#before the rain bogs them down and they get dirty

[eirone-and-cheese]

PEONIESSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!

gk

[wreckofawriter]

Lucky Charm

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pairing: james potter x reader

summary (request by @delusionalcancer): hello! I was wondering if you could do a James Potter fiction where he has a very important quidditch match and begs you to go but you can’t so he is really sad but midway through he sees you in the crowd and gets super happy? Sorry if requests are closed!

word count: 5k

warnings: weed, language, a tiny bit of angst, james calls you doll, no y/n (i think)

a/n: been really liking writing about quidditch recently lol. This is based on book!james who is a chaser not a seeker. its a bit cheesy but i think its cute

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The common room was never quiet after Gryffindor had a quidditch match. Even when you lost -a rare occasion- there would be a crowd of bitter fans, grumbling about an unfair call or an unlucky miss, late into the night. Usually quidditch brought life and excitement to Gryffindor, no matter the outcome. But today as students in red and gold shuffled up the marble staircases and through the portrait hole they were silent, even in large groups there was no more than a hushed nervous whisper among them. The usual complaints that followed a loss had been discarded and forgotten. 

It bothered you. It was uncanny and made you shift uncomfortably in your chair by the fireplace. A glance around told you that you weren't the only one feeling that way, an uneasy air had filled the room. 

The match had been a brutal one, even now the heavy drops pounded against the windows of the tower, the winds shifting and fighting, unable to decide which way to blow. The air was just cold enough to turn what should have been rain to sleet, sharp and cold. Many had been surprised that the match had even taken place, expecting it to be canceled due to such terrible conditions. But the heads of houses refused to back away from a challenge, and the Gryffindor team hardly seemed to mind. 

“Quidditch is played in any weather and every weather.” James had insisted, the morning before the match, “They won’t cancel a match for anything and I don't expect them to.” 

You had stared up at the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall anxiously watching as chunks of hail were blown sideways uneasily, “I don’t think I even wanna go watch.” 

James' face dropped as soon as you said this, “What? No!” he exclaimed, “You have to come watch. You're my lucky charm!” 

And of course when he said that with his lips pulled into his signature boyish pout you couldn’t deny him anything. 

Gryffindor was the favorite to win this year's cup, as they were every year since James joined the house team. It wasn’t all him of course but he had something no one else seemed to possess; raw and unbridled talent. People often joked that he was born to ride a broom, but it was hardly a joke. James’ broom wasn’t something he rode, it was a part of him. It seemed to a spectator that he could hop onto it and tell it what to do with nothing but his mind. He was graceful and precise so casually it seemed as if he were hardly trying at all. Today's game against Slytherin had been a shoe in, an expected win.

Which is why the loss had come with such a heavy silence. You couldn’t deny that Slytherin thought ahead, they too had been expecting the rain and had been a bit smarter about it, casting a series of enchantments and charms onto their players, paying extra attention to their seeker. So while your team fumbled through heavy storm clouds bogged down by drenched robes, the Slytherins had a relatively easy time navigating the skies. With this advantage they had taken the opportunity to humiliate the Gryffindor team as much as possible. 

Their chasers played dirty, purposefully slamming into the Gryffidors and then claiming they simply had not seen them. Their beaters were ruthless as well, using their bats for hitting more than just bludgers, one of them had hit your new third year seeker, Aada Laine, straight between the eyes with their wooden bat, breaking her glasses in two and bloodying her nose.

James, who was so used to winning and doing it easily, took this bitter start to the match poorly. His anger had risen quickly leading to a number of unnecessary fowls that the Slytherin team took with great enthusiasm and by the time Regulus had caught the snitch right from under a near blinded Aada, Slytherin was already up 120 to 40. Perhaps it was just the shame of a horrible game but as James landed he had been angrier than you had ever seen him. His usually unruly hair plastered down across his skull from the rain, one of the lenses of his glasses was cracked and he was gripping his broom so tightly you had been surprised it had not snapped in two. 

His obnoxious parade that usually occurred after a match had not taken place, in fact he had not even glanced at where you, Sirius, and Remus stood waiting for him on the edge of the pitch. Instead he marched across the mucky grass straight towards the seeker.

She was sobbing uncontrollably despite the fact that her nose and glasses had both been fixed by Madame Hooch. A few other teammates stood around the young girl attempting to offer comfort. But when James reached her he did no such thing, in fact he snatched the broom from her hand and yelled so loudly that even over the whipping of the wind and the jeers of Slytherin you had heard him kick her off the team. The rest of the Gryffidors had made to protest angry shouts and bitter words thrown at James but he had simply marched across the field and into the changing room leaving Aada wailing even louder than before.

No one had seen James since, and as you sat quietly in the common room with the other students it began to seem like you were all waiting for him. Waiting for him to show up, all smiles and jokes, and everything would go back to normal. But as hours ticked by and he never showed it became clear this was not going to be the case. 

By dinner time the common room had almost completely cleared out. The die-hard fans retreated to bed while the rest of the house trooped miserably to the Great Hall preparing for the taunts and jeers from the Slytherin table across the hall. 

It was almost dark by the time Remus climbed through the portrait hole looking annoyed, but he grinned when he saw you. 

“No dinner?” You asked him and he shook his head sitting beside you. 

“Been out looking for James.” 

Your eyes widened, “You still haven't found him?” 

“No we did.” He assured you quickly, “He's just acting like a prick so I decided I wanted to come in and dry off.” 

“Makes sense,” you sighed, “he looked furious out there.” 

“Tell me about it.” Remus groaned slumping back, his wet robes soaking onto the couch as he kicked his feet up on the coffee table, “He’s sulking like a child out at the boat house.” 

“Oh, he’s very mature.” You chidded and you both grinned lightly. 

There was a moment of quiet and the fireplace snapped, a portrait yawning. 

“I don't suppose you could go get him?” Remus asked, looking up at you hopefully. 

You sighed expecting this, “What makes you think I could bring him to reason?” 

“You know how he is,” Remus said and he was right. You knew exactly how James was, earnest and genuine and proud. You thought about it for a minute, Remus eyeing you hopefully. Reluctantly you gave in. “Well I best go get him.” 

You mumbled complaints under your breath on your way down towards the lake, the enticing smell and warmth of the great hall taunting you as you passed. 

The trail to the boat house was muddied and steep. By the time you reached the bottom you were shivering and damp, glad for the cover it provided from the wind and rain. James was seated at the edge of one of the docks staring out across the lake. 

You sat next to him and he turned, “Oh.” he said, “I thought you were Sirius.”

You grimace, “Does my hair look that bad?” 

James' usual laugh didn’t follow and instead he cracked a small forced grin. 

You’re both quiet for a moment, the sound of the rain pounding onto the roof and splashing onto the water. 

“Congrats on the game by the way.” You say.

“What?” James looked at you bitterly, “That's not funny.”

You grin, “Yeah but you were, I’d stand out in that shit weather to watch you knock Connaham off his broom again.” 

James paused, “He scored because of that.” 

“Eh, whatever,” you shrug, “Totally worth it.” 

You were expecting a laugh but instead James just shook his head, “You don’t understand.” 

“Well then explain it to me.” You said, rolling your eyes playfully at him. 

“We’ve got absolutely no chance at the cup anymore.” He says fiercely. 

You shrug again, “Since when I thought we were favorites? You just lost one game.”

By the way James looks at you you can tell he's getting frustrated but you don't back off keeping his gaze lock with yours. 

“Ravenclaw hasn’t lost at all, and there's no way we're beating them by 230 points. We’d have to be 80 points up and catch the snitch.” 

“That doesn't mean impossible.” You point out and he glares. 

“You don't understand quidditch.”

“Says who?” you say and he shoots you a look, “Okay so what if I don't understand quidditch, I do understand that you're bloody good at it.” 

Your praise raises a genuine smile out of him for the first time that night. 

“Didn’t know you thought so highly of me.” He said, wiggling his brows. 

“Don't let it go to your head.” 

There's another pause in conversation and you take the opportunity to pull a small joint from the pocket of your robes.

James grins, “Ah so this is the reason you're out in the cold.”

“What? No! I'm here purely to comfort you.” You giggle, lighting it with the flick of your wand. 

He watches you out of the corner of his eye, the way your face lights up from the soft orange glow of burning hash. Your eyes sparkle and your lips pucker as you exhale. He finds it hard to look away but does so quickly when you turn to look at him. 

“Want some?” 

He nods and takes the joint from you grinning, “Thanks doll.” 

You flush at the pet name, something he called you a bit too often. 

The two of you pass it back and forth a couple times silently, watching the cold rain splatter onto the surface of the lake. 

“You should really apologize to Aada though.” You mumble the slight buzz of your high making your voice sound floaty. 

James doesn't say anything for a moment before he folds his arms stubbornly, “I was serious about that. She played like shit.” 

You furrow your brow, “You all did James, that's not fair.” 

Heat rises to his cheeks as shame bubbles in his stomach, “I don’t care if it's not fair. That snitch was four centimeters from her nose when Black caught it. She cost us the game.” 

“Her broken nose.” You fight back, “And it's a team sport, she screwed up yeah, but so did you.” 

Embarrassment flooded James' head in an angry red, “If it weren't for me it would have been a bloody blowout!” He snaps and you're taken aback, “I scored every damn point we had and youre saying I screwed up?” 

You look at him bitterly, “Yeah I am. You let yourself get all pissed off before the game was even up and your team fell apart. You're the captain, take some responsibility.” you scoff. 

James is now glowering, the softness of being high turned sharp and awkward, “You don’t even know what youre talking about.” 

“I may know nothing about quidditch James but I do know that making a little girl cry over a game is a prick move.” You spit. 

“It's not just a game!” He shouted at you so loud you flinched back. 

Your eyes are narrowed as you stand, “That's exactly what it is James, a game. And you let yourself get all worked up over it like a child.” 

He tenses as you speak, he feels as if someone had punched him in the gut when you look at him like that. But his pride takes over in a swoop and anger rises as he stands too, “What are you even doing down here?” He demands, “To smoke fucking weed and ‘comfort me’? You're not my bloody girlfriend!” 

You stop dropping your shoulders, he was right of course, you weren't his girlfriend. As much as everyone always seemed to assume you were, as much as you flirted and touched, sneaking off together into the night beneath his cloak. The two of you had always toed the line of intimacy but you had yet to cross it, something you lay awake thinking about most nights. 

“You're right.” You state firmly, “I don’t know what I’m doing down here.”  And you turn, throwing the roach onto the ground and stomping it out. You're back out into the night grateful, as the weather hides your tears. 

James doesn't follow though he bites his tongue harshly when you leave, wanting to call out, apologize and beg you to stay with him. But he doesn't, just watching you go with balled fists before he yells and swings at the stone wall.

The next morning is awkward when James makes it down to the great hall for breakfast, his hair messier than usual and dark circles under his eyes, the knuckles on his right hand scabbed.

The two of you sit on opposite sides of Sirius who carried the conversation on his back with great effort. 

“Godric, what is up with you two?” He asks finally, “You’re walking around like fuckin’ corpses.” 

“Nothing.” you shrug not meeting his eyes, “Just tired.” 

Sirius eyes you both, and then glances at Remus who is mentally praying for him to shut up. “Sure…”

You excuse yourself to head to Arithmancy and Sirius turns to James immediately, “So you guys finally shagged huh?” 

James sputters and Remus scoffs in disbelief. 

“That's not while you’re all awkward?” He gaped, “What the hell else could it be?” 

James grimaced, “We just… had an argument. “ 

“Don’t tell me it was over Quidditch.” Sirius says and James looks away, “Christ you're an idiot.” 

James just nods in agreement, letting his head rest in his arms. All of the anger he felt towards you had been replaced by regret over his sleepless night and now all he wanted was for you to smile at him, but you wouldn’t even meet his eyes. 

“Well, apologize.” Remus says, beginning to pack up his things, “Seems you have a lot of apologizing to do after yesterday.” 

James stares gloomily at where you had been sitting, “Yeah I know.” 

It's not till lunch when he finally gets you alone, cornering you on your way out of Herbology and back up to the castle. The grounds are wet from yesterday's weather and your shoes are covered in mud. 

“I’m sorry.” Is the first thing that comes out of his mouth, “I didn’t mean to yell at you last night, I was just upset and tired and I… I shouldn’t have done that. I'm really sorry doll.” 

You eye him skeptically, looking for a hint of anything but pure sincerity, but find none. His eyes are glued to you like he's begging you to forgive him and as usual you just can't say no. 

“All’s forgiven James.” You say simply, “Though you're lucky I didn't push you into the lake.” 

Neither of you mention the real reason you stormed back to the castle last night, what he had said about what you were, or more what you weren’t. The topic seemed too heavy for the bright sun that seeps through cracks in the clouds. 

He grins and throws an arm around you, “See this is why you're the best.” 

You raise a brow, “Why ‘cuz I put up with all your bullshit?” 

“No, because you forgive me for all my bullshit.” 

“That's because I know you're an idiot who only means about half of what he says.” You snicker and it feels as if the world has gone back to spinning when he leans into you.

“I'd give myself at least a good three quarters.” He smirks. 

“Of course you would.” 

Remus looks pleased to see you hooked under James’ arm when you enter the common room, “See you two have kissed and made up.” 

You flush.

“I think we're missing half that equation.” James said slyly, leaning in to peck your cheek, “There, all better.” 

“Get off me James,” You huff, heart pounding as you half-heartedly push him away to take a seat on the couch and you know everything is back to normal when he sits beside you and throws his arm back over your shoulder with a pout. 

And things stay normal, well as normal as they usually are. 

The weather begins to warm and the trees begin to sprout new growth, green and pink flowering across the forest whenever you look out the window. A sense of excitement has gathered in the students, even as exams approach the sun gleaming through dusty windows in the castle make everyone feel giddy. 

James has been practicing non-stop now as the final match against Ravenclaw approaches. He's out late, keeping the team out till dark to run drill after drill, play after play. He's even taken to giving private lessons to the new seeker, “Can’t have them falling apart when I leave, doll,'' He explained when you asked, “Plus I need her to be prepared for the match, we’re gonna win that cup again I swear.” 

It was nice to see he was nothing but optimism again, his natural state. But it all crashed to the ground when the date for the match was set. 

Your eyes go wide when he tells you, “The 16th?” 

“Yeah, so you better start making your ‘Go Potter’ banner now.” He says cheekily.

“James..” You pause and feel guilt bubble in your chest, “I have my apparition test on the 16th. It was set ages ago.” 

His face falls, “I thought we all took the test back in January!”

You shake your head, “Wasn’t 17 yet, my mum had to pull some strings so I didn't have to wait till summer.”

“So you can't come?” He’s devastated, his heart sinking into his stomach, he doesn't just want you there, he needs you there; to glance down at in the crowd after he scores, to wink at as he sweeps past, “But youre my lucky charm.” His voice is so soft it hurts.

 “I know James, I’m so sorry, I had no idea.” You look down at your hands unable to handle the disappointment that was written on his face. 

He doesn't say anything, just staring down at the food on his plate. Suddenly his appetite was gone, he didn’t know what to think, how to think. What was even the point of quidditch if you couldn’t be impressed by his amazing dives and dodges?, “Will you at least be there before the match?” he asks.

You shake your head, “I’m leaving Friday after classes. My mum is gonna bring me back on Sunday.” 

And he wanted to cry, it was childish and dramatic but it felt like you were abandoning him before his big moment, his big match, one that he had been working so incredibly hard to win, “Oh.” is all he can muster out and you're both left looking at your laps. 

You apologize again, and try not to let the heaviness in your chest drag you through the floor. You weren’t sure if there was anything worse than disappointing him, you preferred him fiery and fuming.

When James reached the Quidditch pitch for practice that day he seemed to have lost all of his energy, his feet dragging. He kept getting asked if he was okay and he kept saying yes even though it felt like someone had smashed him to bits and put him back together with nothing but scotch tape. 

He played terribly, his usual charisma lost leaving his passes stale. He felt anger rising with every mistake he made, how could he let this happen? How could he let you have so much impact on him? How could one person missing from a stand of hundreds make him not even want to play? It was infuriating how obsessed he had become with you. Sirius and Remus had warned him this would happen, that his little crush would grow into a bulging monster, and they had been right. He simply couldn’t help it, you were stunning. And funny and brilliant and every other positive adjective he could possibly come up with, he would list what he liked about you for years if you asked. It was this reason he just couldn’t bring himself to confess, the only thing worse than having to keep you at arm's length was losing you altogether. And despite his friend's assurance that his feelings were returned he just couldn’t risk it, he couldn’t risk being wrong and not even being able to call you his friend anymore. Because, once again, he needed you. 

So he played it up, with the petnames and the touches, he took what he could trying to make it obvious, to convince you to make the move he so desperately wanted to. But you hadn't, you had just blushed and giggled, turning his heart to mush. 

And now he was sitting in an empty locker room, tears spilling down his cheeks because you couldn’t be at the most important game he had ever played, would ever play. He wiped them away desperately but they just kept coming, making his face feel hot and his head throb. 

The ache didn’t go away over time like he thought it would but grew, weighing him down like a ball and chain. Everyone noticed, his friends, his teammates and worst of all you. 

You kept apologizing, like it was your fault that his match had been scheduled on the one weekend you would be out of the castle. He could tell you felt terrible about it and it only made him feel worse that he wasn’t just bringing down his own performance but your own. If you didn’t pass your exam he was sure it would be his fault for making his own devastation at your departure so obvious. 

The sixteenth approached with building anticipation, the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors that usually got on quite well had begun to shout obscenities at each other at dinner. Team members were taunted constantly in corridors on the way to classes, a duel had even broken out between two beaters, landing them both in the hospital wing for a short spell. But of course ever the strategist, the Ravenclaws had saved their best ammo for last. 

It was Friday night before the match and you had already left giving James a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek ‘for luck’ that had actually improved his mood quite a bit. As if sensing this the Ravenclaw captain had materialized before him on his way back from dinner with a sick grin on his face. 

“Heard not even your girlfriend wants to watch you lose tomorrow Potter.”

James flushed red, “Piss off, Robinson.” 

He just laughed, “I mean after your horrid performance last match I bet you asked her to leave huh?” 

James tried to swallow his fury but he was not doing very well, his fists bunching at his sides. 

“Maybe when I win she’ll realize you're all talk and finally go on that date with me.” he taunts. 

James knows this is very untrue, you had confessed to him many times that you found Robinson nothing short of annoying, claiming he had an even bigger head than himself, but he still felt jealousy rising in his gut. Would you think less of him if he lost again? Would you laugh about it behind his back? Would you give some other guy a kiss on the cheek and wish him luck instead? He wasn’t sure he could bear even the thought. 

He strode past Robinson with a seething glance, “You're gonna be bloody crying by the time the match is over tomorrow.” He hissed and then marched up the stairs to a restless night of dreams involving you kissing some faceless guy in blue quidditch robes. 

James felt sick the next morning, his head was throbbing behind his eyes and no matter how much bacon he tried to force into his mouth he just didn’t feel like eating. It wasn’t until Aada came up to him literally shaking from nerves that he realized he was just gonna have to pretend to be okay. 

He gave his usual pep talk in the locker room, but his eyes were cold and hard instead of the usual glowing excitement that he alluded. The team was tense when they marched out onto the field, the sun was out and the sky was clear. A cold morning breeze swept across the grass as he shook hands with a smirking Robinson and he shivered. 

The whistle blew and it began. 

“Potter with the quaffle!” The commentator began, “Nice dodge there, oh that looked like it hurt! It’s Ravenclaw with it now.” 

James growled rubbing his side where the bludger had hit him and racing after the girl who had snatched his fumble. 

The game pushed on and James was surprised to find that while he was playing mediocre at best, the rest of the team seemed to be making up for it on the tenfold. Aada, who had been instructed to do nothing but annoy the Ravenclaw seeker until Gryffindor was eighty points up was doing a magnificent job, the extra time he had put into training  her showing obviously in her skillful maneuvering and dives. The beaters had yet to miss a hit and twice James had been able to score with only the keeper as an obstacle. 

Despite the fact that they had gone in at a significant disadvantage the Gryffindors were shockingly loud, James didn’t glance much at the crowd, afraid it would make him realize who wasn’t there more than who was, but he could hear them even over the whooshing of wind in his ears. 

They were almost an hour into the game when the snitch was first spotted, but only 50 points up, Aada was unable to go for it and instead took the opportunity to run straight into the Ravenclaw keeper, nearly knocking him off his broom. She played it off beautifully, tears and all, and it cost them only one penalty shot which their keeper saved. James could have hugged them both. 

When the quaffle was tossed after, Robinson had snatched it from James’ grasp and sped towards the hoops. A bludger caught him in the side and the quaffle spiraled from his grip down towards the Gryffindor crowd, James raced after it, his feet sweeping inches from the heads of his classmates when he caught it with a roll. It was then that something caught his eye. 

A flag so large it was being held by four people was spread and waving mere inches from his face, the words, “Go Potter!” sprawled on it in red and gold ink that had been enchanted to send off sparks that crackled and snapped with golden light. 

He looked down and saw you staring up at him, a red hat pulled over your head as you cranned up at him, waving your arms as wildly as you could possibly manage. You were grinning so wide he could see each of your teeth, your cheeks pink and eyes glinting as you cheered up at him. 

When you locked eyes he felt his heart rise from his stomach and pound away in his chest. He wanted to drop into the stands that very moment, take you into his arms and kiss you stupid. But instead he sent you a wink and sped off towards the goals feeling like someone had just gifted him a pair of wings. 

“Potter with the quaffle, bludger coming his way. A beautiful dodge!” The commentator yelled, “And he's looped Robinson as well, look at him go!” 

James had never felt so confident in his life, and he scored with ease again and again, coming to do a victory lap round your flag each time he did. 

“And Potter scores again!” shouted the loudspeakers, “He has been simply unstoppable! Gryffindor leads 160 to 80!” 

The cheers were deafening around you and James once again hoovered above you momentarily, blowing you a kiss that caused your cheeks to light on fire. He was actually doing it, he was winning the match he had told you was impossible and pride swelled in your stomach. It wasn't ten minutes later when Aada caught the snitch and it was official, you had won, both the game and the cup. 

The team hurdled to the ground and swarmed their seeker, but James had started in a run the opposite way, towards the crowd that was now rushing out onto the pitch. 

He shoved past the first few to reach him and beelined for where you were jogging at him, arms spread. 

You collided with such force that if he hadn’t lifted you into the air you were sure you would have toppled over onto the ground. His arms wrapped around your waist spinning you around with a shout, “You came!” 

You nodded, smiling so hard it hurt, you looked down at him, his cheeks flushed, brown eyes glistening in the sunlight and you knew at that moment that it was meant to be. You took both hands and cupped his face pulling it into yours and kissing him feverishly. 

There was a loud chorus of cheers and whoops around you but neither of you heard, too lost in the taste of one another. When you broke away he was grinning even wider, “You passed then?” 

You had forgotten all about your test that morning, but he hadn’t, of course he hadn’t. 

“Yeah, I disappeared as soon as they handed me my license.” You giggled, heart hammering in your chest, “Mum’s gonna kill me for missing dinner.” 

“You’re a bloody treasure doll.” He laughed, and then he drew you into another kiss squeezing you tight around the middle as your hands ran through his hair. “My lucky charm.” 

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~

taglist: : @accio-rogers @roslea @sleepingalaska @the-natureofme @sarcasticallywitty @rosieweasley @dracosgoodgirl @inglourious-imagines @princess-jules47 @daedreams @d22malfoys @evyiione

m.list

[raineandsky]

Villains are nicer, anyway

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

tw: violence, death

It’s a shame the hero didn’t appreciate her sidekick’s powers more.

The villain simply stands to the side and lets the young hero—or ex-hero now, he supposes—do what he wants. It sounds like he’s earned it, from what the kid’s told him. The hero deserves every layer of hell he puts her through.

So he waits, idly watching the punches and kicks and strikes of lightning he rains down on  her. To think she’d been so cocky when they arrived, as well. “Weakness seeks out weakness, no?” she’d said, and the villain had punched her so hard she’d toppled over pretty much immediately.

Her cruel jabs at the kid didn’t take long to turn into desperate apologies and begs for mercy. It took much, much longer for those to eventually fall into silence, and the young ex-hero is left standing over his mentor’s bloody, bruised, very dead body.

