her to Strategist for that is immensely useful.

- Use. Mozu. Bring a Heart Seal and a Bronze Bow to her paralogue, change her to Archer and start training her right there. Baiting enemies with Silas and finishing them off with Mozu by dual striking off him usually works, though depending on levelups Jakob might have to throw a dagger too. Generally, she’s reasonably easy to bring up to speed and once she’s there she’s awesome. Plus, you get so few bow users in Conquest that you’ll want to make use of every single one you can get.

- Speaking of which, Niles. You want to train him too, because Capture is super valuable in Lunatic. The Ch9 boss has Rally Def which is amazingly useful, the boss of Forrest’s paralogue is a Berserker with S axes and Certain Blow, and that’s only the beginning. Plus, bows. You want bows because Fates bows are great and there’s so many places where effective anti-air will save your butt.

- Don’t break any of your Rescue staves. Ever. Trust me on this. Use their first charge if absolutely necessary, but don’t break them.

- General strategy is to low-man with few well-trained units and use leftover deployment slots for pure pairup units and supports like healers or Rally skill users. Watch for enemy skills at all times, and learn to fear the Lunge icon. For help with any specific chapters, let me know where you’re struggling. (Note: Towards endgame, this will naturally shift in favor of more combat units as you get more characters that can kill things really really well. You’ll still usually bring at least a few pure support units all the way to the end though.)

And finally, here’s a quick rundown of the pairings I found to work really well:

- Avatar x Jakob, with Gunter later replacing him as your support of choice. See above.

- Effie x Arthur. Easy to achieve because Effie will see a lot of use early on and Arthur makes a good support unit for her. Percy’s paralogue gives a lot of cash and tbh that’s all you need this pairing for.

- Elise x Odin: Basically, Ophelia’s paralogue gives you several exclusive tomes, all of them are stupidly useful, and you want them. Just have Odin deal some chip damage adjacent to Elise, and pair them up once Elise early promotes. Of all my pairings this one is the biggest hassle to get done in a timely manner (so you don’t waste a recruitment slot on Odin for too long bc he really isn’t all that great) but for the tomes it’s well worth it.

- Niles x Mozu: For two reasons. One, Nina can inherit Quick Draw and that’s awesome. Two, Mozu can partner seal into Bow Knight. You can have her grab Shurikenbreaker (and Mov+1) and then have her go back to Sniper. Trust me, you want Shurikenbreaker. You don’t know it yet, but you want it. With her and Nina (I like Niles in Adventurer to make more use of his magic potential with the Shining Bow) you’ll have two Shurikenbreaker units, and they come very much in handy during one specific lategame chapter.

- Camilla x Benny: Mobility and getting ferried for Benny, hella bulk for Camilla. A filler pairing tbh since they don’t get any fancy skills or classes out of it, but they work well stat wise.

- Kaze x Azura: Now this is a pure filler pairing. Azura generates free support points, Midori’s paralogue gives dank herb, Shigure is a free Rally Spd bot, you don’t need them for anything else, ‘nuff said.

- Leo x Felicia: Magic and Speed for Leo, Demoiselle for Forrest. Felicia herself is pure support.

- Xander x Charlotte: Xander with the ability to Partner Seal into Hero for skills. Xander with Sol. Self-sustaining wall. Need I say more?

That’s all the pairings I usually do, I believe. There’s still a few unpaired characters, but that’s mostly because deployment slots are scarce and I don’t want to bring all their would-be partners along just to get supports.

Also, I did write up a guide for the whole thing way back when. It’s terribly outdated in places (+Def Swordmaster Corrin, what was I thinking) but most of it should still work as a good guideline (heck, I even use parts of it myself, if only for the tried and tested reinforcement listings) Rule of thumb: If this post contradicts the old guide, listen to this instead of the year-old guide. I was young and foolish :P

You can find it here.

[andwesurvive-blog]

🌷 what do they have in their wallet? | ♈ a description of their home - apartment building or detached house? how many rooms are there? colours of their walls? any decorations? | ♉ what are their neighbours like? their relationship to them? (i rly want some headcanons for our verse too on that last one bc i wanna see what you'll come up with for neighbours >:3c) 🌹 what’s the colour of your muse’s underwear right now? (im laughing so hard at this one yes i know im immature >_>)

Cute but useless details

In Kather’swallet you can usually find his ID, drivers license, a picture of his most recent date, his debit card and some cash. It’s nothing really fancy either just a typical dark brown leatherwallet that he found at a junk shopwhile exploring the city one day.