“How’s it feel?” the villain asks after a long moment of watching him stare at the carnage like he’s seeing it for the first time. He flinches so hard at his voice that the villain almost jumps as well.

His gaze flits to the man momentarily before turning back down to what he’s done. “... Bad,” he says quietly, and the slight quiver in the single word holds more emotion than the villain’s felt in years. He kind of misses caring so much.

“Always does the first time,” he comments, and the kid nods ever-so-slightly. “You want to help get rid of her or shall I do it?”

There’s a second of silence as he weighs up the options. “Can you do it, please?” He almost sounds guilty, but the villain waves him off nonchalantly as he finally steps out of the shadows to do the dirty work.

“It’s that exact feeling that made me such a weak villain in the beginning,” he comments as he lays down the giant black bag he brought. He knew he’d have to do this—the newbies never want to. “I hated killing people, and I told myself I’d never do it again after the first one. It’s harder when you kill for personal reasons, because it never makes anything feel better, no matter how many times you try.”

The ex-hero shuffles on his feet as he watches the villain get to work shovelling the hero into the bag with the grace of a dog covering its shit in the backyard. “How many people have you killed?”

The villain shrugs. “Enough to know that killing people doesn’t feel good. I don’t want to bog you down with a number—it’s in the double digits.”

The kid takes to fidgeting nervously as the villain gets to pulling the tape out. “Does it always feel as bad as this?”

“It doesn’t get easier, but it hurts your feelings less.” He starts wrapping the tape around the plastic. “You’ll probably be lying awake for a few nights after this, but each kill keeps you awake less until eventually they all blend together too much to care.”

“The agency always said killing people is bad,” the kid says quietly, as if anything the agency ever says is worth listening to.

“The agency also let people shove your head down toilets. There’s no point in trusting anything they say.” He stands up again, giving his handiwork a hearty kick for good measure. “Alright, let’s get this bitch moved. Oh god, wait, no, I keep forgetting—”

“I’m sixteen!”

“That’s not old enough!”

The ex-hero laughs, and the expression lights him up like the sun. The villain just about manages to wrangle his embarrassingly fluttering joy down to an entertained hum.

He’s glad the kid’s feeling a little better—he deserves that much after everything. He’s pleased that his mood is improving so he can start working on honing his powers for the villainous cause, nothing more. He doesn’t like the kid, really, kind of, maybe, exactly.

He watches the ex-hero shake his hands of the blood staining them though, a little disgusted but still wearing a fraction of a smile, and the villain knows better than that.

Fuck, he thinks distantly, I’m starting to care again.

[silastreeguy]

Today's date: Saturday, 29th of July, 2023

Dear Diary,

I have found myself on a website called Tumblr— I can't imagine it has anything to do with gymnastics— though I'm told you can find just about anything on here. (Including gymnastics, if you so please)

I had a wonderful break-fast, though it was lunch time, of rice and chicken, corn, and bread sticks! I love bread sticks, but I don't like garlic. I know garlic bread is popular, and I have nothing against it— just the smell and the oily taste is very bad in my mouth. But I love bread all the same. And I do love almond butter toast!

Here's a question. Why is is called garlic bread if it's toasted, and why is it weird to call it garlic toast?

Back to my more planned thoughts.

I am going to instill my thoughts and feelings onto this website and talk about the things that interest me. Including but not limited to: History , the 80s, and Frogs™.

I recall a rainy night in November, similar to the summer storms we've had recently, but the previous summer of that year much cooler— still hot, mind you— but not nearly so.

Anyways, I remember when I was younger, I was absolutely not dressed for the weather, but I didn't care because catching frogs was much more important than that. Besides, I knew I'd be taking a bath that evening anyways, so get as dirty as possible now, cleanse later. Frogs now.

So anyways my friend Jonah had me fetch a pail so we could hold more frogs than our grubby little teenaged hands could carry...

...

I remember Jonah dearly.

I think...

I think I might have liked him, as well as cared for him. But that was a long time ago.

I'm sure he's happy wherever he is, chasing and catching frogs...

...

He grew to be quite the chap to go to for anything related to swamps, bogs, marshes, glades— all of which he insisted were Very Different Things™— I believe him of course, I just wouldn't be able to see the difference even if it had hit me with a brick till I wore it as a hat.

It wasn't just the environments, but the plants and animals too.

He told to "make sure to get a fitted lid, lest they leap about, I must look at them closely!" I of course obliged. I knew just as much about frogs, that they were particularly squirmy and very beautiful. I have always love their different colours and the shapes of their spots, patterns— I mustn't go on too much. They're just little guys though :)

Jonah studied plants, animals, even from a young age. And he was always very clever.

"We must study the natural world around us to grow into well-rounded, proper adults!" I would have never been clever enough to think of something like that, even as I grew up into a proper adult years later, to save our hides for leaving chores half-finished for frogs. I often wrote down the little things he said that stuck with me so I wouldn't forget them. I don't want to leave behind an improper image of him. Or remember him incorrectly myself.

He spent just about from noon to supper outside in the muck. My mother didn't approve, Jonah's mother did. And occasionally, I could have sworn she would give my mother a very good, nasty, side-eye. This cheered me greatly.

I could only spent half that time outside before my mother drags me in by the ear and forces me into the bath. Jokes on her. I love swimming! But that evening, long after supper had ended and mother was asleep. I had said my prayers and pretend to sleep until she slept.

I snuck out to enjoy the rain from under the awning. Only to have Jonah sit beside me with a frog in his hand, we named him Reginald's pants. He had a colouration that looked like he had fancy pants! We watched the rain, and talked for 2 hours. I slept very well that evening.

He and I were both very much into books, and I still am. He prefered encyclopedias and Atlases and I preferred novels. Though my mother thought I spent far too much time with my nose in a book and should have concerned my self with real things.

But where does fiction come from, mother? Real Things

And what was real, and is still very much true is that I like frogs and and leg warmers and Jonah

...

Sincerely,

Silas

[summervale]

「The Hound and The Vulture 」

Part 5 (and a half)

Third person reader-insert! After weeks—or had it been months now?— on the road north, the Hound and the vulture can finally withstand the cold rain no longer and turn to an inn for a single night of reprieve. And, of course, there is only one bed.

Contains: Reluctant pining, teasing, mature situations

Words:  4,871

Tags: @lunnybunny12 @supervalcsi

Notes:  The overused, cliché, worn-out trope of “and there was only one bed.” Let’s have it one more time, then, once more from the top. 

This is half of Part 5. Parts of the second half are already written, but I wanted to go ahead and get this finished, edited half out for everyone who has been so supportive and so patient! Thank you all for your kind words.❤️

The town was dismal at best. But still, there was an inn. Any respectable person from any respectable keep would have spat on both the inn and the town, but neither the Hound nor the vulture were in any position to turn away a warm bed. Even the thought of a damp straw mattress and a bowl of dubious brown stew warmed the vulture inside—just a little.

They plodded their way down what they could only assume was the main road of the town, though it was currently little more than a bog. The mud sucked at their horses’ hooves as they went; gods forbid the northern reaches of Westeros go more than a day or two without getting rained, snowed, or sleeted on, or any miserable, abysmal combination of the three. Sometimes they were met with all three in one day–those were the worst days, soaked to the core and chilled to the bone–but still, Sandor would not let them rest.

The rain had let up to a cold, ever-present mist when they reached the village. Everyone is staring again, thought the vulture. They’re always staring. She had half a mind to run the staring people down from time to time. Everywhere they went, the Hound drew stares. Children often fled, sometimes they laughed. Sometimes they asked questions. The adults were no better, and often the vulture found herself wondering how many times the Hound had been recognized. She half expected to be seized by the white cloaks themselves in the middle of the night. Sandor could fight them off, no doubt. She’d seen him do some serious damage in their time together.

And though he could defend himself blindfolded with one arm tied behind his back (of this the vulture had not a doubt), it was the people who stared who bothered her the most. The brute of a man was somehow too nice to send the staring children away with a “fuck off,” easy as it may have been. The vulture was less nice in this regard.

Wait. She turned in her saddle to look at him. He raised an eyebrow at her but said nothing—an expected interaction by this point. When did I start caring if they laugh at him? Why would I want to defend him? She’d had her moments of weakness, it was true. But she was not one to chase love unrequited. Especially not from a mongrel like Sandor Clegane. It had been the cold and the dark and the rain that had gotten to her before, or so she could tell herself. She would have wanted any man. And he saved her, too. No matter who he was, he had saved her and he had not forced himself onto her. It was a noble act. Of course she’d wanted him, it was almost instinct.

And yet…

“Boy, get over here.”

She was wrenched from her thoughts by Sandor’s voice. There was a boy a few strides away from the stables of the inn, shirtless and shoeless even in the cold, and dirty, too. Had he not had such a nasty look of revulsion on his face at the sight of the Hound, the vulture might have pitied him. But she didn’t.

“You the stableboy?”

The little cretin’s face twisted further. “No, I’m here for fun,” he japed.

Sandor paid the comment little mind. “Take these horses. See that they’re brushed and watered. And that they have oats.” Sandor began to dismount as he spoke, and the girl followed suit.

The ground was miserably soft and wet below, mud from the rain and muck from the stables. Her nose wrinkled as she swung one leg over the saddle to dismount, bracing herself for the ankle-deep plunge into the filth. Please hold, please don’t come apart, she prayed silently to her boots. If there was any place for her only pair of boots to be ripped apart by the mud, it would be this hole of a town, though, and the vulture was anything but optimistic.

“Easy there.” The Hound was aside her, suddenly, and before she knew what he was doing, the mountain of a man had lifted her from her horse. He took her with the ease an average man would use to lift a child.

The sudden act of kindness caught her off guard so badly that all she could think to say was, “What are you doing?” He held her, navigating the muck of the stables with the small woman in his arms. Without thinking, she draped one arm over his shoulder and held fast to his chest with her other hand, holding onto him as if for dear life.

“No point in both of us getting fuckin’ muddy,” he grumbled. It was, it seemed, to be the most begrudging act of kindness ever. But still, it was an act of kindness nonetheless, and the vulture found herself oddly fond of the Hound in that moment.

Said moment was cut short when the Hound unceremoniously all but dropped her back onto drier ground. The well-packed earth beneath the overhang of the inn rose up to meet her boots, and when she was no longer entwined in his arms (his big, strong, protective arms…) the young woman snapped back to reality.

“Thank you,” she said, still dazed. All she received in response was a grunt of acknowledgement—not that she’d expected anything more.

The inside of the inn was significantly better than the outside of the inn. Hells—it was better than the whole town. Or maybe it had just been that long since they’d lived like civilized people, sleeping in barns that had been put to the torch with only their cloaks for comfort, hiding out beneath crevasses in hillsides. The inn smelled of rabbit stew and hot spiced wine, and within moments of standing in the doorway it was undoubtedly the warmest the pair had been in weeks.

The woman behind the bar eyed them suspiciously. “What do you want?” she asked.

Before the Hound could answer, it was the vulture who stepped forward. “Two rooms, please. And two meals, and some wine.” She thought for a moment. “And two baths as well.” They had the coin to spare, after all, having sold their third horse to the farmer and selling the bits of armor the vulture was so good at scavenging from the many dead soldiers they encountered. Stark, Lannister, Frey…it was funny how the houses they died for didn’t matter anymore when they laid dead in the dirt with a woman ripping the armor from their bodies for whatever coin it might bring. A futile fight with a fitting end. Often it sold for a few coppers at best, but the stew and ale it would buy was worth a hundred gold dragons to the pair.

The innkeep eyed the Hound. “It’ll be double the cost of the bath for him,” she said. “I’ll have to heat and haul twice as much water.”

“Done,” the vulture answered for the Hound. She could feel the scowl he was boring into her head behind her.

“I’ll get you your food, have a seat. But there’s one problem,” said the woman, who was already shuffling off to the kitchens.

“Seven hells. What’s the problem?” The Hound finally found his voice, it seemed, and joined the conversation.

“There’s only one room. Big bed, though, even for the likes of you,” the woman never looked over her shoulder. “I’m sure you can share.”

Beside the vulture, the Hound huffed. “I’m sure we can share,” said the small woman, half-mocking the innkeep, half-teasing Sandor.

Her traveling companion, ever silent, said nothing. He strode off for the dining area, no doubt in anticipation of the promised wine. The vulture scowled. They’d shared a bed once at the farmhouse. Something inside of her fluttered at the memory. It hadn’t gone anywhere, though, and she’d be a fool to expect he’d feel any differently about her at an inn than he would in a farmhouse or a cave or a barn or anywhere else they had been or ever would be.  It was cliché, to be sure, having arrived at an inn with only one bed vacant in the whole damn place. But it made no difference. The vulture could strip herself of her clothes and present herself before him bare; she could climb on top of him, she could do and say whatever she wanted. The Hound would not have her.

The small talk they made over their dinner was as bland as the stew. The Hound wasn’t one for conversation, much less when other prying eyes and open ears were nearby. The stew was thin and watery and the cook had skimped on the rabbit. But the radishes and potatoes were cooked well, at least, and though the wine was more brown than red, it washed the stew down all the same and warmed them to their core. They mopped at their trenchers with bread that was not quite stale but would be soon. Yet, they cleared their plates. By the time they’d finished, a serving girl appeared at their table’s side.

“A bath for the lady?” asked the girl. She seemed nervous, her eyes darting back and forth from the Hound to the vulture to the floor, then back again. “It’s ready. The bath. For the lady.”

“A bath for the lady.” The vulture nodded in agreement. She drank down what was left of her wine in one swallow and replaced the cup to its original spot on the table. “Hear that? I’m a lady,” she said to Sandor.

He grunted. “Could have fooled me.”

She didn’t dignify him with a response. Instead she stood and followed the girl, who led the way up the flight of stairs and to a store room where a copper tub had been half-way filled. The water was tepid, as mediocre as the meal they’d been served and the wine they had drank, but just like the meal and the wine it served its purpose, and for that the vulture was grateful. The girl helped the traveler out of her clothes and into the tub. The vulture allowed herself to relax the slightest bit; the serving girl dutifully and silently washed her hair (a pity, as the vulture would have appreciated a good conversation) while the vulture set to scrubbing her body.

When all was said and done, the serving girl provided the vulture with a shift made from plain, undyed wool and promised that her clothes would be washed and dried before the night’s end—a service the woman had gladly allowed herself to be upsold on for two extra coppers. Warm and clean for the first time in an undetermined amount of time (even the vulture had since lost track of how long they’d been traveling) she retired to the room they were given. The last room at the end of the hall was where they’d been situated. It was a small room with a large bed that took up the majority of the space. The bed was large and sturdy enough to sleep four, there was a small square table with a single chair, and an iron brazier in which the innkeep had so kindly started a small fire. The innkeep had been right: they could share without problem.

After a moment’s time warming her hands at the brazier, the vulture settled into the bed, choosing the side closest to the wall. It was heaven. The Seven themselves surely had a hand in crafting this wonderful, glorious room in this wonderful, glorious inn. Never before had the vulture been so relieved and comfortable as she was here.

That was an exaggeration. It was a dank inn in a shithole of a town. The vulture knew this. But she knew that she was warm and comfortable, too, and she knew that she’d spent months sleeping in caves and barns and open fields even, and that this was better than anything. She closed her eyes. She was safe and warm. She was comfortable. And soon Sandor would be at her side.

Sandor…

Beneath the covers, her body was warm. Her mind was fuzzy. Sleep was taking her. He’ll have a bath, and then he’ll join me. Soon, so soon. She, in the moments before sleep when the mind is both the most absurd and the most honest, anticipated the feeling of the mattress sinking beneath his weight as he climbed into bed beside her. She wanted the heat of his body beside hers. She wanted him to settle in and pull the blankets around them, to feel his chest rise and fall against her back with every breath he took. She wanted him. She wanted him. She wanted him...

The door closed quietly, but loud enough to wake her nonetheless. The world was dark. Outside the small window the whole sky was black and starless, so the only light came from the single brazier on the opposite side of the small room. It was raining. The rainfall made a quiet patter on the roof, in the same peaceful way the wind whipped against the wooden siding of the inn in the night.

Sandor stood near the door he’d shut. “Were you sleeping?”

“Yes,” she said, though for how long she’d been sleeping she could not say. Long enough for the sun to go down, at least. She was comfortable, and though she couldn’t remember it now, she’d been having some sort of wonderful dream.

The Hound said nothing. He was just standing there almost awkwardly. The vulture sat up, her eyes adjusting to the darkness, and in the dim light of the room she could see he was squinting back at her. She realized at once that it must have been a foreign sight to him to see her look so…not feral. On the best of days she could easily be taken for a wildling, like some creature who’d come raiding from north of the wall or an escapee from a hill tribe. He’d never known her as the maid who loved to sing and dance, who baked bread and had once wreathed her hair with summer daisies. He knew her as what she had become. He knew her as the vulture. In their time together she’d huddled beneath a mourning cloak of black with her hood drawn, changing between the two skirts she had (both of which were also black and worse for the wear) with her hair unkempt and her skin hidden from the cold beneath her many layers.

The woman staring back at him must have been a stranger. Her hair was soft and clean and dry, as was her skin, and she smelled of soap instead of horses. Her black cloak was replaced with a thin wool shift. And for the first time, her guard was down.

Sandor was still Sandor, though, just a little cleaner than usual. This is probably what he looked like when he was one of the white cloaks, she thought, studying him.

After a long moment of silence, he said, “Throw me a pillow.”

That struck her as odd. “What for?” she asked, and though she gathered one in her arms, she hesitated on passing it to him. 

Even in the darkness he was looking at her like it was the most obvious thing in the world, which he punctuated with an impatient huff. “If I’m going to give you the fucking bed, you’re going to give me a fucking pillow.”

“Give me the bed?”

“Though I have my doubts about it, you’re a woman. I’m not making a woman sleep on the floor.”

She stared at him. He stared back. “Why would I sleep on the floor?” she asked. “Why would you sleep on the floor?” The question only resulted in more staring.

“So you can have the fuckin’ bed,” Sandor told her at last though it clarified nothing and was circular reasoning at best. “Now give me the pillow.”

“You’re being ridiculous. We’ve shared a bed before.” She clutched the pillow more tightly to her chest. “There’s no need for you to sleep on the floor when this is the first time either of us have had a good bed in—”

“Seven hells, give me the pillow.”

Her eyes narrowed. “No.”

With a signature annoyed grunt, Sandor stomped the few short strides to the bed. “You’re a lady, you get your own fuckin’ bed. Give me that.”

“No!” She pulled back as he reached for it. “No, you beast!” He grabbed for the pillow, but she was faster, lurching backwards onto her haunches. Her win was momentary, though, as for the first time in their time together, he outsmarted her. He reached past her and around her, grabbing the pillow she’d previously been sleeping on.

He pulled away successful in his endeavor and tossed the pillow onto the floor. Sandor knelt, pushing the pillow against the wall and going to his knees to get comfortable.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she reiterated. “We’re paying good coin for this bed. There’s no reason for you to lay down there and catch a chill from the draft.”

He propped himself up on his elbow to look at her. “Do I have to tell you to go the fuck to sleep every time we go the fuck to sleep?”

If he wants to be ridiculous, we will be ridiculous. The vulture swung her legs from the bed so suddenly that even Sandor looked surprised. No sooner did her feet hit the floor than she pulled the other pillow from the bed. She dropped it on the floor with a muffled thump.

“What in the gods’ name are you doing?”

“If we’re wasting money on the bed, we’re wasting money on the bed.” She let herself fall back against the pillow. It really is cold down here, she realized, suddenly unsure whether she had the constitution to win this game or not. She didn’t want to be cold. She wanted to be warm in bed, but she wanted to be warm in bed with Sandor.

And seven hells did she hate admitting that.

“Get up there.” Each word the Hound said came out punctuated with evident frustration.

“No.”

“And you think I’m ridiculous?”

“Yes.” She was looking over at him, at his hulking form in the dark. The room was small save for the bed, so they were left with only two or three feet between them. Even with those two or three feet she could feel him thinking, scathing, fuming. If she was good at nothing else in this life, she was good at frustrating Sandor Clegane.

Truthfully, she wasn’t sure if he’d care enough to join her in the bed. He might just let her lay there and be cold. Even on the floor with no blankets, this was the warmest they’d been in a long time. They were in no danger of freezing, and if she wanted to make herself miserable, no doubt Sandor would let her.

That’s why it came as such a surprise when Sandor first pushed himself back onto his knees, then stood.

She watched him wordlessly. He closed the gap between them until he was standing over her. And then he descended on her.

“What are you—oh!” The vulture’s objections were cut short when the great beast of a man stooped and lifted her for the second time that day. Though helping her from the horse had been almost graceful, this was unceremonious but equally effortless.

The bed rose up to meet her when he dropped her. “Get in the fucking bed and go to sleep.” 

“You get in the fucking bed,” she told him. And quick as that, she was out of the bed again.

A game was afoot. He grabbed her, catching her in the ribs with his forearm. Her feet left the floor as she found herself tossed like a doll back onto the bed. In the brief pause that ensued, the faintest, most brief smirk played at Sandor’s lips. The vulture silently admired it. But the game was not so easily won, not for him at least, and in a blink she was up again. This time she anticipated his movement and ducked beneath his arm, dancing away from him. He whirled and grabbed for her, catching her by the elbows before she could take her spot on the floor again.

It was ridiculous. The whole thing was ridiculous, she’d called it right from the start. The vulture didn’t even attempt to suppress the laugh that escaped her lips when he caught her. Though at first it seemed he was going to yell at her, her laugh changed everything. They stood there, Sandor holding her by her shoulders inches from him as she laughed and laughed in the darkness. How long had it been since she’d laughed like this? Had he ever seen her laugh? Had he ever seen her have fun?

Frustrated though he may be, he said nothing, instead lifting her again. He turned, and once more made to drop her onto the bed. This time she didn’t let go. She tightened her arms around his shoulders, a move he was not expecting, and he halfway toppled down with her when he dropped her weight. His knee buckled into the side of the bed and he caught himself with his arms, pinning one on either side of the small woman whose arms were still tangled around his neck.

She was laughing again.

“Fuck you, woman.”

And in the dark, with her face inches from his, with her arms around his neck and her chest pressed to his, she could hear her own voice ask, “Is that what you want? To fuck me?”

Why did I say that? A thousand thoughts rushed to her mind in an instant’s time. Why did she say that? Was it the wine? She could easily blame the wine. But the blame didn’t matter. He was him and she was her, and her attempts to sway him in the past had failed, and now she’d fucked up and he was going to pull away, and she’d ruined a perfectly nice moment, and—

And…?

He wasn’t pulling away. He wasn’t moving at all, actually. He was still there, still so close to her. He stayed that way, too, studying her in the dark. Without thinking, she silently and gently—so gently—brought one hand to the unburnt side of his face. With her thumb she brushed his hair from his eyes. His hair was surprisingly soft, if not a little damp still from the bath, and so close together he smelled of soap and spiced wine. He didn’t stir, and she didn’t breathe. For a moment she thought he might kiss her.

“I’ll get in the fucking bed if you go to sleep,” he told her. He didn’t back away, though, and she watched his lips when he spoke.

You didn’t answer my question.

“Okay.” She’d been subdued. Don’t let me go, please don’t let me go, she thought as he let her go. He gathered their pillows from the floor and tossed them to her one at a time. She settled back into her spot nearest the wall, watching him move through the dark as he made his way back to the bed. Outside, the rain was falling harder as if to hush them.

Sandor’s movements were awkward but still somehow brusque as he found his way beneath the covers. The vulture remained still as he settled in, pulling the blankets this way and that to accommodate his size. When at last her companion was still too, she allowed her head to rest against her pillow. There were few ways to bother him now; the game was over and she had won. At this realization, she let her eyes close for a moment.

He didn’t pull away, she thought. He didn’t answer my question.

She kept her eyes closed, replaying their fight, however brief it may have been, in her head again and again and again. The way she’d laughed and spun as if dancing, the way he’d smiled, too. If her winning had meant the game was over, she’d rather have never won at all. When at last her fantasies were over and she could replay the scene no more, she opened her eyes again. Minutes had passed, but not too great of a time.

Even in the fading light of the brazier, she could tell he was watching her. Sandor was laid on his side facing her, which in itself was rare as he usually chose to sleep with his back to her when they huddled together beneath a cloak at night. She couldn’t see his eyes, as he was just a shapeless black silhouette in the night, but she knew nonetheless. She could feel it. She stared back.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?”

She was silent for a long time. You didn’t pull away. Try as she might, she did not have the courage to ask again.

It was Sandor who spoke. “If I want to fuck you?”

Her heart skipped a beat—or two or three or four—and she realized she was holding her breath, scarcely breathing at all. Had she not been laying down, the world may have gone sideways. “Yes.” Her face was hot, suddenly. Her whole body was hot.

“You think I look at you like some common whore?” That was not an answer to her question, though. He was avoiding it. Was that a yes? A no? What did that even mean? The answer frustrated her. She was not a whore, no, but she was no maid, either, and he knew that. She’d been married, however brief it may have been, so what did it matter now if it was a farmer or a hound whose bed she shared? She was no maid, no high lady, and no whore. She was nothing. She was a vulture, and he was a hound. And she wanted him, try as she might to suppress it.

This was not the time for anger; this was the time to get what she wanted. What she wanted, and what she knew he wanted, too. It was time to stop denying themselves.

“I wish you would,” she said. “Then you might give us what we both want.”

“Is that what you want? To be treated like a whore?” Through his aggression, the vulture couldn’t help but wonder if Sandor truly thought it was that unbelievable for a woman to actually want him.

“You’re making this awfully hard on yourself for someone with a woman trying to sleep with him.”

There was a pause. It was his turn to be at a loss for words, and she let him. After a moment, he asked, “Is that what you want?”

The question had been turned on her. “To fuck you?”

“Yes.”

Unlike him, she could answer. “Yes.”

He was still for a long time. Silent, too, saying nothing. He was silent so long, in fact, that the vulture thought he may have made the decision to ignore her. But still the tension festered, growing stronger and stronger as that one single word, “yes,” hung between the two of them. 

Sandor’s movement was so quick and hard that it was over by the time she’d processed what was happening. He brought one arm up and around her, pulling her body to his with fierce strength. Her chest to his, her head craned up to look at him. Instinctively, she parted her thighs and draped one leg over his as their bodies were pressed so tightly together, their legs entwining, one of his hands in her hair. She shuddered when his lips grazed hers, and again when she felt his thigh press hard and deliberately between her legs. 

His hand tightened in her hair when he finally kissed her–really kissed her, hard and rough, passionate; he kissed her with the fervency of a man who had been meaning to kiss her for quite some time now, who had been looking at her and thinking of kissing her, with all the passion of a man who laid awake at night at her side and wondered what it might be like to hold her this exact way and kiss her this exact way in the darkness. She kissed him back, too, and with her arms pinned to his chest, she grabbed helplessly at his tunic, as if she could somehow pull him closer than he already was, or never let him go at all.

When he finally pulled away, she tried to force herself closer, never wanting the moment to end. Sandor was unpredictable, and the possibility that he’d never kiss her again was real. But she wanted him, she wanted him so badly. At least he wanted her too, if nothing else. 

With his lips brushing hers, he murmured, “Yes.” 

“Yes,” she repeated dreamily. She would have said or done whatever he wanted in that moment; her Hound, her knight. 

“I want to fuck you.” 

She did not hesitate. “Then do so.” 

He was on top of her before she finished her sentence.

[eddiessidegirl]

Hell Bent for Leather

Chapter 7

Masterlist: x

Summary: You’re just now learning about what your little brother has been up to over the years post earthquake, and that formerly thought to be dead people weren’t

Pairing: Eddie x Henderson!Reader

Reader is a plus size Female with female genitalia, she/her pronouns

Slight Vol 2 spoilers but this is a fix-it fic

Warnings: General 18+ warning as this is an 18+ blog, this chapter in particular is fairly fluffy with (if you squint) some angst

Chapter word count: 1711

This chapter has not been Beta read

A/N: I struggled with deciding to post this chapter since my engagement has been down. But I love this story so much. I didn’t want to let myself and anyone who is following along down.

MINORS DNI - 18+

Chaos ensued when the four of you returned to the cabin, Nancy and Max fretted over the state of your clothes, your hair not noticing how swollen your lips still were from earlier with Eddie. Steve was continuing to stare at the backs of yours and Eddie’s heads you knew he knew what happened but you also prayed he would let it be. Everyone else clambered around asking a multitude of questions that made your head spin.

Joyce on the other hand went straight into mom mode and ushered everyone inside, telling all the kids that their questions can wait until you were both clean. Eddie went to his room to change while you stood there shivering still covered in mud and wearing Eddie’s battle vest. You knew there wouldn’t be anything that fit you in Janes room so you didn’t ask her. Joyce must have realized you were uncomfortable and told Hop to go find you something.

He produced a T-shirt for his favourite beer company Schlitz, “I won it in a contest!” He told Joyce who had a very disapproved face, and a pair of pj bottoms that still looked new. You took them gratefully and followed Nancy who offered to help you clean your hair.

“Where did you go?” She asked you the second the door closed behind you and she had the faucet on. Before you could even answer the door swing open and Robin was shoving her way into the already cramped room. “Robin! Couldn’t you have at least knocked?!” Nancy chastised.

She mumbled something about emotional support and locked the door behind her sitting on the floor “it’s fine, Nance, really, I’m just grateful it’s you two with me and not anyone else. You told her, giving Robin a soft smile and gesturing for her to join you two in the de-leafing of your hair.

With the running water muffling you from everyone in the living room you explained that when you woke up to no one but Erica in the cabin you’d panicked and taken off. “I fell at one point and sat under a log when it really began to rain… it didn’t let up and I thought I’d be stuck there all night. I didn’t want you guys out on the lake when it was thundering but I couldn’t move very well with all the mud. Didn’t realize how far I’d run either or how late it was until it started to get dark.”

Robin assisted you out of your clothes which she put in a pile by the door. You slowly sat at the bottom of the tub and let the water rush over your body, Nancy took it upon herself to aid you in washing your hair but allowed you to wash your skin. Everything ached and mud had gotten into every crevice thanks to yours and Eddie’s extracurricular activities, a flush lit along your cheeks as it came to the forefront of your mind. Once the dirt and grime was out of your tendrils, Robin and Nancy began cleaning up the floor.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Nancy reach over to grab the vest Eddie had given to you to wear but you shook your head, “No, please… leave it there,” until you were in the same room as him again this was your lifeline. “Y/N, it’s dirty I’m sure he’d want it to be washed…” eventually she relented and left it on the counter for you. “We’ll add it to the next load.” A soft smile across her lips.

“So, I understand some of the dirt and stuff, but why were both of you looking like Bog monsters?” Robin asked casually, her features showing every bit of her curiosity, you flushed harder “Wait…oh my god, Y/N, did you two…?” You head fell into your palms and you were grateful for the water because Robin let out a squeal that was deafening in the small room.

“Oh my god, Robin, please! Shhhh!” Embarrassment shaded your tone of voice, “could you be any louder?” A large smile spread across your friends face, “you totally did. I’d ask for details, but you know, men aren’t really my thing.” The three of you giggled for a bit, your soul feeling lighter and then when it was time for you to rinse off they left you alone, door cracked just ever so slightly so you didn’t feel claustrophobic in the bathroom. When you’d finished you slid into the pj pants and pulled the shirt over your head, grateful that Hopper hadn’t thrown out all his clothes from before he was stuck in the Russian prison.

Stepping out of the bathroom, vest in arms, the sound of the television and a few voices could be heard, it was late. Very late. Janes dad had driven the bulk of the kids home, only Dustin, Mike and Will remained. Joyce was seated in the recliner, Jane and Mike were sitting at the new counter hopper built sharing a bowl of popcorn, Dustin and Will on the floor discussing something you couldn’t quite catch. Wills mom waved you over to sit near her on the couch.

As you sat you pulled a pillow into your lap, feeling self conscious being in clothing that wasn’t yours “you doing ok hon? I know it can be overwhelming and then getting lost in the woods…” it was clear she was having flashbacks to when Will went missing, you felt horrid for doing to it her even if it was an accident. All you could do was nod, a lump caught in your throat.

After a few moments you turned to Joyce, her face still youthful but tired after so many horrors over the years, “I’m really sorry, I just freaked out and the first reaction I had was to go look for everyone. The older woman understood, she’d had done the same thing.

You inquired after Eddie, Dustin looked up at this moment, “Steve was driving Nancy and Robin home so he took Eddie with him to shower at his place then he’s bringing him back.” You nodded at your brother, thankful he didn’t press further. You turned your attention to the television, an episode of Cheers was on the sound was dull, but comforting. After a few moments you drifted off on the couch, Your arms holding Eddie’s vest in a vice grip. Joyce told the remaining kids to be as quiet as possible as she covered you up, ever the mother.

A dreamless sleep was had but that didn’t stop you from waking up in a cold sweat. Your movement caused the springs of the couch to creak. The room was slowly filling with light, morning was arriving. On the floor was Dustin, Mike and Will sleeping in sleeping bags across the kitchen, Joyce and Hopper were no where in sight, but you figured they were nearby. Janes bedroom was shut more or less, the door open a few inches. Eddies was wide open. Confused you made to get up and turned your head more than you had previously and that’s when you noticed him sprawled out in the recliner. His hair a birds nest, mouth wide open and making soft snores.

Gently you nudged his arm, pulling the piece of denim out from behind you where it had ended up, he awoke with a small start, his eyes wild with disorientation until they settled on you. He smiled, and the butterflies awoke in your tummy, “hey..” he whispered “hey to you too.” Quietly he got up, motioned for you to follow him and lead you to his room, his fingers searching for yours and when he found them he didn’t let go.

Once inside his room, you pushed the door until you hit the house limit, turning to face Eddie you held out the vest, which he promptly took and threw across the room. Before you could say anything, his long arms wrapped your body up into an embrace and held you close. Lips pressed against the top of your head, you took this opportunity to return the hug and burrowed your face in the crook of his neck.

He chuckled, “you prepared for the inquisition later today?” You shook your head, not looking up. “We still have a few hours before they wake up, let’s get some more sleep, princess.” Gently he pulled you to the bed and you paused. Confused, you could just sleep on the couch. Your head and body turned to the door “we’ll just sleep, promise.” Eddie soothed you, one hand on your back, and helped you get comfortable before sliding in beside you, pulling his comforter over the both of you. His arm slipped around your waist, pulling you close holding you by your stomach. Eddies body cupping yours acting like the big spoon. You eventually melted against his body, the closeness relaxing your muscles and your brain quietened. He pressed a soft kiss to the back of your neck.

“G’night sweetheart,” he muttered against your skin, already falling asleep, you followed suit soon after, whispering a soft “I love you” that you didn’t know if it would reach the depths of his mind as he slept as you drifted off. Your fingers locking with his that was holding your tummy. The line of questions could wait, right now all you wanted was to be here with Eddie, warm in his blankets and his arms.

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Tag list: @alicefallsintotherabbithole | @tssf-imagines | @eponaartemisa

[thisbelongsto-nohbodys]

Any headcanons for Anne The Herpetologist?

Here’s a few that I may use in future comics but to get my quick thoughts down here’s a few:

Anne had all her photos she took in Amphibia saved on the cloud so she was able to get them back when she got a new phone. This helped her with the Amphibia display at the aquarium which her mom helped make with her newfound arts n crafts skills.

The Sprig on earth is her own frog, she keeps him at work because it has a better terrarium than the one at home plus it just seems right to have him in the Plantar home display. She took him home sometimes when she wanted someone to talk to and co-workers have seen her carrying a conversation with it.

She still has a taste for bug cuisine, she doesn’t make everything with bugs but occasionally she’ll have snacks or a side dish made with bugs and this quickly made it so her lunch never went missing when she brought it to work.

She can name how many and what kind of amphibian is crying when she hears them outside in the wilds. This has both impressed and frightened Sasha and Marcy when she does this trick.

Always on the look out for lookalikes of her Amphibia friends, so far she has: Sprig, Grimes, Hop Pop, Polly, Wally, Olivia, Loggle, Stumpy, Maddie, Ivy and Tritonio. She sends a pic to Sasha and Marcy when she finds them and it’s always uncanny how much they do look like em.

Before the trio got back together, Anne’s longest relationship ended when she found one of Anne’s frogs in the chip bowl while they were cuddling.

Anne has an impressive home terrarium for her pet amphibians but has to keep them under lock and key when she leaves cause she fears Domino 4 might harm them.

Anne isn’t afraid of getting dirty and as such one of her proudest moments was when she was still a college student, she dove headfirst into a bog cause she was catching a toad that looked like Grime. The photo of her covered head to toe, half sunk in the mud with a big grin and an angry toad in her hands was in the yearbook and on her wall at home. Sasha demanded a copy when she saw it cause she was laughing so hard.

Anne would never actually do it but when Sasha or Marcy had a bad day, Anne would joke about certain poisons that frogs have she could use to get back at whomever was the cause of their foul mood. They know she’s joking but are also curious about the strangely labeled vials she has in her frog’s room yet know better than to ask (it’s antidote for any toxic frog slime)

She loves it when it rains and likes to go out to the park and listen to the frogs and toads cry. It reminds her of Wartwood. Sasha and Marcy however aren’t keen on walking in the rain but love how cute she looks while listening and finding the singing frogs.

She has a few friends at work from the other exhibits and when she first started they recognized her from the invasion. She explained the story behind it all and when the trio reconnected, Anne’s work friends started making bets on if or who she’ll date (none of them won cause she dated and married both).

Anne goes on a bi-annual trip with Dr. Jan to various locals looking for new ideas for exhibits. Anne has saved her group several times thanks to the Plantar Hunting Dance keeping dangerous animals at bay

She still has Tritonio’s family sword on display in her Frog Room and still practices her swordsmanship. Once the trio started living together, Sasha joined in and they’ll spar. Marcy often points out the clear romantic tension the two have while sword fighting (they know).

That’s just a few I can think of.

[yejiroh]

Siren Scales & Village Tales

•••

For @chaoticyuna 's Summerween event!

Siren Gojo with a female reader.

Word count: 2.3k

TW: large bodies of water, bullying, blood.

•••

“The water was always murky by the bog trees, billows of dirt and sod and other bits always falling into the water by the pounds. Further down the dirt road that passes through the swamp, and you’d find a well, then a town.

“A merchant’s town, children waddled through the puddles that filled the pit holes- it wasn’t a rich area, despite all the good business. In the center of the town, a big fountain captured the sun’s rays during the golden hour- usually around 5 in the afternoon.

“Now, back to the well- it’s kind of important.

“The well, around 3 feet wide, was built of what was now crumbling bricks- terribly small, but just big enough to fall down; should you be unlucky enough.

“But there was also a rumor- as there is in every town and village. And, like other rumors that resided in other towns and villages, it was that of the supernatural. But in this case…

“Sirens.

“Sirens were fish tailed peoples with webbed hands and glowing eyes. It was said that if you ever heard one singing, you’d be inclined to bring yourself forward, to take their hand and fall.”

“Fall?”

“Yes, fall. Fall down the well, they would tell you. However, once in a blue moon, there’s a survivor, one who crawls their way up from hell and back to the siren as if they were addicted to their voice; coming back every day while the sun is still up, just to leave crying their eyes out as the sun comes down.”

“Why only during the day?”

“Well, no one knows. It’s just something that happens. Like a law of nature.”

***

“Don’t you think it’d be better to just relax once in a while? It wouldn’t hurt you, I promise.”

Despite all the reassurances of saying a story was a story until proven otherwise, better safe than sorry. And the only well in a 15 mile radius was this one. 

Curse them for being so cheap. 

Your hands burned from the rope as you dragged the bucket up, clear water sloshing around spilling out some. 

“Nanami, with all due respect, you are the last one I want to hear the word ‘relax’ from.”

Gravel bits dug into the souls of your shoes, some chunky enough to feel even through the rubber. It kind of stung. 

“Y/n, I’m going to be frank with you; mermen? They don’t exist. Neither do griffins, or hydras, or any of that fairy tail nonsense you’re always babbling about. It’s just us two, and old Mr. Gakuganji down the road.”

Sighing, Nanami adjusted his glasses, not bothering to wait for you as he loaded the last gallon onto the wagon, getting ready to go. 

***

People surged forward, coins and paper money grasped in hands before thrown at you two, grabbing at the jars of the well water. It was always like this, the town coming up to the well water like it was their life sustainer, and maybe for some, it was. 

“Y/n! Welcome back! Did you see anything unnatural today?”

A mocking laugh, a tall man tore his shirt off- Aoi Todo. Behind him, the Zen’in twins chuckled.

“Actually Todo, I haven’t. BUT, I do have something else to note. That well water you’re drinking? It hasn’t been boiled yet.”

Watching his face contort, a smile is set on your face as Aoi began to hurl, tiny worms and water with last night's feast falling onto his feet.

“Y/n! What the hell! Did your siren buddy put you up to this?”

“What happened to them not being real?”

It was the same conversation everyday. And, like everyday, you was met with a horrible answer.

Todo scoffed before spitting onto the ground, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“No man is every gonna want you, you stupid woman.”

“And if I don’t want to marry?”

***

As the hours passed, dusk came, bringing the stormy clouds with it- but it wasn’t yet raining. A ripple in the lake waters caught your eye- maybe a fish, but the fish weren’t in season, so it was unlikely. 

You shouldn’t have been out after curfew- there were rules for a reason, yeah, but what was the harm? Especially after dinner, where you’d only had time for stale bread; chewing down the more than stale pieces was troubling. 

The sands of the lake were dry, like all the water had been taken from the ground, pooling into the lake. Odd.

“A  law of nature? But that's so…”

“Boring? Stupid? Illogical? Aye, it is.”

Kneeling down, you dipped your fingers into the water. There was something missing from the story the elders told you, you're sure of it; no matter how many times you waved your hand in the shallows, not a single ripple- only from that tail you saw earlier. 

Something rumbled, whether or not it was the stormy clouds or your stomach, you didn’t bother to check. 

Dipping your feet into the water, a sigh of relief escapes your lips- a breath let go you didn’t know you were holding. 

Another roll of thunder- but something caught your eye; the tail again. 

It was only for a moment, but you could make out the colors and fin shape. Various shades of blue and silver and yellows, shifting in the light, and the fin, large and (almost) pillowy. 

It hit the water, disappearing once again. 

“Stran-THE HELL?

Digits quickly grabbed your foot, webbed and slimy, pulling you under before you could scream. 

Something pressed into your mouth- maybe seaweed? Bitter and salty, whatever it was was quickly shoved down your throat, forcing you to swallow. 

As clear as the water was on the top, it was far too dark and dirty underneath. The vice grip that had pulled you down was now dragging you deeper, the breath you were saving long gone with the swallow, your eyes began to close. 

‘Count the digits!’

A tiny raise of suspicion, you felt around for a limb, feeling up before coming to your wrist. 

Forcing your eyes to open, the tears that pricked at your eyes were quickly swept away with the current.  

Head feeling light, panic was soon replaced with adrenaline, and you raised your legs, knees to your chest, before kicking out hard. Your feet hit the thing holding you, and it let go quickly, allowing you a chance to escape. 

Already out of breath, you swam up as fast as you could, finally breaking through the water’s surface. You sucked in a deep breath, coughing violently as you wiped the water and dirt out of your eyes, hurrying to the land. 

Behind you, waves crashed, and the water of the lake that seemed crystal clear was now red and thickened. The air became heavy with the scent of iron, and soon the entire lake shifted up, sands and all, dragging you up with it.

“Now, now, it's not strange, is it? I think it’s quite the opposite. Normal even.”

You found yourself in the palm of a hand- or, in the webbing between fingers that curled in, as if to cradle you.

Finally getting a good look at the thing in question, it didn’t take long to put two and two together; the fish from the beginning, the thing that pulled you under...and now…

“I’m Y/n, what the fuck are you, and what’s your name? Also, you’re hot.”

And it was true. Big glossy blue eyes that seemed to be lashed by the purest white doves feathered around,the hair, just as white as the lashes, seemed to trail deep down, and looking down, you leaned over it’s thumb, holding it tight as you peered down. Purple scales glimmered all the way down. 

Two fingers grabbed your collar, picking you up, bringing you to face an eye. 

“You’re a funny little thing- I could just eat you up”-it opened its mouth, biting the air before laughing”- “I am Gojo. You’ve heard of me, yes? I’m a Siren...but I guess the more accurate description would be to say that I am this lake. And thank you, Y/n. You’re much too kind, considering I was about to drown you. Here, let me brush you off.”

As Gojo patted you down, your insides churned; it was much too fast, and to be frank, it was more like you were getting spanked. It didn’t help that dust clouds rolled off you. 

“Y-you-ow-’re a -OW-guy?- STOP THAT HURTS!”

Gojo laughed, smiling as you coughed and waved your arms.

“A guy hmm...I suppose I am. You’re quite big for a fairy. And what the hell are you doing near a lake with no wings?”

“Fairy? I’m a human. There’s a whole ass village down the road through the forest.”

“Human? Oh...Ohh, yeah that makes a lot of sense.”

“Are mermaids- sorry, sirens- -lake dudes?”

“Lake dude, siren, doesn’t matter.”

“Right. Are y’all supposed to be this huge?”

 Gojo gasped, a webbed hand on his chest and mouth hanging open before promptly putting you down, laying down himself as his lower half dissolved into water, the pit that was the lake somewhat there again.

“Big? You think I’m big? I’m just a small lake! You flatter me Y/n!”

Propping himself on his elbows, he rested his face in his palms, looking at you with a smile. 

“Eh, it wasn’t for flattery- just curiosity.”

“Still...well, now I feel bad. I was gonna eat you.”

“Eat me?”

“Yeah.” Gojo scoffed before looking down, glaring at the ground. “There’s this human who calls himself Todo- a real-

“Pain in the ass? Insufferable? Obnoxious? Egotistic? A liar?”

“YES EXACTLY- you know him?” Gojo put his head down, and you watched in interest as some of him crumbled to sand before promptly climbing up onto his nose.Tapping it lightly, you let out a out a small “oomph” as he rose up, eyes on you. 

“Yeah, I know him. He’s actually why I’m here now- kinda. The fucking jerk kept messing with me, talkin’ about how, ‘Oh, Y/n, did you see anything weird? A siren perhaps?’ and yeah, the fucking town laughed at me, but it’s okay, cause the well water he drank hadn’t been purified ye-”

Gojo interrupted you, waving his hands around in the water before bursting into laughter.

“The WELL? Not the one by this place I hope? Oh god, thank Yaga y’all purify that!”

Joining in the laughter nervously, you asked why, which sent the siren bawling into more laughter,forcing him to place you on his head so you wouldn’t fall off.

“Oh, oh my gosh- stop tugging my hair Y/n- that well water is connected to this lake- me! Y’all would have been drinking my piss and body had you not purified it! And I can’t have a pretty thing like you melting from the inside out and drowning in your own blood because of scales or something!”

“So...what I’m getting at here is...Todo is going to die if he hasn’t already? I mean, he spit it out, but he still drank a bit-”

A sudden burst of wind, you tugged Gojo’s hair again, holding on so tight your knuckles turned white. 

Gojo hummed, deep in thought before exhaling slowly.

“Well- no pun intended-, I believe he’d turn into a fish. At least, that's what happened to the last guy who did that. Man, he was a crazy one. Called himself Get, going on and on about how everything he consumed he could turn into. Weird shit, Y/n.”

“Turned into a fish but could shapeshift?”

“Ah yeah- you guys know magic and stuff is real right? Anyways, my body, as you can see, is basically this entire lake- not like a lake god or something. Once I die, this place will have never existed. Back to what I was saying, I have a strict ‘no-no’ policy. A little spell just so I could get more dinner. And, I don’t think anyone would want to just be a lake their whole damn life.”

“Huh...that makes sense.”

“Yeah. “

“So…”

The two of you paused for a moment, and you couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly; to think that sirens were only bloodthirsty monsters- well, he did try to kill you, and it was true that they were beautiful, but the fact that you were literally sitting on the head of one now- one who claimed to be small- it was entirely laughable. 

Clearing your throat, you crawled over, leaning down to come facing his eyes once again, poking his forehead.

“Say...Gojo, you wouldn’t mind eating Todo if he turned into a fish right?”

“Hmmm...not really. Why?”

“Just asking. I’ll drop by here tomorrow, yeah? It’s getting late, and I gotta make sure no one took my dumplings.”