As for Veasna’swallet you can find about the same except instead of a picture of her date there’s a picture of her family and she keeps her gym membership alongwith several gift cards in it. Herwallet is a blue jeanwalletwith an orange koi fish painted on it that she found at a garage sale.

((Rest under cut because they’re stupid long XD))

Kather’s apartment is actually more of a loft. His parents bought it for him as away of showing off their money and it’s one of the top lofts in a very rich apartment building. The loft is split up into four rooms the main room/living room, his bedroom, an office and a kitchen/dining room. It also has two bathrooms, two closets and a balcony. Thewalls are all pure whitewith black andwhite photographs on them except for his studywhere he has his personal paintings hanging most ofwhich are extremely red and dark though. He has a lot ofwindows in the apartment too and keeps a lot of plants around though he’s allergic to some of them.

Veasna’s apartment is considerably smaller though still in a safe part of town. Her family all chipped in to help her buy it as a birthday present because she’d beenwanting to buy it for over a year. Her apartment has a bedroom then a large living room area that’s also attached to the kitchenwith only a small breakfast nook separating the areas. Though herwalls are just a regular cream color she has them coveredwith paintings, shelves full of knick-knacks and posters. Her apartment is full of colors due to the decorations she keeps around the house. It has two bathrooms and only the one closet for her clothes. Her apartment doesn’t have nearly as manywindows as Kather’s but she makes up for that by putting colorful fairy lights up.

Specifically set in our verse just for you 😘

Kather sells his apartment and moves inwith Steel because his apartment holds��way too many bad memories. Their neighbors are interesting to say the least. Currently the apartment to the left of them is for sale.

But the apartment to the right of them is occupied by a person known only as Star. Their gender is a mystery, their job is a mystery, they are a mystery. It’s a rarity to see them leave their apartment and they never contact their neighbors. If they need something from the neighbors they’ll send their boyfriend Illion over. Their boyfriend is a very friendly and very happy individual. He’s short though extremely muscular he once punched a hole in thewall because he got too excited over a soccer game. That’s the most trouble they’ve ever cause though, typically they’re very quiet and good neighbors. Except sometimes(when Illion isn’t around) at night odd chanting like noises can be heard coming from their apartment.

The apartment across from them is occupied by a single old lady that owns a chihuahua and a yorkshire terrier. She’s harmless for the most part but extremely gossipy andwill drag you into stories aboutwhen shewas a young actress if you let her. Every Sunday she has her friends over to gossip about the news around town. Kather thinks she’s a nice old lady and she doesn’t bother them unless it’s because the cats have snuck into her apartment. The terrier and Mr. Meowstein do not get along but Cather and the chihuahua have been caught playing and even cuddling. She never bothers them except for occasionally pulling Kather into the apartment for tea and cookies and to tell him stories fromwhen shewas young.

Veasna made it her mission to meet all of her apartment neighbors. The only ones she talks to on a regular basis though are

The one living to the left of herwho is actually Kather’s ex-crush/girlfriend and his current best friend(other then Steel of course), Bes. She hates everything and has anger management problems to rival Crimson’s. She isn’t very social but hangs outwith Veasna because her roommate does. Her roommate is a very social very happy go lucky girl named Emmy. Emmy’s studying to be a fashion designer and a total party girl. She and Veasna hang out a lot thus making Bes hang outwith Veasna a lot.

Her neighbor across from her is a grumpy old man thatwants nothing to dowith her. He glares at her every time she approaches and refuses to open the door for her. His name is Vance and the only time she’s ever seen him smile is when his daughter Ophelia comes around. His daughter Ophelia is a quiet girl that Vea’s convince is secretly a robot and probably not his biological daughter.

Her neighbor to the right of her is actually her sisters’ crush, Bianca. A very, VERY shy girl that doesn’t talk much then sounds like a mousewhen she does talk. But if you get her talking about bears she could talk your ear off. Her sister has been crushing on Bianca for literally years but only recently got the nerve to ask her out. Bianca actually doesn’t talk to Veasna very often because Veasna’s too excitable for her.

Kather’s are a white t-shirt(he wears a t-shirt under everything tbh) and a pair of regular black boxers. He’s got nothing special on.

Veasna’s are a red brawith black polka dots and a pair of rainbow woman’s briefs. She’s not expecting anyone to see her in mismatched undies.