And with that, you said your goodbyes, promising to meet again, you with your vial of well water and siren scales, and Gojo with a gold coin.

“Payment, my dear. Nothing is free in this life, you know. Hopefully now you’ll have some better village tales to tell now.”

[digimonloving]

how the following digimon: dorumon, renamon, meicoomon, (female) lopmon, terriermon and wizardmon; would react if their to be tamer and s/o rescued and bounded with them after spotting them uncounsious near their tamer's house in the middle of a heavy rain with thunder at night?

Found unconscious near their to-be Tamer and future S/O's house in the middle of a thunderstorm in the middle of the night...

Dorumon:

When Dorumon passed out, it was harshly raining and he simply couldn't walk any more with a hungry tummy to boot. He'd been running away from animals and humans all day, and now this rain would be the death of him. When he awoke, he looked around, being covered in a blanket and inside a house. He was a bit afraid being inside of a human home, hiding in the blanket when he heard footsteps.

When he smelled food, though, he nearly perked up instantly, but kept most his face and body hidden away. He's a bit on they shy side at first, swiping the food from the human when it was offered. It takes him two days to let the human touch him, since he was still a bit on-edge but he does take notice of how hard they tried to make friends with him. And when they finally patted his nose, that's when they were destined to be Tamer and Digimon... and future partners.

Renamon:

Renamon was good at hiding away from humans... but she could only do so much while in the human world, and this thunderstorm was doing her no favors... Her fur completely soaked and dirty, and she finding herself passing out from exhaustion. Being out for days and not even knowing where she was going.

The smell of food was what drew her from her unconscious state. She is respectful to the human who took her in and seemed to dry off her fur as much as they could. She could only thank them as she slowly ate away at what they brought her. Renamon had thought to leave them after receiving food, not wanting to overstay her welcome, but something told her to stay. And so stay she did. It only took a day for the Digivice to appear, and she realized that This was her purpose here. To find her Tamer... and eventual S/O.

Meicoomon:

She's a shy little cat-like Digimon. Being in the Real World made every trip around a corner more terrifying than the last. Between humans nearly stepping on her or shoo'ing at her, or trying to grab her, she always booked it as fast as she could away. Tonight, her fur was bogged down with weight from the rain, and she quickly took cover to try and get out of it. She ell asleep, tired from her constant running.

When Meicoomon awoke, she was a bit on the fearful side. She didn't know where she was, and seeing a human made her slightly fearful as she hid away under the bed or couch, depending on where she was set to rest. It takes a few days to get her to trust the human, just like it would any other cat. The food did make her come out more easily, but she was still a bit on the shy side. Eventually she does let them pet her, eating some food that they brought her while they do. Meicoomon warmed up and eventually wandered around the house more, and got more accustomed to her human. It didn't take long after that for the Digivice to appear.

Fem Lopmon:

Lopmon found it easy to hide. Being small and able to keep out of sight. But it didn't take long till she found herself starving with how much she moved around. And with this heavy rain bogging down her body with weight from wet fur and wet ears, she found herself far exhausted that she would have liked. Trying to stay awake but not lasting long.

When she awoke in a nice warm bed, her fur dried and clean, she was confused. When presented with food, the human who took her in entering the room with a tray of it, she took a few moments before she gratefully accepted it and thanked them quietly. She's fairly quiet, and more keeps to the room, shyly peeking around corners to see what the human was up to before she finally gained the courage to interact more with them. She felt connected to them in some way, and so stuck by them. Her feeling was confirmed when the Digivice finally appeared and she easily stuck by their side.

Terriermon:

Terriermon was more for having fun, running around but trying to stay out of human sight. He always played at parks late at night, and generally had a decent time by himself. Buuuut his full tummy didn't last forever, and with a cold storm brewing, he needed to find somewhere.. and something to eat.

He wasn't sure when he passed out, but when he awoke in a human home, he took to getting comfortable in the nice warm blanket and giggling to himself, although his stomach growled loudly and he went in-search of something to eat, stepping out but immediately encountering the human who took him in. Terriermon's a fairly friendly Digimon, and so immediately introduced himself and asked if the food was for him! He warms up quickly to them and sits on their shoulders a lot. He assumed their friendship was what led to the Digivice appearing, but whatever it was, he was pretty excited to have a human partner!

Wizardmon:

Trying to keep out of sight was far tougher than he thought. He didn't know why he was suddenly tossed into The Real World, but he felt there was a purpose... But it wasn't being chased by kids who thought him to be a magician or for humans to gawk at once they saw more of his face. And now, with this thunderstorm rolling in, he was hungry and couldn't go on any further. Passing out in a small neighborhood.

When he awoke, he was laying on a bed, food sitting on a small tray beside him. He was quick to eat and drink what was there, not even caring that he was being watched as he quickly scarfed it down, not realizing how starving he actually was. Wizardmon is grateful for the food, and was glad that they didn't look to him with disgust. They seemed caring, and he was glad that he landed in the care of someone kind. He chose to stick around, which lead to the Digivice appearing not too long after... and him eventually developing feelings..

[heckfick]

Part one

The first call.

Word count:2k+

Pairing:Y/N x Feitan

Warnings:Swearing, mentions of death.

————————————

Y/N sat in her chair, silently leaning against the back of it. She stared blankly at the monitor before her, her mind utterly blank. Her father, her partner in crime, was out at the time and training didn't sound too pleasing at the moment. And, dispite having the surface, deep, and dark web all at her disposal, things got rather boring quickly. The same old drama, government files, and red rooms just weren't appealing anymore.

So, she sat there, staring at her setup. "Wonder what dad is picking up at the store." She thought, scanning her desk for a moment before grabbing her water bottle and twisting the cap off. "Our next client better be interesting at the very least." She hoped. She brought the plastic to her lips, taking a swig of water. When her and her father got a client, she was in charge of planning, and she wasn't always planning the same thing.

On occasion they were hired to be a bodyguard, occasionally an assassin. The jobs varied, there were some that they just wouldn't take and others that they were more than happy to do. Y/N was in charge of finding out the details, helping her father understand what was to be done, and she was the one to come up with what would be done. Of course, if they ever worked for a celebrity then she would tag along. Just to meet them, maybe get their autograph or a couple of pictures. She was more than capable to handle their business all by herself, though. She was strong and smart, talented in what she did.

Her father, however, wasn't able to work by himself. He needed an idea of how things were going to happen, it was just who he was. The more detailed the plan, the calmer he was and without any idea at all, he panicked. He was really the only one she had, so she stuck with him. She worked to keep things in check, and he reeled in clients and handled most of the dirty work.

These were the thoughts that crossed her mind as she zoned out, snapping out of her trance only when she heard the door open. "Speak of the devil!" Y/N shouted, even though she hadn't been actually speaking.

"We have a client!" He boomed, clearly happy.

She grabbed the arms of her chair, standing up to help him put away whatever he had gotten. "Really? Who is it?" She asked, curious as she walked out of her room.

"Come here, I wanna see your reaction." She rolled her eyes at this, knowing that he knew she was on the way. Nevertheless, she picked up the pace until she was in the kitchen.

She walked over, grabbing one of the bags that he set on the counter, digging through it and grabbing a loaf of bread out of it. Her curiosity was now peaked, she saw her father smiling wildly out of the corner of her eye, he was just staring at her. "Well?" She asked, turning her head to look at him better.

He was silent for a moment, it was clear that he was ecstatic, almost bouncing off the walls. "The Spiders." He said, there was a pause, but then she laughed.

"You really shouldn't mess with me like that." She giggled. The Phantom Troupe needing their services? What a crazy idea.

"I'm not fucking with you, they want our help taking out some bodyguards." He explained. She had never seen him this happy.

"You're serious?" She asked, he nodded. "The Troupe." She murmured, trying to take it in. "The Troupe." She said louder, finally getting grasp of the situation. "We're working with the fucking Phantom Troupe!" She screamed, immediately dropping the bread and wrapping her arms around her fathers neck, nearly crying with joy.

He spun her around, as if she were still a little girl and not an adult serial killer. They were excited for two different reasons, Y/N had always admired the Phantom Troupe, their witt, strength and ability to get a job done was almost unbelievable. F/N was excited for the opportunity, if they did well, then a group as well known as the Phantom Troupe recommending them was good for getting business. Dispite their different reason for being happy, they still spun in the kitchen.

He eventually bumped into the counter, however, causing them to stop. They let go of eachother, both of their faces still as happy as ever. "I told the man I talked to to email you, it was about a hour ago. As if on cue, one of her monitors let out a noise that signaled she had a notification.

"And your sure it's them?" She asked, just wanting one last assuring word so she didn't get her hopes up for nothing.

"You know I have my ways of making sure people are the real deal, now go answer him, he said that we'll move out in three weeks so make a good impression!" He said, turning around and continuing to unload groceries.

She turned as well, heading towards her bedroom. She had been with dozens of clients, each and everyone leaving some sort of impression. Very few flirted with her, which she didn't find surprising. This was a professional job, and they didn't offer those kinds of services, although many had asked. An unpleasant thought then popped into her head. "What if the one I talk to is a pervert?"

What if he flirted, would she flirt back? No, she was professional, and while connections did mean alot, almost everything. She wouldn't go as low as to going out with someone just for work. That's something she told herself after she reached eighteen, she didn't care who it was, she wouldn't do that just for work.

So, if he was a pervert, she was fully prepared to ignore it. As she entered her room, the notification was on the screen still. So, she sat down and clicked on it. Her thoughts had ruined the mood she was in, almost instantly.

Blue apple. Hot pink watermelon

This was the message that her father told whoever was on the other end to send, it confirmed that she was talking to the same person and not just a random person who thought it would be funny to email her. With each client came a different secret message, they were all random and some were rushed, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that these helped.

Keep your fruit! For I have a lock of hair!

Be careful, for I only offer you one strand.

Y/N sent this message, followed by a link that would send him to her website, where he would have to enter yet another secret code that her father gave him. It didn't matter if he changed his account, the website wouldn't pop up anymore if he got it wrong he only had one chance. So, if he wanted to try again, he would have to go out and get an entirely different device.

On the same note, if he got it right, then as long as he stayed on whatever device he was using, he wouldn't have to enter the code ever again. She clicked on the link, her screen immediately changed. The website had a dark theme, it was simply easier on her eyes when she had to work late at night. She kept her eyes on the welcome back message, reading it even though she already knew what it said. There wasn't alot on her mind, now that her one main worry had taken over her mood, she thought of this as another job. Until she had talked to the man, just to make sure he wouldn't hit on her or anything of that nature, she decided to stay calm.

Y/N put on her headset, crossing her legs while in the chair.

She made sure that it was plugged in, adjusting the mic so that it was in front of her mouth. She just waited, staring at the screen for about a minute before a small rectangle popped up at the bottom, informing her that she was getting a call. She moved her mouse, hovering over the accept button for a moment, putting on a welcoming smile before clicking.

There was a few seconds of silence, as she scanned her face on her side of the screen to make sure she was looking half decent.

"Hello," she said, pausing as her gaze drifted over to the other side of the screen. "My names Y/N." She quickly took in his features, black hair that seemed wet. Maybe he just got out of the shower, or it could have been raining where he was. He seemed to be scowling, but she wasn't judging. Most of the time business made her grumpy, too.

"Feitan." He said, his voice sounding a little raspy.

"Nice to meet you, will there be anyone else joining the call?" She asked.

"No. I'll relay all of the information to to the others." He explained, leaning back onto the wall behind him. A dark hoodie and what she could only make out to be sweatpants were his clothing of choice, making her feel a little better about wearing a t-shirt and shorts.

She nodded. "Okay, got it. Would you mind explaining the operation?" She leaned forward, grabbing her binder and opening it, picking up the pen that simply laid inside.

"There's a man, he has some stuff we want. So we're going to go take it. He's said to have some skilled bodyguards. I'm sure we would have been able to handle it but Shalnark heard of you and wanted to see if it was worth what people paid for your work." Such a vague description,

"Mhm, could you give me a idea of where it is?" She ignored the last bit, not really caring why they were hired.

"Somewhere out east. It's called Bog Mansion."

She nodded, quickly jotting down this information. "Okay and now I'm going to need some info on the abilities of everyone whose going to be working with us." She prepared to start writing, but what she was asking for wasn't given to her.

"Why would I tell you that?" He questioned.

"I need to plan, that's the whole point of this call. I'll get and gather information, then I'll come up with a plan so you don't have to." She explained.

He considered it, eventually sighing. "I trust the person who wanted to hire you, but since it was his idea I'll leave it up to him to go kill you if you give our information away."

Y/N wasn't fazed, everything was classified of course, that's why she wrote everything on paper and not electronically. If it was stored electronically, you can never tell who has a hold of it even if you think it is only visible to you. "Would you like my address? Hell, I'll gladly deliver myself on a silver platter if I sell you out, of course I never will but still."

This caused Feitan to smile for whatever reason. "Okay, how about you tell me your ability as well. Your father already told me his so don't bother."

"Oh, my ability? It's nothing special I call it Satan's Zoo, and I just make animals with my aura. I have a pole that I use for close range fighting but it's in my closet somewhere." She glanced over to the closet in question. "Of course how many animals I make and the size of them both effect each other, but I can also modify animals it's a little difficult but I think I've gotten pretty good at it."

He took this in, being silent for a little bit as if he was thinking of what to say next. After about a minute he spoke up. "Will you be coming with your father with at a job?" He asked.

She was slightly taken back, of all things she expected him to ask this wasn't one of them. "Yes, I'd like to meet in person so I'll be tagging along."

"Then I would like to fight with you before we go to Bog Mansion." Feitan said calmly.

This was definitely unexpected, it left her speechless. A Phantom Toupe member thinking that she might be worth fighting? This was an odd honor.

"Your ability intrigues me." He said, perhaps trying to carry the conversation after seeing her speachless. "I'll try my best not to kill you. But I'd like to see your ability I person while your fighting against me rather than running into you in the mansion." He explained and all of a sudden her excitement returned.

"Really? You think I'm worth fighting?" Y/N asked, still star struck.

"Why do you sound so happy? I could kill you by mistake." He raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I've looked up to the Phantom Troupe for a while. The pure strength that all of the members posses is amazing and I strive to be like all of you. Fast, efficient and good at what I do." She was smiling from ear to ear, making no effort to hide her happiness.

Feitan seemed like an okay guy, focused on business from what she had seen so far.

"Your strange." He commented. "I've never met a Phantom Troupe fangirl." He snickered, but she wasn't insulted.

"Well now you have, maybe you should release merchandise I'm sure there are people who would buy it." This caused him to laugh again, and this time Y/N joined him.

"Anyway, back on track." She said. "Go on ahead and start explaining everyone's abilities and such please." She readied her pen, excited to fill up her page full of information about her favorite group of thieves.

—————————————————

A single page wasn't able to contain all of information. It took at least a full page front and back for each member, sometimes more. With five members the exact number of pages came down to eight pages front and back. Her wrist was used to writing nowadays, but this was the closest it had come to hurting in a while. It was almost overwhelming how much Feitan knew about his teammates. Although, the more she knew the more solid the plan could be but still.

"Well, I have to say Shizuku's ability seems most interesting." She commented, closing the binder. "But I would also like to see your umbrella." She said, sighing as she closed the binder, leaving the pen inside. "I'll do some research and see if I can get a layout of the building and some intel on the bodyga-" while sitting her binder down she removed her eyes from the screen for a split second, and in that split second he was gone.

"Uh, Feitan?" She asked. It was only a moment before he moved back into frame with the umbrella. He sat back down onto the bed, grabbing the handle and actual umbrella before pulling a few inches of the concealed weapon out.

"Wow! That's actually really cool." She said, staring at it for a moment. "Did you just have it laying around?"

He closed it, placing it beside his bed. "Yes, it's best to have a weapon close to you when theres people out for your head."

"Has anyone actually tried to assassinate you?" She asked, wondering who might be stupid enough to try and kill a member of the Troupe.

"A few, unfortunate souls down on their luck. I'm guessing that people have a pretty high bounty on us." He sighed, crossing his arms. "What about you?" He asked.

"Well, people have actually sent some pretty skilled assassins after me. Thankfully, no ones sent in the Zoyldic family yet!" She joked, placing a finger inbetween her two collarbones and starting to trace down. "A man with a sword actually got me right through here." She continued to trace the old scar, moving down until right below her chest, where it curved to the left. "I beat him, of course but he left me with a pretty nasty scar." Her hand returned to her arm rest.

"Now that I I've told you our abilities, what now?" He asked.

She dreaded her next sentence. Talking to him was actually more pleasant than most of her clients, so this would be a little more difficult to let go. "Well, you call me around this time tommorow and until then, I get to work! I'll figure out everything I can and use what knowledge you've given me to make a plan!"

Feitan pursed his lips. "Okay I guess."

"I'll talk to you later, just message me if you have any questions!" She smiled. "Goodbye!"

"Bye." And just like that the call was over.

Y/N grabbed up the binder, opening it up to a new blank page. She needed to impress him, get a good word in with the Troupe and she might be able to work with them again! This was so exciting. So, as her heart pounded in her chest, she got to work on figuring out everything she could about Bog Mansion and the people who lived within it.

[29-pieces]

Whumptober day 27 - Good Omens

Day 27: Extreme Weather Fandom/setting: Good Omens, Pompeii ca 79 AD Read on AO3 Read on FF.net

~*~

Crowley hacked and coughed, face covered with his arm in a pointless attempt to protect himself from the ash. Stones rained down all around him; it was the only sound now that most of the screams had gone silent. Tears dripped down Crowley's face, carving lines through the ash that had already settled on him. What was he even doing here? It was useless... any human still in Pompeii was dead by now, or long past his ability to heal. And he wasn't supposed to be healing anyone, anyway. In fact, Crowley didn't know what his assignment here even was, but the crippling horror he felt at the scene around him wouldn't have allowed for him to function anyway.

"Anybody!" Crowley croaked out, desperation driving his sandaled feet a little further into the city. "Hello! Is- is anyone left...?"

One person. One wretched person to save, that was all he asked, but he couldn't stay here much longer himself, not without succumbing to the volcano and discorporating. At this point, it didn't seem like a terrible idea. A huge rock glanced off his shoulder, knocking Crowley off balance so that he tripped into the rapidly growing layer of hot ash coating the streets. Even if fire wasn't likely to do much damage to a demon (did lava count? He'd never tested this and wasn't eager to) it still hurt. Another stone crashed down beside him, so Crowley growled and drew his wings out into the physical plane, hoping to shield his head.

It wasn't the best idea he'd ever had, the hot, cloying ash immediately starting to stick to his feathers. It weighed him down, cumbersome and unwieldy. Crowley tried to stand back up but this time a falling rock did knock him over the head. The demon toppled the rest of the way to the ground, almost totally immersing himself in a hot casing of the volcanic brume.

With a strangled cry, Crowley forced himself up onto one trembling arm and called again,

"H-hello! Anyone, is anyone left alive?"

Shouting made him cough and choke and there was no reply. It was time to go; he was doing no good- er, well, he never did good, but he wasn't any use here. Shuffling around in the ash, Crowley staggered to his feet and tried to point himself out of the city, away from the cruel fires of Vesuvius. He blinked, shielding his eyes, and glanced around. His heart pounded faster; which way was out? Everything was covered in a thick, dark cloud and he had no idea which direction he was pointed now...

Maybe he should just lay down and discorporate there after all, but it was a terrifying prospect to die there alone in the volcano's wrath.

Panic overcame him, making the demon start to hyperventilate, which—given the debris in the air—only made things worse. Crowley sat heavily back down, about to go into a full-blown panic attack when a sudden light permeated the gaseous cloud around him.

"Hello!" a voice shouted. "Is someone there?"

"Over here!" Crowley immediately choked back, forgetting for a second the point had been for him to find someone else to save, not to require rescuing himself. At the moment, he didn't even care, nor did it occur to him that his wings—which he couldn't put away now even if he wanted, thanks to the layer of ash and dust bogging them down—might be a bit of a shock to whoever it was.

But when the light got closer, Crowley nearly sagged with relief to see the someone was the angel Aziraphale. They hadn't crossed paths since that day at Golgotha, but so far all of their meetings had been more or less on friendly terms, or at least neutral ones. So even though now would be the ideal time for Aziraphale to finish him off if he wanted, Crowley didn't think twice before reaching out desperately for the angel.

He saw Aziraphale's eyes widen before he hurried forward to take Crowley's hand and haul him back up to his feet.

"Can you fly?" Aziraphale asked urgently.

Crowley, who could barely move his wings now, shook his head.

Without another word, Aziraphale turned them both in the direction he'd come from, starting to run, still gripping Crowley's hand tightly. As bogged down as Crowley was, he couldn't go quite as fast, gasping raggedly for breath.

"Hurry!" Aziraphale urged over his shoulder. "The flow is about to hit the city!"

Crowley didn't answer, saving his breath for running. He didn't know how long or far they ran, but finally they broke free of the heavy cloud. Ash still drifted down like snowflakes, but Aziraphale didn't stop or let go of his hand until they had outrun even that. Not until they had splashed across a stream and Pompeii was far behind them did the angel slow to a stop, leaning over and panting hard.

Crowley fell to his knees at the stream to greedily gulp the cool water. It mixed with the ash coating his mouth, making him hack and spit out gobs of gunk. Crowley had never felt so miserable.

"Took too long gloating, did you?" Aziraphale wheezed, shooting a glower at the demon.

The implication froze Crowley in his tracks. He stared at Aziraphale, the accusation burning into his heart. "You think- that wasn't me," he gasped. Crowley's frame shuddered as he slowly shook his head and looked back towards the volcano—hidden in the cloud of its own eruption—with pain filled eyes. "There- there were kids in there," he whispered, voice breaking. "I thought I could get them out, but... They're all dead. All of 'em. I- Just get out of here and leave me then, if that's what you think! Stupid angel! I didn't do this!" He crumpled again. "There were kids..."

Aziraphale didn't leave, kneeling down next to him with an expression of sorrow. "I'm sorry, Crowley," he said contritely. "That was foolish of me to assume- I'm sorry, dear boy, please forgive me."

Crowley hung his head and nodded wordlessly. The angel had saved his life, after all, even while assuming the whole thing had been Crowley's doing.

"Oh, your wings are in such a state," Aziraphale fussed then, looking over the normally black feathers that were now streaked grey and white from the ash. "Let me get you cleaned up a bit, alright? Penance for my ugly assumption. And because I don't believe you'd have much luck on your own."

Well, he was right about that. Too exhausted to refuse and wanting nothing more than to be clean, Crowley nodded again.

Permission given, Aziraphale miracled a clean cloth out of nowhere and wet it in the stream. Then he sat behind Crowley and started to gently wipe away the layer of grime. While he did that, Crowley tiredly splashed water over his face and neck, rinsing so much ash away between the two of them that the stream ran cloudy where they were sitting. He finished before Aziraphale did; Crowley closed his eyes and sank into the comfort of having his feathers carefully cleaned, all the way from the tip of his primaries to the joint where the wings met his back and then back down over the other one.

His hurt at Aziraphale's accusation melted away along with the debris on his wings. To Crowley's surprise, the angel didn't stop even once he'd gone through several rags and the feathers were pristine again.

"Close your eyes," Aziraphale warned him, miracling a bucket now and trickling the water over Crowley's head to rinse out his long hair. Somehow the water was soapy and warm as the angel massaged it diligently into Crowley's scalp. It nearly put the demon to sleep, his throat closing up a bit at the gentle touch. He couldn't remember the last time someone had washed his hair. Had anyone ever? He didn't say a word, not trusting himself to speak, as the angel continued his careful ministrations.

"There we are," Aziraphale murmured, tipping one last bucket of warm water through his hair to wash everything away. "Now one last miracle—I doubt anyone on my side will notice, after all there's plenty that needs doing here—and you should feel like a new demon."

With a snap of his fingers, Crowley's ashy, dirty tunic was suddenly clean and shining white. Apparently the angel forgot that Crowley wore black, but it had been nearly white from the ash so he could be forgiven the mistake. Crowley would fix it later. Maybe. At any rate, it left him fully clean and fresh at last. Aziraphale crouched down beside him, a warm hand on Crowley's shoulder and a worried light in his eyes.

"Are you alright?" the angel asked softly. "I imagine this has... not been a good day."

"To say the least," Crowley replied, trying for flippant but sounding more downtrodden than anything. He cleared his throat. "But, uh, I guess I should thank you."

"Nonsense, you would have done the same-" Aziraphale cut off, turning an interesting shade of pink as though he'd said something he shouldn't have and wanted to have not said it.

Crowley wanted to tease him for it, but honestly he was too tired, so he nodded instead with all seriousness. "Yeah. Still," he said, shrugging. "Thanks." It was true, of course, he would have saved the angel if necessary. Crowley hated to be in anyone's debt, so maybe they should just make some sort of standing Arrangement, when the other needed help, they'd give it. Then it wasn't a favor, it was just... what they did. He'd mention it to Aziraphale sometime, see what the angel made of it. An Arrangement could come in really handy, the more he thought about it.

But that, he decided, soaking in the feeling of being clean and safe at last, was a thought for another day.

[vintageneptune92]

Rain Song- Chapter 3

Here is the next chapter FINALLY! I’m so so sorry this took so long. I struggled with some really terrible writers block since COVID. I pretty much stopped updating every story I have going. But I’m back and hopefully will be updating this on the regular.

This one is super long...over 15K words. I hope it makes up for it taking so long to post the next part. Some of the parts I’m not super thrilled with but I needed to just get this out. 

Thank you so much for all of your likes, re-blogs and the few comments I’ve gotten. It gives me motivation to keep going! If you would like to be tagged, please let me know! 

Requests are always open! Check out my prompt here. I write for Harry Potter, The Avengers, Supernatural & TVD/The Originals. 

Series Masterlist

Tag List: @lovestomanyfandoms @mercury--moon @themeanestlittlewitch @banana-tree-freddiemercury @boba-king-iroh

Hope was feeling more like herself again, the darkness still itching the back of her mind, but the weight of her secrets had been lifted off of her chest. Harry, Ron and Hermione all knew exactly who she was, what she was- in the most basic sense. If Hope was being honest with herself, she wasn't quite sure who she was.  As she was approaching her next birthday, she was determined to figure herself out this year. She was going to learn how to control her Seer abilities, they were no longer going to control her. She was also done with pushing people away. She had kept everyone with the exception of Ron, Hermione and Harry at arms length since the start of the term. She had been so excited to come to Hogwarts because she didn’t have to hide who she was, yet she continued to act as if she were still surrounded by Muggles. She had made the decision to shove all of the messy feelings about her father away. It was time to try and let it go and live her life. The fact is the matter was that Hope would likely never get her answers. She simply had to move on.

She could feel Harry’s green eyes on her as she entered The Great Hall. He and Ron were already eating and Hermione was headed over to join them. Hope needed to take care of something first. She slowly approached The Hufflepuff table, her target was within her sights. The girls at the table were shooting her dirty looks and whispering. Hope wasn't sure if it was because she was a Gryffindor approaching their table, or her intended target. Hope contained her eye roll, she didn’t want to stoop to their level. Cedric’s friends were elbowing him to get his attention. He looked up at her and about stunned her with his bright smile. His smile could light up any room. Hope’s favorite attributes of Cedric were his eyes. The breath taking blue-gray color could captivate her for days. They transported her to her beloved beach as they were the color of the ocean water on a clear day. How the skin around his eyes crinkled when he smiled was almost too much for her to take.

“Diggory- can, um, can I talk to you?”

“Sure Lupes, what’s up?” His grin was slightly mischievous. Hope tried to ignore Cedric's friends who were intently staring at the two of them.

“I was hoping to speak to you alone?” Hope hated how unsure she sounded. She saw Hannah Abbott roll her eyes and scoffed.

“Can’t you see he’s eating? Go back to your own table.” She sniped. Hopes eyes narrowed.

“Wow, so sorry Hannah. I forgot you were his keeper and Cedric can’t make his own decisions.” Hope was about to tear into Hannah a little further but Cedric jumped up. The smoldering look in Hope's grey eyes didn't bode well for Hannah.

“Actually I’m all done anyway. C’mon, I know where we can go so we aren’t interrupted.” ‘Cedric shot Hannah a dirty look and led Hope out of The Great Hall with his hand on the small of her back. It was such a small thing, but so incredibly intimate that it made color creep up Hope’s cheeks. He led her down a quiet corridor to to one of the windows and sat down on the  deep ledge. Hope stayed standing so that she they would be eye to eye  “What can I do for you Ms. Lupin?” He had that flirty smile back on his face.

“I wanted to apologize. I know I’ve been in a foul mood for these past few weeks and I’ve blown off our lessons. But I want to continue them, I really do. And I know I was really short with you and basically kind of rude. You didn’t deserve that.” She watched as the playfulness creeped up his face.

“You weren't rude, Hope. I could tell you were just going through some stuff and needed space. However, apology accepted" He beamed  "And as it so happens I know how you can make it up to me.” She didn’t think his grin could get any wider.

“Oh really? How is that Mr. Diggory?” Hope bravely flirted back.

“Let me take you on a date next Hogsmeade weekend”

“Cedric ...” her voice trailed off.

”Say that again.” she looked at him like he had lost his mind. ”My first name. I love how it sounds coming out of your mouth.” Hope could feel her cheeks blazing. He took her hands and pulled her closer to him so she was standing in-between his legs.

”Cedric....” she whispered his name. She felt his hands squeeze hers, his eyes studying her face intently. ”Why me Ced? You could have any girl you wanted. They fawn all over you. I can't be the only girl you flirt with.” Hope looked down at her feet. She felt Cedric hook his finger under her chin to lift her head so he could look her in the eye.

”First of all, girls don't fawn all over me." Hope scoffed. His modesty made him all that more attractive. He was also blind as a bat. "So maybe I flirt a little bit here and there, but there are no 'other girls' in my eye line. Just you. I don't want to spend time with any other girls, just you.” she felt his thumbs caressing her knuckles.

"But why? You barely know me." Cedric held her stare.

"Okay well, if I'm being honest, the mystery of you had me intrigued at first, I wont lie about that. New student comes in as a 3rd year. No one knows anything about you. You seemed really nice the first time we met. That's what grabbed my interest, but it's who you are that has kept it. You're smart, bloody brilliant. You're really funny and witty. I've heard about how you don't cower to Snape and how you blatantly ignored him and helped Longbottom so his toad wouldn't get sick. Your laugh is one of the best things I've ever heard. And you give me a hard time... I kind of like that. You're different and I really want to get to know you. C'mon Lupes...one little Hogsmeade date  and if you think I'm a troll after it, I'll never bother you again." She closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them again he was studying her intently.

"Wow Diggory, you really know how to sweet talk a girl. Okay Ced...one Hogsmeade date. Don't mess it up." He put back on his award winning smile.

"You wont regret it." He kissed her on the cheek. "Go- have some breakfast, I'll see you later" Hope made her way back to The Great Hall and she knew she had a stupid smile on her face. Hannah Abbott was still shooting her daggers as she walked in, but Hope couldn't care less. She just got utterly charmed by Cedric Diggory.

"Well someone looks happy." Harry grumbled as Hope approached the table. She was flying so high she didn't even notice the cranky look he was sporting. "What was that all about?" Hermione could barely contain her excitement, she was almost bouncing out of her seat.

"Well I wanted to apologize for being a foul bitch to him. He accepted and then asked me on a date next Hogsmeade weekend."

"HE DID?!!" Hermione's voice went up. Hermione's excitement was contagious. 

"Oi! Calm down woman!" Ron winced, he got the brunt of her shrill shriek as he was sitting next to her.

"Yes he did. And before you ask, I said yes." Hope couldn't contain her own excitement at this point.  She was going on a date. A proper date, she had never really felt any interest in any boy until now. She and Hermione continued to chatter about it while Harry looked into his plate miserably.

"I mean...he said all of these really great things, I just, I guess I've never seen myself like that."

"Well c'mon, what did he say?" Now Ron was getting in on the conversation.

"That I was brilliant, really funny and witty. I was brave because I'm not afraid of Snape. He likes how I give him a hard time. Then the normal stuff when guys are trying to impress you. He said my laugh is one of his favorite sounds. I know he was just trying to fluff me up to get me to say yes, but-" Harry scoffed. Hope's brow furrowed and she turned and looked at him.

"He wasn't trying to fluff you up Hope. You ARE those things. You are brilliant. When you're not bogged down with everything that is going on you are really funny and incredibly witty. Even on the days when you feel you're sinking into that darkness you've been seeing you can still keep up with Fred and George. I don't think you realize the effect you have on people. Stop selling yourself short. You aren't lucky that he wants to go out with you. He's lucky that you agreed to go out with him. " Harry didn't give her a chance to reply. "I've got to go meet Oliver Wood. Apparently our match is now against Hufflepuff because Malfoy is feigning injury still. He just doesn't want to play in the rubbish weather. I'll see you guys later."  Hope didn't know what to say. It was Hermione who spoke first.

"Harry is right Hope. You really are all of those things." She took her friends hand and smiled.

"Now you guys are just embarrassing me." Hope grinned.

"Do you want me to insult you to bring you back down?" Ron offered, making Hope laugh.

"I really am happy that I found you two and Harry. Speaking of Harry, is he okay? He seemed...off..."

"Yeah, Oliver Wood is just driving him mad about winning the cup this year since it's his last year. The guy is barking." Ron commented.

"That's a lot of pressure to put on Harry. I am excited though to watch the first match. I've heard Harry is an amazing seeker."

"Yeah, he's top knotch. You'll really enjoy it. Although now you'll have to root against your boyfriend" Ron smirked at Hope.

"He's not my boyfriend...shut it Weasley." Hope threw a potato at Ron and Hermione giggled.

"You mean he's not your boyfriend...yet." Ron continued to tease. Hope narrowed her eyes at Ron and then the three of them burst out laughing. From the faculty table, Remus had been watching Hope, she seemed so much more relaxed than she had a few weeks ago. She had confessed to him that she told the trio the truth about her. He knew she would find friends she could confide in, he had secretly wished that she and Harry Potter would become good friends. It was what James, Lily and Nora would have wanted. Had things not gone the way they did, the two would have grown up together. Deep in the back of his mind he did worry that when the full truth about what happened came out, he wondered if the two teenagers could deal with it. Remus struggled with not telling her. He didn't want to burden her anymore with the choices of her father. Cornelius Fudge had almost forbade anyone that knew what happened to speak of it. Harry's reputation preceded him and everyone was concerned that he would go after Sirius if he knew the truth. Hope, he knew, would take the guilt onto herself. Remus could only hope that the secret of what Sirius Black had done to James and Lily Potter would stay under wraps until he was at least caught. He knew he would have to deal with the repercussion of keeping this secret from his niece, but her safety right now was more important than facing her ire. He made his way out of The Great Hall and down to his quarters. With the full moon approaching and the effects of the Wolfsbane potion he needed to rest.

**********

Hope was screaming on the inside. Why hadn’t her uncle warned her that Snape was teaching his class today. That slimy son of a bitch was making them learn about Werewolves. They weren’t set to study them for weeks. Hermione and Harry had  lost them house points. Ron had earned himself detention. She had squeezed Harry’s knee under the table to get him to keep his mouth shut and to control her own anger. It took all of her self control to not lose it. Snape had made sure to ask her directly about detecting a Werewolf. She feigned ignorance, and they both knew she was lying. She was certain of one thing, Hermione would figure out what her Uncle was. She could already see the wheels turning behind her eyes. She had been stealing glances at Hope through the rest of class.

“Hope you should really eat something.” Harry finally suggested. The four of them were sitting in the Great Hall for lunch. They had watched Hope push her food around her plate instead of actually eating it. “Are you alright? You look rather pale.” Hope looked up at Harry. His forehead scrunched in concern. She felt a wave of affection come over her for her three friends. She knew she could trust them, but this wasn’t her secret to tell.

“I’m just...Snape. Hearing him say all of those nasty things about my Uncle really gets to me. He does it all of the time. Uncle Remus is the kindest person I know. He’s such a great teacher. If he wasn’t I would be way behind the rest of you. It just upsets me. I can’t understand why he’s allowed to treat people like that.” It wasn’t a lie. The way Snape spoke about her Uncle did really upset her.

“It’s just Snape. He’s been after the Defense position forever. But Dumbledore won’t give it to him. He’s probably just angry because your Uncle has it.” Ron said between chewing.

“Ronald is right Hope. Don’t let him get to you.” Hermione put her hand over Hope’s. When Hope looked up and met Hermione's eyes, she knew that she had figured it out.

"Listen, I'm not feeling all that well, I feel a headache coming on. Can you guys cover with Hagrid for me? I think I'm going to go back my room and lay down for a bit."

"Of course we will. He wont even mind, it's Hagrid." Ron tried to reassure her. Hermione glanced at her watch.

"Hope- let me walk you back to the room. You really don't look well." Hope nodded. Hope grabbed her bag and Hermione laced her arm through hers to walk her back to the room. She could feel not only Harry and Ron watching her as she left, but she saw Cedric looking out of the corner of her eye. Hope and Hermione walked silently from The Great Hall back to the Gryffindor common room. Hermione helped Hope through the portrait hole. She felt increasingly worse as they walked back to their dorm room. The common room was relatively empty with the exception of a few 7th year students studying during their free period. Hermione followed Hope up to their room and shut the door.

"Hope, you...you know you can trust me, right?" Hermione asked, trepidation in her voice. Hope had just pulled off her dress shoes and was getting ready to change into her favorite baggy sweat pants a t-shirt. "Unless you were going to do something that would put yourself in danger, I would never do anything to betray your trust." Hope slipped her pants on and her t-shirt and turned to Hermione. As Hope pulled her covers back and climbed into bed, Crookshanks jumped on the end of her bed. Hope scratched behind the ginger cats ears. Crookshanks started to purr loudly. "That cat really does love you." Hermione smiled. "He really isn't as bad as Ron makes him out to be." 

Hope turned and smiled at Hermione. "I love this mangy old cat. He climbs into bed with me every night. It's strange because I've always been more of a dog person." Hope patted the end of her bed, signaling Hermione to sit.  "I do trust you, Hermione. More than you can possibly imagine. You've been a great friend to me. And I know you know. I know you figured it out. You're too smart not to. I suppose that was what Snape's intentions were."

"I wont tell anyone. I know so many people feel a certain way about Werewolves. But you're Uncle, he's different. I suppose the potion that Snape has been making for him is Wolfsbane." Hope nodded.

"There's a lot that I don't know. He doesn't talk about his time at Hogwarts very often. I suspect looking back on all that he has lost is too painful. What I do know is that my grandfather Lyall worked for The Ministry in The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He was an expert on dark creatures, especially poltergeists and boggarts, that was how he got involved in the Ministry. They wanted his expertise during the first Wizarding War since Voldemort was recruiting all kinds of dark creatures to his side. Fenrir Greyback was brought in for questioning on the death of some muggle children. He apparently was with a werewolf pack, but he ministry didn't know he was one himself, he had never registered. He had almost convinced the entire committee that he was just a muggle. But my grandfather knew he was lying. He recommended that they detain Greyback until the full moon the next night. He lost his temper and he said something pretty horrible. He claimed that werewolves were 'soulless, evil and deserved nothing but death'. Greyback was released and he wanted revenge for what my grandfather had said. Before my uncle turned 5, Greyback broke in and attacked him. My grandfather was able to save his life, but he was then a werewolf." Hermione had her mouth covered with her hand in horror. "Obviously with his son becoming a werewolf, my grandfather was forced to change his perception of werewolves. It's a shame that it took my uncle being attacked for him to realize how short sighted he was being. My grandparents tried everything to cure my uncle. Any and every treatment, but nothing helped. They moved around a lot, to make sure no one noticed his strange behavior. He had a rather lonely childhood, he wasn't allowed to play with other children for fear they would find out about his condition. Luckily Dumbledore allowed him to attend Hogwarts and made arrangements for each full moon. Uncle Remus said that he finally opened up to his friends and they helped him through each full moon. He never really went into detail about how they helped him, I've tried to get him to tell me more about Hogwarts but he just wont open up about it."

"Poor Remus..." Hermione mused. "Hope, you have my word, I wont say a thing to anyone. Not even Ron or Harry. They wouldn't intentionally say anything, but the less people that know, the better. I'll do whatever I can to help keep his secret." Hope pulled Hermione into a tight hug. Hermione could feel a few tears hit her neck.

"My Uncle...he's all I have. He's so happy teaching here . I don't want anything to ruin that. Thank you, for understanding and not judging him on what people assume all werewolves are. I don't really know what I would do without you Hermione." "Well, luckily, you'll never have to find out." Hope looked at her watch.

"Oh my God! Hermione, you're late for class."

"It's fine."

"What do you mean it's fine? Wait...why are you so calm? You freak out if your'e not early." Hermione's face grew red. "What?!" Hermione took a deep breath.

"Well...I guess if you can share your deepest darkest secrets...I should share mine too. Oh...but you can't tell anyone. Not Harry, Ron or even your Uncle. McGonagall would absolutely murder me if she knew I told you."

"Hermione...you know ALL of my secrets. Every last one. You can trust me with yours. I wouldn't ever tell Harry or Ron anything. Neither one of them can keep their mouths shut. Not that they tell maliciously, but they're kind of daft sometimes. I wouldn't ever tell my Uncle. Like you said, unless you're going to do something that would seriously hurt you, my lips are sealed. And clearly it's something McGonagall approves of..." Hope's voice trailed off as she watched Hermione pull a necklace out from underneath her uniform. "I don't understand. What is that?"

"It's how I've been getting to my lessons all year. I wanted to take all of the electives, but it's impossible since they're at the same time."

"I still don't understand Hermione"

"It's...Oh...it's a Time Turner!" Hope's eyes widened. "Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore had to get special permission and I had to agree to only use it for classes."

"You're mad. Only you would get permission to use something so powerful to take extra classes." Hope and Hermione burst out laughing at the same time and Hermione hugged her again. "

"Okay, lay down and get some rest. I'll come get you before dinner." Hope grinned as she laid down and Hermione tucked her in.

"I can't believe you just tucked me into bed." Both girls giggled again. 

"Hermione...I really love you. I suspect this is what having a sister would feel like." Hermione's eyes glistened with tears.

"I really love you too, Hope. I'll see you for dinner." Hermione gave her a big smile and rushed out the door, shutting it behind her. Hope felt Crookshanks curl up next to her legs as she settled down into the bed.

**********

Pouring rain, thunder, lightening and bone chilling cold. Hope was so cold she didn't think she could ever get warm again. Frigidness coursed through her veins as she was falling. Falling with no end in sight. A creep started crawling over her skin, like a thousand tiny bugs crawling all over her. When she looked down at her arms, there was nothing there....it was as if the crawling was inside of her veins. Flashes of lightening surrounded as the thunder rolled through her body. She was reaching around, trying to grab onto something or someone but there was nothing there. She was falling faster and faster and as she braced herself for impact, Harry Potter’s limp body was on the cold ground, his green eyes, once filled with laughter and mischief were wide open and lifeless.

Hope’s eyes flew open. Hope couldn't catch her breath. She sat up clutching her chest as beads of sweat dripped down her forehead. She looked around her room wide eyed as Hermione burst through the door.

"Are you alright? Ron, Harry and I could hear you screaming down in the common room as soon as we came in through the portrait hole." Hope nodded her head and her pounding heart started to slow.

"I-I was having a nightmare" Her voice came out as a croak. "I just need a moment." Hermione ran into the bathroom and brought out a wet, cool wash cloth and pressed it to Hope's forehead.

"I was coming to get you for dinner. Do, do you still want to come, I could bring something back?"  Hermione studied Hope, her face laces with concern.

"Yes...I just need to get changed.” Hope still felt incredibly cold. She looked down at her arms and they were covered in goose bumps.

”We’ll wait for you in the common room. Take all the time you need.” Hope nodded her head and Hermione quickly shut the door behind her. Hope ran her hand down the front of her face. The image of Harry lying on the cold, hard ground flashed in her mind. His blank eyes would be haunting her for days to come. She felt Crookshanks nudge her other hand with his head as he loudly purred at her. She scratched behind his ear for a moment and climbed out of bed. She wished it was appropriate to go to dinner in her sweats. As she pulled out a pair of jeans her hands were shaking slightly. She quickly changed into her jeans, threw on a long sleeved black shirt and slipped her shoes on to meet her three friends.

Harry looked up as Hope came down the stairs of the girls dormitory. Her hair was a little more wild than normal. She was attempting go smooth down her curly mane as she walked towards them. He couldn't help but notice how much paler she was than normal. She gave him a pinched smile. Her grey eyes still held a look of shock. She looked haunted.

”You okay?” Ron even noticed how disheveled she looked. Other than her hair that couldn't be contained, Hope was normally very well put together.

”Yeah. I'm actually kind of starving. I might be able to put you to shame tonight Ron.” He gave Hope a big grin.

”Doubtful.” Ron quipped. Harry quietly studied Hope. She was trying to hide her uneasiness with humor. He had noticed that it was a tactic she used often.

“Well let’s go then.” She nodded her head towards the portrait hole. Harry let Ron and Hermione lead the way. He motioned for Hope to go in front of him and he could see a slight tremor in her hand. He rushed forward to help guide her through the portrait hole. When she looked back and locked eyes with him, he could see a quiet terror deep within her gaze. Harry knew that feeling all to well. He took a couple of quick steps to be able to walk next to her and he felt her link her arm through his the way she did at The Black Lake. Whatever her nightmare was, it had her spooked.

Later that night, they had all been doing homework in the common room when Nox game flitting in to deliver a letter to Hope. Harry studied her face as she read it and slid it into her bag. As she looked up her eyes met Harry’s.

“Uncle Remus...letting me know he’s okay and to ignore Snape. I suspect if he wasn’t so polite he would have said to ignore Snape because he’s a bloody wanker.” Harry and Ron both sniggered. Hermione was too caught up in Ancient Runes to really pay attention.

After a while, the Gryffindor students slowly started filtering to their beds to get some rest until only Hope and Harry remained. She hadn’t realized he was still awake. She was curled up on one of the couches in front of the fire with a blanket wrapped around her legs. She still felt cold from the dream. She had been so cold that Ron had given her one of his signature Molly Weasley sweaters to wear. According to Ron he had about a thousand of them and Hope wouldn’t find anything warmer. She had blamed her shivers on the turn of season, which may have played a part in it, but she knew it was the dream. She looked over when she felt the couch cushion next to her sink. Harry had moved from the chair to the couch.

“You look tired.” He mused.

“I won’t be able to sleep.”

“Pretty nasty dream you had earlier. I forgot for a moment about the enchanted stairs and tried to run up to wake you.”

“I’m incredibly disappointed that I didn’t get to see you knocked down and falling down the slide.” Harry gave her a dirty look. “I’m sure you made it look cool.” He rolled his eyes as she laughed at his expense.

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly.”

”You might actually be able to sleep. I know sometimes if I have a nasty dream it makes me feel better to get it off my chest.” He watched as Hope closed her eyes for a moment and then stared back at the fire.”

”You were dead. Worse than dead.”

”Trewlawney is rubbing off on you.” He saw his sardonic comment made her crack a smile. ”What’s worse than dead Hope?”

”You were...vacant.”

“I-I don’t know what that means.”

“Harry, I wish I could explain it. It’s something you’d have to see to understand.” He nodded. “You should get some sleep, you have Quidditch tomorrow. I’m disappointed I won’t get to watch you knock Draco Malfoy and Snape down a peg or two.” Harry scoffed.

“I know, me too. Beating Malfoy is always a highlight .”

“He is the worst. It literally takes all of my self control to not yell at him or hex him. But I have to keep my distance.”

“I mean, it’s good that you’re keeping your distance, but why do you have to?”

“Because, well, he’s my cousin. He just doesn’t know it. His mother was a Black. And since we’re trying to keep my paternity under wraps, it’s just better to stay away. Fudge told Lucius and Narcissa himself that they were not to tell him.” “He would torment you.” Harry rolled his jaw. Just the idea of Malfoy being cruel to Hope made his blood boil.

“When I first found out I had more family, that I had a cousin my own age, I was furious with Uncle Remus. Now? I’m glad he kept me away from them. As much as I hate that he lied, I would have never relented on meeting them. He kept me away from them for my own safety. I discover more and more how hard he’s tried to protect me and what he’s done for me. He’s the best man I will ever know.”

“Well I’m proud of you for not going off on Snape. Though I think my leg will be bruised for a week from that grip you have. Remind me to never make you angry.” Hope grinned at Harry sheepishly. Harry watched as she reached into her bag and pulled out her sketch book.

“I want to show you something.” Harry thought it would be another drawing, but she slipped out a picture. She handed Harry the photo of the two of them and their parents.” She watched Harry’s reaction. It was the same one she had any time she discovered something new about her parents.

“Is that the two of us?” Hope nodded her head. “They were all friends?”

“Yes. No one I have ever spoken to about my father can understand how he was working for Voldemort. He loved them. He loved me and my mum. I just want to know why.” Harry put his arm around Hope as she rested her head on his shoulder. “What do you think it would have been like if they had all lived?”

“I think we would have had excellent lives. But I think we would still end up here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think we were always meant to be best friends. I think sometimes fate does step in. We were meant to know each other. I feel the same way about Ron. Had I grown up with my parents and you with yours, if the war never happened, we would have all just been friends sooner.”

“I think so too. I don’t trust people very easily. For obvious reasons. And I’ve made other friends here at Hogwarts, but I connected with you, Ron and Hermione. I just wish we had met sooner. It would have been really nice to have you guys as friends sooner.”

“Well you have us now, that’s what matters.” The two of them sat staring at the photo until they were almost falling asleep. To her good fortune, Hope slept without a single dream that night.

**********

Hope and Hermione were meeting the boys for breakfast. Harry had wanted to go early because of the game and Ron had gone with him. Hope was delighted to watch her first Hogwarts quidditch match. The weather was absolutely dreadful. She and Hermione had loaded on some layers and headed down to The Great Hall.

“Hey Lupes!” Hope and Hermione both stopped. Hope couldn’t even try to suppress her grin. There was only one person who called her that. Hope and Hermione both slowly turned around and were greeted with Cedric’s stunning smile.

“Hey.” While Hope had finally admitted to Hermione she might have a crush on the handsome Hufflepuff, she wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

“I was hoping that my first match you’d be cheering me on.”

“You can thank Malfoy for that disappointment.” She quipped. Cedric grinned at her.

“I don’t suppose you’ll even wish me luck?”

“I can wish you a gracious defeat.” Cedric held his stomach as he threw his head back and laughed.

“But what if we win?”

“Against Harry?” Hope scoffed. “Not likely.”

“You’ve never seen him play. You’ve never seen ME play.” Hope considered him for a moment.

“True. But I’ve heard about what an incredible flyer my best friend is. So I stand by my statement.” Hope shrugged.

“You’re something else Hope Lupin. You may be eating those words.” Cedric was still laughing. “Maybe when we win you’ll swing by our victory party?” Hope gaped in mock shock.

“And go into another houses common room? Mr. Diggory, that is against the rules! You’re going to corrupt my sterling reputation.”

“Yeah, I have a feeling you’ll do that all on your own.” Cedric crosses his arms with a challenging smirk.  Hermione nudged Hope.

“We should really get to breakfast before Harry heads down to the pitch.” “Yes, you shouldn’t be seen consorting with the enemy.” Cedric gave Hope another beaming smile as she laughed. She reached out and gripped his forearm.

“In all seriousness Ced, have a good game. Be careful in this rain. It’s not exactly good flying weather.”

“I’ll be careful. I promise. Meet me after the game, win or lose. Especially if we lose, I’ll need some consoling.”  Hope could feel herself blush she couldn’t even put together a witty comment.

“Okay.” She agreed. “I’ll meet you after. See you later.” She gave him a small wave and linked her arm with Hermione and dragged her towards The Great Hall.

“Don’t you dare turn and look back at him but he’s definitely watching you walk away.” Hermione was trying to whisper but she was too excited.

“I’m dying to turn back but it’s so much cooler if I don’t.” Both girls giggled as they were walking to the Gryffindor table. Hope never thought she would be the type of girl that giggled. Hermione definitely never saw herself as one of those girls, but they both loved the feeling of having a girlfriend you could be stupid with.

“Fraternizing with the enemy ladies?” Fred said as he wiggled his eyebrows at the two girls.

“Never! I told Cedric I wished him a gracious loss.”

“Atta girl!” George cheered. “Besides, I’m sure you can cheer him up after his loss.”

“Shut it George.” Hope’s face was impossibly red, but Harry couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Hope’s curly blonde hair was piled on top of her head. Curly blonde tendrils had surrounded her face. Her face had color back in it and she had a smile plastered to her face. She looked genuinely happy.

“I have to get down to the pitch. If I’m late Wood will murder me.” Harry stood up from the table and the twins joined him.

“Be careful. It’s awful out.” Hope chewed on her inner cheek.

“We’ll be fine mum.” Fred quipped as Hope rolled her eyes. She felt an unease creeping into her stomach.

“We’ll be careful, promise.” Harry sounded confident and reassuring. The boys left The Great Hall to the sounds of their House table wishing them luck.

“You two better eat quick so we can get some good seats.” Ron instructed with an air of impatience. Both Hope and Hermione rolled their eyes as they placed food on their plates.

**********

”I don’t know why you were so concerned about us getting good seats, we can’t see a thing anyway.” Hope complained. The rain was coming down in sheets. While they were protected and dry, the rain prevented them from seeing much. She couldn’t imagine what it was like for the players. Hermione had gone down to spell Harry’s glasses so he could see better: It was impossible to see either him or Cedric. They had both flown to the opposite side of where they were sitting.

Hope glanced over to where all of the Professors were sitting. She was glad to see her Uncle in the stands, while he looked a little rough around the edges, he was there. She felt like she barely saw him since she had arrived at Hogwarts. Before it had just been the two of them. She missed being with him regularly but she wouldn’t give up what she had gained for anything. For the first time in her life, she felt normal.

“Can you see Harry at all?” Ron elbowed Hope to get her attention.

“I think he’s flying up.” Hope felt the creep of dread coming over her again. The feeling of something crawling through her veins. “Oh my God.” Hope’s hand flung to her mouth.

“What? Why do you look sick?” Ron noticed how pale Hope’s face had gotten.

“It wasn’t a nightmare, it was a vision.” Hope said, more to herself than to Ron and Hermione. It was the first clear vision she had since her father had escaped Azkaban, she just hadn’t realized it.

“What wasn’t a nightmare.” Hope pushed Ron back to get to Hermione. “Hey!” He cried in protest.

“It wasn’t a nightmare Hermione!” Hope was shaking her arm to get her attention. “It was a vision.” She tried to say it as quietly as she could. She saw the alarm cross Hermione’s face.

“Harry?” His name was all that Hermione could utter.

“Dementors. It’s why I felt so cold. It’s why I felt so awful. He’s going to fall! We have to get him help! I have to get to a Dumbledore!” Hope tried pushing through the crowd to get to the stands where all of their professors were seated. She silently chastised herself for not figuring it out beforehand. She knew what it felt like to get a vision. This one was slightly different. It had felt like SHE was falling, not Harry. But seeing Harry looking the way he did, the feeling deep within the pit of her stomach, she should have known.

Hope let out a growl of frustration and desperation. She couldn’t get through the crowd. She couldn’t get to Dumbledore. She certainly couldn’t get down to the pitch in time. She continued pushing her way through. It wasn’t until she got to the group of Slytherin students that she was stopped.

“What’s the rush Lupin?” Malfoy was jeering down at her. His considerable height advantage must have made him feel powerful.

“I need to get through. Just move please.” Malfoy grabbed her forearm to pull her back.

“And miss the rest of your boyfriend’s game?” Hope face twisted in confusion. “I know, you’re thinking, ‘which one’? We’ve all seen you hanging all over Potter and skulking off to corners with Diggory.” Hope curled her lips in disgust.

“Harry is my best friend. And I’m not dating Cedric. Right now we’re just friends. Not that I owe you any explanation. And why do you even care? We aren’t friends. We’ve never spoken.”

“You’re just like Potter. You think you can do whatever you want. All of the professors fawn all over you. It’s nauseating. I’m here to knock you down a peg. Just like your pal Potter.” Hope aggressively rolled her eyes.

“Get bent Malfoy. My life is NONE of your business. The only entitled person here is YOU. You run to Daddy as soon as you don’t get your own way. It’s a shame Buckbeak didn’t take you out down good. We’d all be better for it.” As Malfoy opened his mouth to respond to her rant, Hope heard the gasps all around her. She wrenched herself free from Malfoy’s grip and saw Harry rapidly falling from the sky. She covered her mouth as she cried out in horror. Luckily, Dumbledore had seen what was happening and was on the field slowing Harry down. Before she could even process what was happening, Harry was being carried away by an enchanted stretcher and Ron was pulling her away from Malfoy so they could follow Harry. As he pulled her along, she saw Oliver Wood having a heated conversation with Cedric who held the Golden Snitch in his hand. Harry was going to be devastated. Cedric’s face was covered in guilt. He was trying to get Hope’s attention but she waved him off. She needed to get to Harry to make sure he was alright.

Hope sat next to Harry’s bed. Guilt was floating about her mind. Had she put it together beforehand, he wouldn’t be in the Hospital. Anxiety was still coursing through her veins. She had been desperate to get to Dumbledore. If she had gotten to him sooner, maybe Harry wouldn’t have gotten hurt. And his broom! She didn’t even want to imagine his face when they showed him. She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. Malfoy’s obnoxious face was looking at her from the back of her eye lids. She had done everything she positively could to avoid him. Apparently being Harry’s friend had put a big red X on her back.

“Harry!” Hope’s eyes snapped open when she heard Fred say his name. “How’re you feeling?”

“What happened?” Harry ignored the question. of his well being and say up suddenly, he made everyone gasp in surprise. No one expected him to be almost jumping out of bed.

“You fell off,” said Fred. “Must’ve been — what — fifty feet?” Hope tuned the rest of the team out as she focused on Harry. He looked okay. He had been so lucky that Dumbledore had been able to act so quickly.

“But the match,” said Harry. “What happened? Are we doing a replay?” Hope watched as the realization hit Harry like a freight train. She hated watching his face drop even further. He finally asked the question no one really wanted to answer. “We didn’t — lose?”

“Diggory got the Snitch,” said George. “Just after you fell. He didn’t realize what had happened. When he looked back and saw you on the ground, he tried to call it off. Wanted a rematch. But they won fair and square . . . even Wood admits it.” 

Hope's ears perked up at what George said about Cedric. Malfoy would have NEVER tried to deny himself a win, especially against Harry. He really was something special. Hope tuned the rest of the Quidditch chat out. She was over hearing about the game at this point. The idea that Harry could have died after falling off of his broom was too much for her to take. Finally Madam Pomfrey game out and shooed the rest of the team away leaving Harry with Hope, Hermione and Ron. Hermione was explaining to Harry what had happened, how angry Dumbledore had been. Then the final question she had been dreading came up.

"Did anyone get my Nimbus?" Hope watched as Hermione and Ron looked at each other and wouldn't look at Harry. Hope sighed and took Harry's hand. He looked over at her for the first time since he woke up.  "What?"

"Well, when you fell off of your broom it blew away and...and it hit..." Hope deflated "It hit the Whomping Willow." Harry turned pale. Hope nodded for Ron to bring out the pieces of his broom stick that were wrapped up. "Professor Flitwick brought it before you woke up. I'm really sorry Harry." Harry became despondent. “I tried to fix it...even Dumbledore tried to fix it but it just...I’m so sorry.” Harry didn’t understand why Hope was apologizing so much. Under normal circumstances he would try to make her feel better, but he just couldn’t. He had never lost a match and his beloved Nimbus 2000 was a pile of toothpicks. Before long Madam Pomfrey was pushing them out of the hospital wing. She had decided she wanted Harry to spend the weekend in the hospital wing which had made his mood sour even more. On their way out, Hope stopped in Madam Pomfrey’s door.

“I know you want Harry to get some rest, but he’s really upset. Would- would it be okay if I came back later just to check on him? I won’t stay if you don’t want me to.”

“I cannot allow that Ms. Lupin. However, if you happened to come down with another headache I suppose I couldn’t stop the two of you from speaking.” She gave Hope a pointed look.

“I completely understand.” Hope mused. She went to leave and stopped and turned back to the healer.

“I never properly thanked you for taking caring of me before the start of the term.”

“Nonsense, it is my job.”

“True, but it was the first time I was away from home and my first time alone. You made me feel NOT alone. And I know that you normally wouldn’t allow the House Elves to spend so much time here but they really lifted my spirits. Harry is feeling really down, so he may not seem to be so grateful for you making him stay. But just know he appreciates how well you take care of him. I know you’ve done it many times.” Madam Pomfrey stopped and stared at Hope with a deep affection. She smiled and patted her on the cheek and then turned back to her work.

**********

Hope made her way back from her Uncle’s office. She had gone back to her room and changed into her favorite sweat pants, t-shirt and a hoodie so she would be comfortable hanging out in the hospital wing with Harry. She wanted to make sure she updated her Uncle Remus on how Harry was doing. Predictably, he knew something was off with her, but didn’t press her for details. She didn’t really want to get into the details of her vision and the guilt she was feeling. She would talk to him about it more when she had time to process it all. 

“Hey Lupes!” Hope froze when she heard Cedric call out to her. Naturally she would have to bump into him when she was in sweats, no makeup and had a her messy hair piled on top of her head. She slowly turned to greet him.

“Hey Ced.”

“I was hoping to catch you. I went to the hospital wing, but Madame Pomfrey said you had left and I had just missed you leaving the common room. Hermione mentioned you were coming to see your uncle. He led her over to the bench against the wall and they both sat down. She turned so she was facing him.

“You spoke to Hermione?”

“Yeah, Neville Longbottom was heading into the Gryffindor common room when I got there. He had said he was going to let you know I was there, but when you weren’t in the dorm Hermione came out to let me know where you had gone off to.”

“Are you stalking me Mr. Diggory” Hope smirked and crossed her arms. She never felt as brave as she did when she flirted with Cedric. Cedric fidgeted a bit. Normally he would laugh and have a witty comment for her. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I just wanted you to know that I tried to forfeit the game and get a re-match. I had NO idea that Harry had been attacked by dementors. I don’t want to win like that. I would have gone to help him if I knew-” Hope put her hand on Cedric’s forearm to calm him.

“I know Cedric. The Weasley’s told us that you wanted a re-match but even Oliver knew you had won fairly. Even if they'd didn’t tell me that, I know that you wouldn’t have gone after the snitch if you knew Harry was in trouble. You’re too nice of a guy for that.”

“You believe me?” Cedric was genuinely relieved. 

“Of course I believe you.” 

“Thank Merlin- I was so worried you would be upset with me.”

“I would never be mad at you for beating my house at Quidditch. It’s not that serious.” Cedric looked seriously offended. Hope rolled her eyes. “Look, I know how important Quidditch is to you, Harry, Fred and George, Ron and everyone else. I wouldn’t hinge my feelings for someone over the outcome of a match. I mean, it would be different if you sent the dementors to hurt Harry just so you could win. But that’s not the case. You really don’t need to worry.” Cedric grinned at her. “What?”

“You have feelings for me?” He raised an eyebrow and watched Hope’s face grow a little pink.

“Never said what kind of feelings Diggory.” They both laughed. 

“Touche. How is Harry?” Cedric had placed. his free hand over hers that was resting on his arm. She was having a hard time focusing on what he was saying.

“What? OH! Harry is okay. Physically anyway. He’s pretty bummed out for loosing the match. And then when I told him about his Nimbus and the Whomping Willow he looked absolutely suicidal. I’m sure he’s not thrilled about Malfoy and his band of goons making fun of him on Monday the way they did after the train ride.

“Malfoy is a git. It’s a shame about Harry’s Nimbus. I’m sure he can use a school broom for the time being.

“It won't be as good as his Nimbus. He’s just going to have to mourn his broom and eventually get a new one. I’m actually on my way back to the hospital wing to pretend to be ill so I can stay with him. I figured he shouldn’t be alone, especially if he wants to talk about the dementors.” Cedric made sure his face stayed neutral. He didn’t want her to know how jealous it made him when she spoke about Harry. 

“You’re a great friend Hope Lupin.” 

“Well I try. Thank you for checking to see how he was doing. That was a really nice thing to do.” Hope stood up. She placed her hand on Cedric’s shoulders and bent down and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll see you soon.” Cedric was speechless as she walked away. This time she did turn around so she could smile and wave at him. She was glad she did. Cedric was sitting on that bench with his hand on the cheek that she had kissed. She quickly made her way back to the hospital wing, making a mental note to gush with Hermione tomorrow at breakfast.

**********

Hope grinned at Harry as she strolled back into the hospital wing in her pajamas.

“Hope...what are you doing here?” She faked a couple of coughs.

“I’m sick.” Harry sniggered. “Okay good, I thought that loss and the broom might have made you suicidal.” She plopped down on the bed across from his.

“I’m surprised Pomfrey let you in here.”

“It was her idea. She likes me.” Hope shrugged. “Uncle Remus says he’s glad you’re alright. He was very worried.”

“Er- how is he feeling?”

“He’ll be okay. He had a chronic condition that flares up. Magic can do a lot but some things it can’t fix. He’s strong though.” A silence fell between them. Hope studied Harry's face intently. The smile he had didn't quite reach his eyes. 

"What is it?"

"What do you mean?" He glanced away.

"Harry, it doesn't take seer abilities to know something is wrong. I know it's more than loosing today's match or even your broom. You might as well tell me. I wont leave you alone until you do."

"You've been spending too much time with Hermione. She's rubbing off on you." Hope pursed her lips in annoyance. Harry rubbed the back of his neck nervously and sighed. "It's- I heard more this time with the dementors. I heard my mother...begging for my life. I heard Voldemort laughing. It was the last moments of her life and she was terrified." Hope stood from the bed she was occupying and went and sat next to Harry's on his, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. Hope was an affectionate person. Harry had seen it with not only himself but Hermione and Ron as well. Yet, it still took him by surprise every time. He suspected it was his treatment from the Dursley's that still made him shocked any time someone actually showed they cared about him.

"I'm sorry Harry. I-I can't imagine. I sometimes wonder what I would hear from a dementor."

"No you don't. I don't want you to ever find out. That feeling...there is nothing worse." Harry studied Hope's face and watched something pass through her eyes. "Okay...now you talk. What's wrong with you?" Hope looked at him with wide eyes.

"I...it's my fault."

"What? What do you mean? You didn't send the dementors after me."

"That nightmare I had...it wasn't a nightmare. It was a vision. The coldness, you falling, how you looked. It's been so long since I had a clear vision I didn't even pick up it.  If I had, this wouldn't have happened. I could have warned you."

"Don't be ridiculous. How could you have known?"

"When I have a vision. It's different than just dreams and nightmares. Remember how cold I was? When I have a vision, I actually feel it. Sometimes it's pain. If it's a happy vision, I feel that too. But the cold and the dread...the way it stayed with me. I should have know. I tried to get to Dumbledore before it happened. But I couldn't get through the crowd...and then Malfoy..." Hope put her face in her hand. Her guilt had hidden itself when she was talking to Cedric; but hearing what Harry had experienced had brought it back full force. Harry felt a surge of over protectiveness.

"Malfoy what?"

"I mean...I'm surprised he hasn't tried to mess with me before since we're friends. He was just saying stupid stuff about you and Cedric to try to get to me. But he stopped me from getting to Dumbledore." Harry felt a surge of anger. "Harry he isn't worth it."

"The way he talks to Ron and Hermione. The way he treats them like they're less than. And now he's messing with you. I can deal with him getting on my case."

"Harry...I can handle myself. Malfoy is nothing. It only upset me because I wanted to make sure you didn't get hurt because I was too stupid to realize what was going on." Harry scoffed.

"Hope, this isn't your fault. You didn't do anything. Even if you had realized it was a vision and not a nightmare, I still would have played that game. I'm fine. Please don't blame yourself." Hope went to say more but heard Madame Pomfrey coming and jumped over to her own bed.

"Enough talking you two. Get some sleep." She ordered. Hope climbed under the blankets of her bed. They both stayed silent for a few moments.

"Good night Harry."

"Night Hope." Harry laid staring at the ceiling for a long time. He heard Hope’s breathing even out signaling that she had fallen asleep. All he wanted was to have her crawl back into bed with him and lay with him. As upset as he was, he realized that Hope Lupin made everything seem better.

**********

Hope stood in front of the mirror in her dormitory bathroom. She had gotten up early with Hermione to get breakfast. Today was her Hogsmeade date with Cedric. Her nerves were bubbling underneath the surface. She was meeting Cedric shortly outside of the Gryffindor common room, the place where they first met. She smiled back to the night Cedric came looking for her to tell her about their flying lessons. She tugged at her cashmere wrap sweater. It was a dark charcoal that made her light grey eyes stand out. She had paired it with a light pink lace trim cami. It was cropped right at her waist and had a belt that wrapped around twice that she tied in a neat bow. She had paired it with dark jeans and black chunky boots that hit her right under the knee. The sweater was arguably the most expensive thing she had ever owned. She knew that she had money, but Hope had always felt guilty spending any on herself besides necessities.  Her Uncle refused to use the money for himself other than the house they lived in and food. Hope and Remus had gone into Muggle London one evening to get ice cream and go see a film. It was one of Hope’s favorite things to do. They had been window shopping and Remus had seen her eyeing the expensive item in the window. She wasn’t like most teenage girls, she wouldn’t ask for it. In fact the only thing she had ever asked for were art supplies. When she had gotten back from a long walk two nights later the sweater was on her bed. She had insisted that her Uncle return it, but he had feigned ignorance. It was one of her favorite possessions. Her curly hair, though wild as ever, was behaving more than normal.

”Hope, you look really pretty.” Hermione exclaimed as she approached from behind.

”Thank you.”

”You look nervous.”

”I-I am. I don't even know why. It's not like I haven't ever hung out with Cedric before. We had my flying lessons. We’ve talked plenty of times.”

”Well this is different, it's a date.”

”That is not very helpful.” Hope pouted slightly as Hermione grinned at her.

”Seriously, you look lovely. You better hurry up if you want to see the boys before you head off.”

”Oh no...Harry...I forgot he has to stay behind.” Hope chewed on her bottom lip. Hope had felt closer to Harry since the night she spent with him in the hospital wing, but as Hogsmeade weekend had approached he had seemed a little frosty. Hope couldn’t imagine what it felt like to feel left behind. She suddenly wanted to tell Cedric they needed to reschedule.

”Don’t you dare start feeling guilty. Ron and I will bring him back some treats from Honeydukes. He’ll be alright. Neville will be here too since Professor McGonagall.

”I really hate his Aunt and Uncle. I don't understand how anyone could be so cruel.” Hope folded her wool coat over her arm before adding  “especially to Harry.”

“I know. They sound absolutely dreadful.”  Hermione added in agreement as they headed out of the girls dormitory.

Harry looked up as he heard Hermione and Hope’s voices coming down from the girls dormitory. He felt his mouth go dry as he looked at Hope. She looked exceptionally pretty, not that she didn't always look nice. Maybe it was the excitement that was making her glow. He suddenly felt himself hate Cedric Diggory. He couldn’t understand why he was feeling like this; Hope was his friend, one of his best friends and her Uncle was helping him fight off the Dementors. Maybe it was because he wasn’t allowed to go to Hogsmeade.

“Oooooo look at you all dressed up for your date.” Ron teased as he grinned at Hope. Her face had turned crimson. Harry wished he could be as happy for her as Ron.

“Shut it.” Hope have Ron a mock glare. Harry felt her eyes studying him as he did everything he could do to avoid looking at her. "Harry are you going to be okay?" He looked up, not being able to avoid her again.

"Yes, I'll be fine. You go have fun." Hope bit her bottom lip and nodded at the cold bite of his voice. She didn’t know what to say to make him feel better. She knew he was upset about not going to Hogsmead and about his Nimbus. She didn’t expect him to be so sullen. 

"Alright...I'll see you guys later then." Harry could hear the drop in her voice and he immediately felt guilty. It wasn't her fault that he had to stay behind while they all went and had fun in Hogsmead. He would apologize to her later that evening. He watched as she smiled brightly at Hermione and then made her way out of the portrait hole.

Cedric noticed Hope seemed a little distracted as they walked towards the village. She had been waiting for him outside of her common room and her face had lit up as soon as she saw him. Her smile had taken his breath away. She had happily slid her arm through his as they made their way from Hogwarts into the village. They had fallen into a comfortable silence as the snow crunched beneath their boots. He could see something running behind her eyes. "Hope?" He finally said, he stopped walked before she had noticed and her body jerked back towards him. He steadied her so she didn't knock them both over. He smiled as her face grew red. "Sorry...are you okay?"

"Of course. I'm fine." Her smile seemed genuine. "I'm sorry, I'm just distracted. Harry is stuck back at Hogwarts again while everyone is at Hogsmead. I just feel really horrible about it. With how he lost the Quidditch match and then his broom breaking, he just seems really down."

"Do...do you want to go back and do this another time?" Cedric had stopped walking. He didn't want to drag her on a date if she wanted to be elsewhere.

"What? No, definitely not!" Hope's protest was genuine. "Harry will be fine. I just sometimes get lost in my thoughts. I don't want to be anywhere but with you, I promise." Her cheeks were rosy from the sharp winter air biting at her cheeks, her grey eyes shining as she looked up at him. She had taken his hand in hers as she reassured him. Standing in the freezing cold, he had never felt warmer than he did right at that moment.

"I just don't want you to feel obligated. I know how important your friends are to you, I would understand." He didn’t want her to know he felt a little threatened by how close she was with Harry Potter. He was Harry Potter, how could he not be jealous. He watched as she looked down and then slowly looked back up at him.

"You're important to me too Ced." He felt his heart soar slightly. All he wanted to do in that moment was kiss her, but there were so many other Hogwarts students walking by, he wanted their first kiss to be private and special. 

"C'mon, lets keep going." Hope slid both of her arms through his as they made their way into the village. She silently chastised herself for making Cedric feel like she didn’t want to be there. Of course she wanted to be there. Truth be told, he was all she had thought about since he ran into her in the corridor the night Harry had gotten hurt. She wished they had been in the same House so she could spend her evenings with him.

“So where to first Lupes?” Hope looked up at Cedric. “Well I need to get some Christmas gifts. Definitely Honeydukes.” Cedric grinned. “What?”

“You have quite the sweet tooth. Dessert is your favorite part of dinner.” Hope studied his face for a moment.

“Have you been watching me Diggory?” Hope teased, but Cedric didn’t miss a beat.

“How could I not? Can’t take my eyes off of you.” He was good, she knew he was smooth, but that was spot on. Hope felt butterflies erupt in her stomach. She bit her lip, looked down at the ground for a moment and then back to Cedric’s face. His smile was beaming and he had taken a step closer to her. He put his warm palm on her cheek. Hope felt her mouth go dry. She bit her lower lip. She had to so she didn’t embarrass herself by throwing herself at him and kissing him in the middle of the village. “You’re freezing.” Hope thought that was hilarious because she felt like her face was on fire from him touching her. 

“C’mon.” Cedric’s hand drifted from Hope’s face down to her hand and he led her into Zonko’s Joke Shop. She was secretly hoping Fred and George weren’t in the store yet. They would tease her mercilessly. 

The heat hit their faces as the door shut behind them. The shop was filled with Hogwarts students. Hope never found much need for any of the items but she enjoyed looking around. Cedric kept Hope’s hand in his as they walked around the store. She was happy to see the Weasley Twins were no where to be found. They stopped occasionally to look at some items and Hope laughed as Cedric told her funny anecdotes about pranks his friends pulled on each other. 

“Nothing from here?” He asked her as they made their way around the store.

“Pranks aren’t really my thing. And I refuse to give Ron anything he can use against me.” “Let’s go to Spintwitches.” Hope suggested. “I want to see if I can find a Quidditch gift for Harry and for Ron.”

“I could spend all day in there.” Cedric grinned. He was excited to show her around the store and teach her about his favorite past time.

“I’m sure.” Hope grinned and happily let Cedric lead her out of the shop. She knew at that moment that she would let him lead her anywhere. She had more than just a crush on Cedric. He made her feel something she had never felt before. As they were walking a gust of cold wind stopped Hope dead in her tracks. Cedric let go of her hand, removed his Hufflepuff scarf and wrapped it around Hope’s neck.

“There, that should help keep you warm.”

“What about you Ced?”

“I’m fine. C’mon, let’s go.” As they approached the shop, Hope could see the new broomsticks in the window and she felt a pang. The Firebolt was proudly on display. Ron and Harry wouldn’t shut up about it. Cedric watched her curiously.

“I wish I could get Harry a new broom. But I think it would just upset him more if I bought him a gift like that.” Cedric felt a familiar surge of jealousy course through him but he didn’t say anything, but Hope noticed. She couldn’t help but see it pass through his eyes. She paused for a moment. “Cedric, Harry and I are just friends, just so you know.”

“Hope you don’t owe me an explanation.”

“I know. I just don’t want you to misunderstand. Harry, Ron and Hermione are the first real friends I’ve ever had. I mean there were some Muggle kids I would play with on the beach, but they weren’t true friends. Mine parents and Harry’s parents were best friends. So we have that connection. We both lost them in the War. I at least have my Uncle Remus. Harry didn’t get so lucky. His Muggle aunt and uncle are HORRIBLE. They treat him terribly. I mean they wouldn’t even sign his permission slip to come to Hogsmeade. He doesn’t have any one else in his corner. But it doesn’t go beyond friendship. I just wanted to make that clear. There is no one else besides you that I want to be spending this day with.” Hope could see Cedric physically relax.

“Harry is lucky to have you. Let’s go in, I’ll help you pick out some great gifts for them.” Cedric gently pulled Hope into the shop feeling much relieved.

******

A little while later, Hope and Cedric were leaving the Post Office after sending Hope’s substantial haul back to Hogwarts so they didn’t have to carry the packages around for the rest of the afternoon. Cedric had helped her pick out the gifts for Harry and Ron. She loved watching how excited he got while talking about Quidditch. They had gone to a couple of more shops where Hope picked out a beautiful quill and stationery set for Hermione to gift alone with some of the books she had gotten for her friend. Instead of instructional books that Hermione would normally go for, Hope and chosen some fictional books that she knew Hermione had never read. She also purchased some new sweaters and robes for her uncle that Hope knew he would never buy for himself and then a few things for the Tonks family. After a rather large purchase at Honeydukes, Hope was all set. Though 75% of her purchase from Honeydukeswas actually for her.

“Do you want to go to Madam Pudifoot’s? It’s kind of romantic.” Cedric nodded his head towards the Tea Shop. He grinned when disgust was prevalent on Hopes face. “Or not...”

“It’s not really my scene.” Hope said matter of factly after she shuddered. Hope’s gaze fell onto the steamed up windows. “Hermione and I dragged Ron in our first weekend here and immediately ran for our lives. All the frilly, pink and doilies? No thanks” Cedric let out a hearty laugh. Secretly he was relieved that Hope didn’t want to go there. He had taken dates there before and they had been gaga over it. It made him cringe a bit.

“Is the Hogs Head more your scene?” Cedric teased as he wiggled his eyebrows. “I feel like they have some nice and dusty butter beer and possibly some moldy biscuits.” He doubled over laughing when he looked at the dirty look Hope was giving him. “I’m kidding. 3 Broomsticks?” Hope nodded and they walked hand in hand to their destination.

Once they were inside of the pub, they located a small table towards the back. Cedric was really determined to get Hope to open up more. It had been more superficial conversations. He wanted to know her. He knew he would have to chip away at the wall she surrounded herself with. Cedric helped her get her coat off and hung it up. He couldn’t help but stare at how her dark grey sweater made her pale grey eyes stand out. She caught him staring and it was his turn to blush. Once Hope was settled he went up to the bar to order their butter beers. Hope say with her legs crossed in the booth looking around the pub. It was filled with students and staff from Hogwarts. She waved at Neville who was sitting with Dean and Seamus at a table near them. He gave her a genuine smile. They had talked a bit more after the day she helped him in potions. Neville was such a nice guy. She hated how often he was teased by their classmates, especially the Slytherins. She wanted to punch Pansy Parkison in the mouth on more than one occasion. Fred and George were at a table with Angelina Johnson and Lee Jordan laughing.  It was nice to see everyone in such jovial moods. With the holidays fast approaching there was definitely an excitement in the air.

Hope was pulled from her thoughts when Cedric set her Butter Beer down in front of her before sliding in next to her. His brilliant smile made the butterflies in her stomach erupt again. She was thankful the cold kept her cheeks rosy otherwise she was sure he would know she had been blushing all day. She secretly hated herself for liking him so much. She felt like the sterotypical boy crazy girl; but it was only Cedric that made her feel that way.

“So tell me something not many people know about you.” Cedric said. He had positioned himself as close as he could be to her. She stopped and thought for a moment. 

“Well...I grew up in a mostly Muggle town. After the war, my Uncle was worried that I wouldn’t be safe. So he found us this really nice house on the beach. I love the Ocean. Even when it’s cold outside, the beach is my favorite place to be. It was just me and Uncle Remus for the longest time. I remember going to the Weasleys occasionally when I was younger. It was always kind of overwhelming for me, all of the siblings. It’s so funny now that Ron and I are such good friends. I love Fred and George too. I wish I had been more open to spending time with them when I was younger. It took me a while to really open up. My father has a cousin, Andromeda Tonks. She’s married to a muggle named Ted and they have a daughter, Nymphadora Tonks.” Hope stopped, she hadn’t meant to even mention her father, but Cedric made her feel so comfortable. 

Cedric saw something pass just behind her eyes and he frowned. “Hope, what is it?” He placed his hand on top of hers. He could tell she was reluctant to finish her thought. “You can tell me anything, you know? If you can’t tell, I really like you Hope.” Cedric had heard people questioning who Hope’s father was. No one knew all that much about her. Cedric knew the girls in his house liked to gossip, he never listened to them. He was great at tuning all of that out. He didn’t want to fill in Hope’s story for her.

"Cedric....there’s just some things about me...I’m scared if I tell you that you won't want to spend time with me. I really like you too. And once I say it out loud, there’s no taking it back.” Cedric studied her face. He could see the anxiety building.

“You’re not a murder are you?” He teased, trying to lighten the mood. “Hope, there’s not anything I can think of that would make me not want to know you. I’m not going to judge you, or anyone you care about. You can trust me. Anything you tell me will be strictly between us. I’m not the kind to spill other people’s secrets” She took a deep breath and studied his face for a moment.

“Okay- but Harry, Ron and Hermione are the only ones that know. I don’t want it getting out. I don’t know how people will react. And I really want people to actually know me before they judge me on things that they don’t understand.” He nodded and his earnest expression set her at ease. “My, Um, well, my father is Sirius Black.” Cedric was quiet for a moment and Hope felt her nerves kicking up. He understood why she didn’t want many people to know. Their classmates would use that against her. Cedric couldn’t care less who her father was. He knew first hand that you can’t judge someone on their parents.

“Hope, you have no control over who your relatives are. I wouldn’t hold that against you. And look, a lot of people who worked for You Know Who...they did it out of fear. They felt like they didn’t have a choice. Or they were forced to do it by the Cruciatus curse.  Unfortunately, some people were sent to Azkaban even if they were forced against their will. We don’t know why he did anything that he did. What I do know is that you aren’t responsible for what your father has done. Even if he made the choice to support him, that isn’t on you.”  Hope shouldn’t have been surprised that he said that. Of course he would feel that way. She took a deep breath and Cedric watched as she fidgeted for a moment. “What is it?” 

“Well there’s more. It’s about my mother. She was a seer. A true Seer. Not what whatever it is that Professor Trewlawney claims to do. She was incredibly talented and Voldemort wanted to use her to win the war” She watched as Cedric flinched slightly. “She refused to help him, so on the same night that Harry’s parents were killed, she was killed too. I don't know which one of his followers did it. It’s what makes me think my father wasn’t a true supporter. He loved my Mum. I’ve seen pictures and how he looked at her. There’s no way he would have let anyone hurt her. And the stories I’ve heard? I mean there haven’t been a lot, but he loved me too. And there’s no one I can ask to tell me what the truth is. Sometimes I think even if Remus did know the full truth, he wouldn’t tell me. But she passed the Seer gene on to me.” Cedric listened intently as Hope continued her story, put it all out on the table and bared her soul. She told him how all she could see for the most part was shades of black since her father escaped Azkaban. How drawing calmed her. The only thing she kept to herself was her Uncle being a werewolf. That wasn’t her secret to tell. Cedric held her hand and rubbed his thumb over her knuckled as she explained.

“I just wish I could figure out how to control it. To use it to my advantage. If my mother was still alive she could teach me. But I have no one.”

“Well, I’m sure we can find something somewhere that will help. It must be horribly overwhelming...and dangerous for you if the wrong people find out about your ability.” Concern flooded Cedric’s face.

“It’s why my uncle doesn’t want many people to know. He’s afraid I’ll end up like my mother.” Hope’s voice was quiet. She was looking down, anxiously playing with her fingers. For the second time that day, Cedric hooked his his finger under her chin to bring her eyes level to his. It was the first time he saw the storm behind her eyes; the  turmoil within her. He saw Hope for all that she was in that moment. She was more than he anticipated.

"I wont let anything happen to you. I certainly wont let anyone use you. Your secret is safe with me. You’re safe with me." She felt tears well up slightly in her eyes and looked away for a moment as Cedric dropped his hand.

"Thanks Ced. Really." The two of them sat together in a comfortable silence while they drank their Butter Beers. Hope had just noticed Ron and Hermione sitting at a table. She hadn't noticed them walk in. They were glancing at the empty seat at their table. Hope felt her stomach drop slightly...had Harry snuck into Hogsmeade? They both had a look of alarm on their faces. She noticed they were abnormally quiet. She wasn't sure if it was because The Minister of Magic was sitting at a table so close to them or if something was going on. They hadn't even glanced in her direction.

"You ready to head back?" Cedric broke her train of thought. She smiled and nodded her head yes. As they were leaving she tried to get Hermione's attention, but she was unsuccessful. It also didn't go unnoticed that when she walked past where Cornelius Fudge was sitting, the table stopped talking. Hagrid only gave her a slight nod instead of his normal warm greeting. Something was definitely up. Hope tried to push it aside for the time being and focus on her walk back with Cedric.

The two of them continued to walk in a comfortable silence. His arm was around her shoulders in an attempt to keep her warm. She was looking forward to being in the warm common room, but hated the idea of leaving Cedric behind. Once they got back into the castle, Hope's face felt like it was frozen. As they continued on in the castle, Cedric lead Hope down one of the corridors and not to the Gryffindor Common room. Hope cocked her eyebrow in interest but didn't say anything. He was leading her over to the window where he originally asked her to go with him to Hogsmead. He sat down on the window sill and took her hands and pulled her closer to him. He was so tall that her standing in front of him while he sat was the only way the would be eye to eye.

"I just wanted a moment before I walked you back to your common room." His blue-grey eyes were sparkling at her. “I had a really great time today. Thank you for trusting me to tell me what you did. I know that wasn’t easy."

"I'm glad I can talk to you. Today was really great. It was the most fun I’ve had in a really long time." Cedric was impossibly close to her. She couldn’t even think straight with him looking at her like that. 

"I also wanted to do this in private." He whispered as he ran his thumb over her bottom lip before he leaned in to kiss her. Hope felt like her heart was going to pound out of her chest. He pulled her closer and she ran her hand up the back of his hair. She was certain they may have taken it a little too far, but they were interrupted.

"HOPE!" Hope and Cedric jumped apart, both of their faces blazing. Harry was approaching her quickly, looking agitated. Ron and Hermione were chasing after him, trying to keep up, both of them shooting Hope and Cedric apologetic looks.

"Harry...are you okay?" Hope asked. He stopped short in front of the two of them. Cedric was still gripping her hand, he was eyeing Harry warily.

"Am I okay? Do I look like I'm okay?!" Hope's eyebrows shot up. She didn't even get a chance to respond. "Did you know?!"

"Did I know what?" Hope searched her memory for anything Harry could even be referencing.

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying! I have no idea what you're getting on about!"

"Harry- calm down-" Cedric interjected but Hope shook her head at him. That would only agitate Harry further. Harry was already giving Cedric a warning look.

"That he got them killed."

"Who got who killed?"

"YOUR FATHER!” Harry bellowed. Hope physically flinched as he raised his voice at her. “He betrayed them. HE TOLD VOLDEMORT WHERE THEY WERE HIDING. THEY'RE DEAD BECAUSE OF HIM." Cedric, Ron and Hermione watched the color drain from Hope's face and the shock settle in. Harry was breathing heavily, the weight of what he had just yelled hung in the air. Cedric grabbed Hope by the waist to keep her steady. It took Harry a moment to take in Hope's reaction. "You...you didn't know?" Cedric scoffed.

"Does she look like she's someone in the know. Blimey..." Cedric felt white hot rage coursing through his veins.

"Where did you hear this?" Hope's voice came out as a whisper. Harry's face fell. He had been so worked up, he hadn't given it a thought that Hope would not know. He wanted to make Sirius Black hurt as much as he did. Since he couldn’t make the happen, he had targeted the closest thing to him as he could get. 

"I was in Hogsmead today. I overheard Fudge, Madame Rosmerta, Professor McGonagall and Hagrid talking. They were talking about how he and my dad were best friends. They were like brothers. They knew Voldemort was after them, so they hid them. He....he was their secret keeper. He told Voldemort where they were the day they were murdered. Then he killed their best friend Peter Pettigrew." Harry's voice had come out much more calm and quiet than when he approached them. The desire to make someone else hurt as much has he was hurting had been quelled.

"Oh my God...." Cedric stood up so Hope could sit on the window sill. She felt like she was going to be sick. Cedric squatted down so he was closer to her level. He grabbed her hand when she let out a sob. “How could he have done that?” Harry felt his stomach sink to the floor. What had he done?

"Hope...I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have assumed you knew and that you lied." Cedric jumped up.

"No, you shouldn't have. You're supposed to be her best friend? Do you know she spent a good portion of today feeling badly because your muggle family is so rotten. Wanting to make things better for you? Talking about how close you were. You really think she would hide something like that? Really think she would lie to you? It would serve her no purpose to lie about that."

"This has nothing to do with you." Harry crossed his arms defiantly. Hope grabbed Cedric's hand.

"Don't Ced. It's okay." Hope tried to calm Cedric. Him fighting with Harry wouldn’t make anything better.

"It's not okay! For him to come verbally attack you like that, yelling all of your business for the whole school to hear. Knowing you were trying to keep who your father is under wraps?" Harry felt his heart sink further into the bottom of his soul. Not only did he find out his parents were betrayed by their best friend, he had accused his best friend of lying to him without any proof. He was just so angry he couldn't see straight.

"Hope...I'm so sorry." She held her hand up.

"Don't." She looked away from Harry. He hated himself in that moment for making her feel like this. Hermione and Ron watched helplessly. They had tried to calm Harry down before they found Hope. Hermione was certain seeing Hope and Cedric together had fueled Harry's anger further.

“Harry, you should go.” Cedric was all but glowering at him. It was taking all of his self-control not to punch him or hex him.

"C'mon mate, let's go back to the dorms, give Hope some space, yeah?" Ron gently pulled Harry away.

"Hope- do you want me to wait for you?" Hermione asked quietly. Hope shook her head.

"I'll walk her back, make sure she's okay." Cedric wasn't about to leave Hope alone now. Hermione nodded. She mouthed a "thank you" to Cedric and followed the boys back to the Gryffindor Tower.

Hope had wiped the few tears that had slipped from her eyes away. Cedric couldn't tell if she was sad, angry or both. After a few moments of silence she finally spoke. "Well, I guess I can stop deluding myself that he was a good person and just did what he had to do."

"Hope, you can't know that for sure. If it came down to a choice between protecting you and your mother and protecting Harry and his parents...he would have chosen the two of you. I think anyone would do anything to protect their wife and daughter."

"Or maybe he is just as evil as they say." Hope was reeling.

"Well either way, it's no reflection on you." Hope looked at Cedric. The concern flooding his face made her feel just a little bit better. "You are not responsible for the choices your parents made. YOU are not him. I know this is hard for you because you don't have all of the answers. But it is no reflection of the person you became. Your uncle made sure you grew up to be everything you're supposed to be."

Hope paused for a moment, She hadn't even thought of her Uncle. "What if he knew.?"

"What if who knew?" Cedric was confused.

"My uncle- if he knows...and purposely kept him from me? It wouldn't be the first time he kept something to himself for the sake of my protections." Hope was getting agitated.

"Listen- don't go there, not yet. Take some time to digest this and then speak with him. Have a level head. Don't have a go at him the way Harry just did with you." Hope nodded. Cedric wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in to for a hug. They stayed that way for a little while. Hope didn’t want to let him go. He made her feel safe, like she was going to be okay. Her mind was reeling. And how could Harry ever thing that she could know? That she would lie to him or try to cover it up? She had been 100% honest with him, let him see a side of her that not many people did. She was hurt and incredibly angry. She felt her temper boiling beneath the service. Now, more than before, she wished she could go stay with Cedric in the Hufflepuff common room. She hoped that Harry was smart enough to keep his distance. After a little while, Hope felt Cedric shift and pull back so he could look at her.

“Are you going to be alright?” She sighed.

“I don’t know. I just...it’s a lot to take in. I hate that I can’t get his side of the story. I hate that my mother isn’t here for me to talk to her, find out what really happened. Maybe they have it all wrong.”

“What is your gut telling you?”

“I don’t know.”

“C’mon Hope, deep down, you know how you feel about this. You just have to let yourself feel it.” She paused for a moment to think. She didn’t want to admit what she really thought. “Tell me.” Cedric urged her.

“I still think they have it wrong. It still doesn’t make sense. If my father was so close to James and James was his family, I can’t see him doing this. I can’t see him sacrificing everything. The father that I have heard about...he would have died before he let anything happen to the people he cared about. I can tell by the way  my Uncle has talked about him. He doesn’t talk about him often, but I can read between the lines. I just...I don’t know how to find out the truth.”

“There has to be a way to figure it out. We’ll do what we can to find out what really happened.”

“Really? You don’t think I’m mad for wanting to believe he’s not that person.”

“No I don’t. I wouldn’t want to think it about either of my parents. We’ll find a way to figure it out Hope. I promise you. If you’re right...it’ll put your mind at ease.”

“And if I’m wrong?” Cedric cupped Hope’s face in his hands. “Then we’ll find that out together and you’ll be able to move on either way.” He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead". C'mon....let me walk you back to your tower. You should get some rest and take some time to think." Hope nodded her head in agreement. She let Cedric lead her where she needed to go. She didn't even know how to process what she had just learned. Just when she thought she could move forward, she encountered more questions. All she knew was she was back to wanting answers and not having any idea who she really was.

[sweeethinny]

Reputation - Look What You Made Me Do (Chapter 5)

this time it didn't take me so long :) I had difficulties with the ending but I think I managed to finish it in a decent way (thank to @harrys-wheezys who help me, saying about how the war had changed them, and they realizing it :))

keep commenting, i love reading your opinions 

AO3

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I don't like your little games Don't like your tilted stage

''Look what they wrote about us!" Harry looked at her, a little still tired from the morning sex round, his brain soft and with little ability to understand anything but Ginny's naked breasts, right next to him ''Harry Potter , 32, Order of Merlin blah blah blah, was seen chatting animatedly alongside another ex- Holyhead Harpies player, other than his wife, Ginny Potter (or can we call her Weasley again?)'' Ginny turned her head to him, a little too furious for nine on a cold Sunday morning "Terry is a lesbian! And she knows it."

''Why do you still buy this?'' Harry yawned, cuddling up to her chest, smiling at the softness of her breasts, better than the pillows, as he felt her nails on his scalp, almost driving him back to sleep.

''Why do I need to know what they are saying about us?'' He knew it wasn't really a question, so he kept quiet ''Forbidden romance is a hell. They've been separating us for years now, do you remember that about our marriage?'' 

Rita no longer wrote alone, now she shared the gossip podium with Beau Miller, a man no one really knew where he came from, and seemed to have won people's hearts more for his beauty than for the work itself.

'' ..Of course, what he writes is pure shit ' Harry grunted angrily, throwing the newspaper into the fire and watching it burn, irritated that he said that about Ginny ''They said she has kept me under the love potion .. Ginevra Weasley! The woman who knows very well what it is to have no control over yourself while someone else manipulates you like a puppet, would make me drink love potions! ' Harry clapped his hand on the table, suddenly feeling like he was on edge. .

He thanked for being alone.

''Is the future Potter keeping our chosen one under a potion? ' Harry feigned a very forced accent, his hand on his chest while blinking pompously into nothingness ''To hell with 'Our Chosen One' ''

It was just as irritating how much they got into their lives, saying filthy things about the two, making silly assumptions about betrayals, love potions, and even a teenage pregnancy - the picture of Ginny with Teddy in her arms gave them that.

Harry was so tired, especially now in the week of their wedding, where he was so nervous and upset that he thought he was about to fall to the floor with a heart attack. And it made it worse that Ginny was in France with Fleur, for something about her dress.

They always made him look like a fool, and Harry definitely hated them.

And it was with this resignation that he left his office, marching furiously to the building where the Prophet was.

 The role you made me play Of the fool, no, I don't like you

 ''How to forget? I think Beau is still scared of me'' He laughed nasally, hugging the woman's waist and burying his head more in her breasts ''But it wasn't just me who did it, if I remember correctly, in your seventh year you also lost the head''

''She caught me on a bad day'' Ginny defended herself

 It was supposed to be a calm Quidditch Final, at least it was what she expected.

She was prepared to face Ravenclaw with all her blood, determined to win and make use of all those training sessions under the rain and mornings that had barely emerged. She would win.

Harry being there, helped a lot too.

''If we win .. '' She said when the two met in the locker room still empty, for just one conversation.

"When you win," he said, kissing the tip of her nose before listening to her again, with all his attention and affection.

But then there was the press, as usual, and Rita Skeeter was there too, asking about silly stuff.

Ginny was on the edge, missing her stupid boyfriend who got bogged down with jobs until he missed the last trip to Hogsmeade, afraid to lose, eager to have scouts in the audience who would assess her potential to the last drop, judging her good or not for her team, nervous about the exam of her NIEM's next week .. It was so much, that having Rita distorting her words was not a real desire.

That smile ... Ginny was so eager to take it away.

I don't like your perfect crime How you laugh when you lie

''But Mrs Weasley, have you been playing just to impress a certain person? ' That had been the question after Ginny had scored 8 goals in less than an hour, and helped Gryffindor to win the Cup and being an incredible captain, being quite modest.

Of course, because everything about her was always intertwined, in some way, with Harry.

With little patience left, she decided to smile sarcastically as took the feather in her hand and kneaded it until there were no more pieces left, approaching the woman in a very unfriendly way, which made her startle and take two steps back, cowardly

''Yes, and I've been well rewarded for that. As you can see .. '' She waved her notebook with her wand, making it burn and end up nothing less than dust on the dirty floor of the locker room ''I'm great with my hands''

You said the gun was mine Isn't cool, no, I don't like you (oh!)

 ''You're really good with your hands'' Harry kissed the one who was resting beside him on the bed, also kissing her finger with their wedding ring, feeling the cold gold against his lips

''Thank you, I got better with time... You are lucky that I don't mind all these intrusions, because I already received some invitations to run away from you'' The man laughed, lifting his chin to look at her, green eyes playing fun

''I can't even believe what made you stay'' Ginny shrugged, smiling and running her nails over his shoulders

''Your fortune, of course''

 ''Ginny Potter getting married out of interest?

That's right wizard world, the Quidditch Team's great player,  Holyhead Harpies, received a marriage proposal from a Puddlemere United Team player, which we were unable to identify. And he claims that Ginny Potter told him that she will only marry Harry Potter because of his fortune.

More information on page 15.''

''Does the man say that but they don't know who he is?'' She snorted ''She loves to make me look like a disguised bitch'' Harry barely looked up from Ron's letter, drinking his coffee and wondering if he should get a piece of cake or cookies.

''She does it because she knows you read and it hits you ' The bride turned like a rabid dog towards him

''Hit me? Please, Harry! I am furious that they do not destroy the image of a man who proposed to a committed person, but make up this shit about me .. I'm sure that tonight she will be there'' The Ministry party, the one that the two tried to make up any excuse for not to go, but that in the end, he had been obliged to attend. ''Do you know something? I will use the diamonds you gave me. And I'm going to buy a new dress.'' Ginny got up from the table

''I thought diamonds would be for special occasions'' He joked, still not looking at her

"And isn't that special?" He risked looking at her; her cheeks flushed like fire, hair up in a quick bun and his shirt as pajamas ''Wear your expensive suit too. We will be the most glamorous couple of that idiot party'' And then she left, stomping firmly and still babbling curses along the way.

 [...]

''How I look?'' Ginny came out of the closet, and Harry started to wonder if they really needed to go to that stupid party, or if he could invent a disease that made him stuck at home.

She was stunning, the dress was golden and long, falling very close to her body and with straps so thin that he didn’t know how they didn’t split in half, a straight neckline that made her breasts look so stunning it was like he was 17 years and be embarrassed to see them. Her hair was tied in a neat bun, the diamond earrings matched the ring he had given her last month, delicate but shiny like party globes. Her lips were blood red, her eyes painted black and gold that made Harry forget the time she had spent in the bathroom.

''Wow'' He blinked a few times, watching her approach and fix his tie, blinking innocently and laughing

''Thank you my love, you are also beautiful ..'' Her hands smoothed the suit well aligned, seeming to approve that he had listened to her and put on the expensive piece ''I loved the gold buttons, they really make a great pair with my dress'' Ginny put her arm through his ''Can we go, Mr Potter? I need to parade with my rich fiance around.''

''I never felt so happy that I was being extorted'' They laughed, finishing getting what they needed before apparating to the Ballroom who were told it would be the event, identifying themselves at the entrance and smiling at the first camera that appeared , ignoring all the looks that some gave him "I come back from the dead, but what they care about is whether my future wife is about to kill me to keep my fortune or not .. "

But I got smarter, I got harder in the nick of time Honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time

''Because it sells more newspapers when they talk about a selfish bitch'' Ginny faked a smile ''Look, everyone commenting about us.' The circle of journalists seemed about to burst with excitement when they saw them coming in, ignoring anyone else more important that it passed them, seeming to argue about who should go to the couple first

"They must be arguing about what you had to do to get these earrings"

''I hope they're being creative .. Just a blowjob wouldn't pay'' Harry laughed, wrapping his arm around her waist and bowing a little - she was on heels, they weren't so different in height now - to whisper;

''But I wouldn't mind buying you jewelry for every time you have your mouth full ' The woman blushed, biting her lip and looking at it boldly

''I'll have an arsenal of them then'' Before he could make any further comments, their names were called, and Rita Skeeter was right there in front, smiling from ear to ear

''Mr and Mrs Potter.'' Her false tone got to make Harry sick ''As always; admirable'' Rita blinked a few times at the diamond in Ginny's ears, almost approaching to assess the jewel ''It would be an honor to have an interview with you, there are several fans who are dying to know more details of the wedding of two such important...wizards'' She looked up and down at Ginny, as if assessing whether she was worth it that much.

Because, she was always Harry Potter's girlfriend, and nothing more. Forget her career as a player, and all her other merits.

''I can only say it will be luxurious'' Ginny commented, as much as it was a lie ''Nothing more'' She smiled falsely ''And even, I remember putting your name on the list'' Rita seemed to be excited, eyes and puffing out the chest

''We have an extensive list, you see, but we don't forget you'' Harry assured

''It's a great honor-- ''

'' --The list, of course, forbidden people'' The redhead smiled from ear to ear ''Now, if you'll excuse me ... ''

I've got a list of names and yours is in red, underlined I check it once, then I check it twice, oh! Look what you made me do

 ''She spoke shit of our marriage for a week'' Harry sighed ''I have never been so sad''

''She made me do that'' Ginny shrugged. ''That dress really made me beautiful. I hate you for tearing it up'' She slapped her husband on the back, who was laughing against her warm skin.

''You didn't look angry when I did that. In fact, I remember you groaned a lot. We had complaints from neighbors underneath''

''Living in a building was the worst idea ever'' Harry nodded, getting back on her chest, smiling at the feeling of being at home. ''She asked me for help\ last week''

"Who?"

''Rita'' Ginny laughed ''Maybe that's why today's story, she must be mad since I refused to help her''

I don't like your kingdom keys They once belonged to me

 ''Me and you?'' Ginny spoke a little disappointed, looking at the empty room and then at the woman in front of her ''I work at the sports session, Rita''

"But I need you to help me, Chudley Cannons has this new player and .."

'' ..I won't intercept them for you, do your dirty work alone'' The blonde nodded, looking unexpectedly like a demon from those muggle movies she and Harry had been watching

''My job is not dirty, Mrs Potter, it is as worthy as yours'' Ginny laughed, staring at her with an even worrying calm, seeing that lying red face in front of her ''We should unite here, be solidary with the other.''

''A job that consists of being invasive in the lives of others and making up lies, is not a worthy job, Mrs. Skeeter'' The last name looked like poison on her lips ''The last time I helped you, my name ended up in a not so friendly story about a naked photo of me that they had taken and were trying to sell around ... It seems that you didn't think much about the 'female sorority' before launching the article defaming me''

''I don't invent anything'' Ginny nodded sarcastically, turning away and heading back to her work area

''I'm sure not ... But thank me Rita, for not writing gossip'' Then she looked over her shoulder, still seeing her standing there ''I would have great topics to comment on''

 You asked me for a place to sleep Locked me out and threw a feast (what?)

 ''I think they're going to fire her ... Beau has also been walking the tightrope for the past few days'' She dropped the newspaper, lying on the bed and coming face to face with Harry, rubbing his face and sighing tiredly ''Not that I care, it's just Karma''

''Definitely'' The husband kissed the tip of her nose, then the cheeks, until he reached her mouth, smiling and winking still a little sleepy ''The guy who sold the photos is still in prison. I went to Askaban yesterday and saw him, he looked a little crazy and upset when he saw me. The guards say he started having nightmares about me killing him.''

''Urgh, can't this family stay away from the drama for even a second? If Beau listens, you can be sure that tomorrow is the first page dedicated to that. "Harry Potter, the savior of the wizarding world or a torturer of defenseless poor people?"

''He's definitely not a helpless poor. And he's lucky that I didn't find him, because I would have left him with more damage than just a cut on his shoulder'' The green eyes darkened, and Ginny knew he wasn't horny ''They treated him so lovingly I even thought they would give him they own bed for him to spend the night ... While you can't leave the house for a week!''

''It's an unfair world, babe'' And as if that still didn't torment her, Ginny kissed her husband, relieved by the feeling that ran through her, as if the tension had evaporated away and only the two existed

 The world moves on, another day, another drama, drama But not for me, not for me, all I think about is karma

 ''But I have you, my great savior'' She kissed him again, less deeply this time ''Some guys told me I deserved it ... You know, for whatever shit they believe I did. Michael met me on the street and said it was just me reaping what I planted.'' Harry rolled his eyes, sighing and seeming to control any instinct to leave their bed and go after each one

''I hate them so much'' Ginny nodded ''Last week a trainee made a joke about your poster is on the bedroom wall, facing the bed. I don't think he wanted me to hear'' His wife laughed, throwing her head back and happy that he could break the tension ''I'm serious, he affected having seen death''

 '' ..I leave it facing my bed, because you know, don't you? Lonely nights and everything'' Harry took a deep breath, already being spotted by the freshman's other colleague, who was as white as paper looking over the boy's head, his eyes wide.

''If you continue like this, only what you will have will be lonely nights'' Then his malicious laugh stopped, and Harry even doubted that his breath was gone.

''Erm .. Sorry, Har ... Mr Potter'' The boy turned around, looking much more like one of their children when they were caught tampering with something where it shouldn't have been, not as an auror in training.

''Not that you should apologize to me, it wasn't my ass that you were using as an aid to wanking ... But hopefully next time, it will appear in your mind and leave it soft enough to not want to play for a week'''

 And then the world moves on, but one thing's for sure

Maybe I got mine, but you'll all get yours

''He's still not looking me in the eye'' Ginny was still laughing, trying to contain the noise so as not to wake her children but looking almost impossible

''I really hope he saw your ass instead of mine .. Not that yours is ugly, I love her'' She kissed the tip of his nose, reaching down to squeeze the naked flesh ''All round and perfect'' Another kiss

''But it wasn't the one he wanted to see'' Ginny nodded, letting her be hugged ''I'm sorry for all this meddling''

''You don't have to apologize for anything, they're the ones who are fucking invasive. I accepted that life back in my fifth year, when you kissed me, and it wouldn't change a single point of my decisions '' The two looked at each other, Harry looking much more naked than he really was, blinking those beautiful green eyes in her direction, with a slight smile on his face

''I love you ... even if you are just here to steal my fortune, or if you are looking to get away with someone else ... ''

"... Or that I'm keeping you under the Love Potion?" Harry laughed, nodding

''Yes, I still love you so much'' Ginny smiled, even after all these years, still blushing shyly

''You look so romantic after I fuck you good'' He shrugged

"That's what they say ... But they say a lot, they already said they couldn't trust me when I was only 15 years old."

'' ..And today they use your opinion as a guide'' Ginny reminded him ''They always seem so sorry when you talk about the war'' Not that Harry talked much, but there was always a lecture here or there, and rather intrusive questions on the anniversary that marked the end. ''Rita always seems sorry about that time, but I never know if it is because we discovered her cover or just because there is a little humanity in her ... Anyway, I don't trust her at all. Not that she trusts me too much, of course. ''

I don't trust nobody and nobody trusts me

I'll be the actress starring in your bad dreams

Harry laughed softly, running his fingers over her cheek and outlining his wife's face, as if he wanted to frame her to never forget. Ginny took a hand on her cheek, kissing the scar he had acquired in the fifth year, as if to prove that they were there now. Better. Alive

''The date is coming ... What will they all write this time?'' Ginny shrugged, interlacing her fingers with his and approaching her husband, wrapping her bare leg around his waist

"Some shit that will make somebody cry and say 'he was just a kid!' while they congratulate you and frighten our children'' Our children, it was one of the things he would never tire of listening to. Harry chuckled, relaxing against her, laying his head back in the middle of her soft breasts, being surrounded by that heady scent that he would never get sick of.

''Isn't it crazy to think that Teddy is already so big? We're getting old ''

''Oh, don't say that too loud, magazines love to remind us of that. Last week a magazine said I should cut my hair again to 'look younger'.'' Harry laughed, running his fingers over the red strands that were on the pillow, not as long as when they were teenagers, but not as small as when she was played, but still incredibly beautiful.

''We're not the same anymore, are we?'' She doesn't need to ask what exactly he was talking about. The war had changed everyone, but Ginny and Harry would never be forgotten about their changes, even if she cut her hair and he let his hair grow, there would always be a gossip magazine reminding them who they once were. Students leading a movement against the Ministry, teenagers having to deal with things that not even an adult would handle well, among thousands more.

''It would be impossible to be'' She smiled a little colorless, before her maternal instinct warned her ''James woke up.'' And the alone and comfortable moment was over, the two of them picked up their fallen pajamas by the bed and they dressed at impressive speed, much faster and more prepared than when they were young and didn't want to be caught by Molly. Her mother was much more understandable than a 7-year-old son, under locked doors

They would never be the same again.

I'm sorry, the old Taylor can't come to the phone right now

Why?

Oh, 'cause she's dead! 

 ''Good morning, mate'' Harry unlocked the door when the little one knocked, waving him to come to bed with them, as he knew it was his wish

''Morning'' he murmured sleepily, still looking sleepy, scratching his brown eyes and crawling on the sheets to stay in the middle, laying his head on his mother's chest like a baby, before going back to sleep calmly. Ginny kissed his slightly sweaty hair and hugged the small body that was now glued to hers.

''How long until the other two come too?'' She whispered, laughing softly as ahe tried to hear if there was noise from the other rooms as well.

''A few minutes'' Harry didn't look sad ''We can still run away ... We took them all and we were gone for a week'' Ginny laughed, denying and using her free hand to ruffle her husband's hair

''You could never do that'' She unmasked him ''But we can get away after an interview, I know the kids will love it ... ''

 [...]

When the day came, there were, as always, reporters, cameras and people everywhere. It seemed that they never got tired of questioning every morbid detail of what the trio had been through in those years at Hogwarts.

But before the second interview started, Harry simply apparated with his whole family out, leaving everyone gaping when the six Potter (because Teddy would always be a Potter) simply disappeared, waving to the journalists before landing at the beach house of them, not far from London, but hidden enough that no one could find them.

"Tomorrow this will be on the cover of magazines" And it was.

''I do not care. They forced me to do this.. Ask about all the shit I went through? I do not care. Tease the kids?'' He waved to the kids running from Teddy who claimed to be a monster, laughing and screaming loudly, looking a lot less tense than they did a few minutes ago, when five journalists surrounded they to ask questions. ''I don't accept'' Harry would never let them take away their peace.

 ''Harry Potter, the wizard who saved the world or just a man in need of attention?

Harry Potter, 32, First Order of Merlin, Chief of Aurors, attended the Annual Anniversary Meeting of the End of the Second Witch War, with his wife Ginny Potter, his sons James, Albus and Lily Potter, as well as his godson Edward Lupin (known like Teddy). After the first interview (see more on page 15) the wizard who saved the world looked irritated when some questions started to be asked, and simply apparated the whole family out.

What does the editor of this newspaper think of this? Of two things, one; does the wizard who saved the world need attention and need his name back in the tabloids, or is it just a way to make everyone forget the possible betrayal he committed (see more on page 18) last Friday? ''

Look what you made me do

[straight-outta-kaer-morhen]

Silver & Scars <Chapter 3>

This is the fluffiest thing I’ve ever written. I guess I was in some type of mood this week? Anyways, maybe Eskel is too playful in this? Might be a bit out of character? Idk let me know what you guys think!

Chapter 3: The Drowner Contract

"Let's talk about my reward." Her lips were pulled into a coy smile. 

Eskel attempted to keep his grin at bay. It was clear she knew how Witchers worked, and found amusement in teasing him. He stepped closer to her, leaning down, his voice husky against her ear, "and what kind of reward do you seek?" 

Amber eyes watched her body involuntarily shudder. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, "a book." She breathed. "I can't seem to find a copy in Vizima." She explained. "If you ever find a copy during your travels, all I ask is that you bring it to me when you get the chance."

Eskel pulled away, surprised at the simple request, "and if I can't find it?" 

She just shrugged as she grabbed the kettle from the fire, "every year that you come back without it you'll have to spend the day with me, doing whatever I want." 

The (petite/lean/curvy) sorceress was cunning. Pulling him back to her doorstep with an innocent promise. Eskel couldn’t deny the attraction he felt for the woman, and a possible friendship with her warmed his heart. He could only imagine what kind of hoops the woman would have him jump through, but he found himself eager to please her. “Deal.”

She stuck out her small hand for him to shake, an amused smile pulled at his lips. All of his contracts refused to touch him on the account they believed him to be a monster, but here was a woman who appeared as a delicate flower standing before him eagerly waiting for the transaction to be sealed. He took her hand, and was surprised to find a firm grip. 

“Negotiating is quite the thrill.” She commented. “I think I would make a wonderful Witcher.” She teased as she turned to pour two cups of tea. 

A laugh bubbled inside Eskel’s chest, “Perhaps Vesemir will take on another trainee.” 

“Is Vesemir the head of your school?” (Y/N) inquired, leading him to two chairs in front of the fire. 

“Yes, he trained Geralt and I.” Eskel said, taking a seat across from the sorceress. 

“Geralt?”

“We grew up together. He’s like a brother to me.” Eskel explained. 

“I had brothers,” the (h/c) mused. “A long time ago.” She added.

They spent the better part of the evening in each other’s company. Neither one wanted to admit they were tired. The comfortable conversation the two had conjured was magical. Both feared that if  either stepped away it would break the chemistry the two shared. 

It was Eskel who suggested sleep when he noticed the sorceress’s drooping eyes. She had stubbornly refused, and Eskel found himself carrying the (petite/lean/curvy) woman to bed after she fell asleep in her chair. 

*

**

*

The pair had made their way to the docks early the next morning. Eskel shouldn’t have been surprised when the sorceress suggested teleporting to the swamp. The thought of teleportation made him uneasy inside. “The ferryman isn’t too expensive.” 

She thought of teasing the man, but hesitated seeing the genuine unease in his feline eyes. “I trust you to help me ashore if the boat sinks.”

“You can’t swim?” Eskel raised his brows in surprise.

“Oh I can swim...just not very good.” She admitted gazing into the dark water. 

The sun was just cresting  the hill when the two climbed into the boat. Y/N was seated across from the Witcher as the ferryman guided the rickety vessel through the water. The trip was silent, except the gentle waves that lapped the side of the boat.  

When they finally stepped onto the spongy earth of the swamps, Eskel paid the ferryman. The sorceress had occupied herself with collecting some fools parsley. Eskel was silent to approach her. He took the opportunity to bask in candid moments of the sorceress’s life. The small facial expressions she made, or the ease in which she did most things brought a warmth to the Witcher he couldn’t quite comprehend. The simple, silver embroidered tunic she wore was practical, as were the worn black boots and cloth pants. 

He’d expected an extravagant outfit when she’d met him at the foot of the stairs this morning. Yennefer and Triss always seemed to be adorning the latest fashion whenever they had wintered at Kaer Morhen, so he’d assumed she would do the same. Perhaps his knowledge of sorceresses was lacking. 

(Y/N) glanced up at him, with a soft smile. “Are you ready?” She stood up before he could reply, tucking the herbs into a pouch that hung from her belt. 

They picked their way through the swamp. The sorceress took care to avoid the many bogs that were disguised as shallow puddles. Having learned the hard way the sorceress now knew better. 

The trip through the swamp was a little slower then Eskel was used to, but in no way unpleasant. The sorceress’s legs were much shorter than his, so he understood. She managed to fill the time speaking about various books she’d recently read. Occasionally when the conversation died down, Eskel could hear her singing under her breath. 

It was around noon when the sorceress came to a stop. “It’s just over that hill.” She said, gesturing to a steeply sloping mound. A few trees were scattered along the hill, and a few patches of long stemmed grass. The mud that coated the mound would make it difficult to climb.

“Do you have a plan, or are we just going for it?” The (petite/curvy/lean) woman inquired. 

Eskel looked surprised, “you want to help?” 

A huff escaped her pout, “I didn’t trek miles into these swamps to not get my hands dirty.” She said tossing her (h/c) hair behind her shoulder. “Besides, someone has to watch your back Witcher.”

The stubborn, feisty streak that came out occasionally in the sorceress had Eskel feeling things he hadn’t felt since he was a boy. He thought he became immune to crushes long ago, but this (e/c) eyed beauty was determined to prove him wrong. “Kill as many as you can.” Was Eskel’s only comment as he began wading through the swamp to scale the slippery hill.

The sorceress was quick to follow. They crested the hill both covered in mud. There was little either could have done to avoid the muck. Eskel was about to pour some oil on his blade when a yelp escaped the sorceress. His eyes snapped up in time to see the ground give way beneath her feet. 

She was helplessly sliding down the muddy slope towards the drowners nest. There was no purchase for her to grab onto. Electricity crackled at her fingertips, she’d decided her best option would be to prepare for a fight. The drowners had come running for her as soon as they heard the sound of earth moving. She threw a bolt of lightning at the closest drowner. The air grew hot and heavy from the electric currents in the air. Thunder rumbled in the sky as she pulled a bolt down from the sky.

Eskel was surprised to see the sorceress managing so well. He felt a raindrop on his forearm. As soon as a crack of lightning came down on a drowner, the skies opened up and sheets of rain came falling down. Eskel slid down the hill on the soles of his boots. His left hand behind him kept him balanced. He threw out igni at the first drowner he came across. Quickly lopping its head off. 

He soon found himself fighting next to the sorceress. Her sopping clothes clung to her skin, and something behind her eyes crackled with life. “You look magnificent.” Eskel commented signing Igni at a group of drowners.

A chuckle escaped her as she brought down another strike of lightning, “you’re rather impressive yourself.” 

With a final stroke of his sword the drowners were dispatched. The two made their way over to the nest. Eskel lit a grape shot tossing it into the middle of the nest. “Back up.” Eskel said instinctively, grabbing her hand pulling her away from the nest straight into his arms. 

He could feel the energy still crackling under her skin, and her eyes had turned smoldering as he tilted her chin up to him. He leaned down, hesitating a moment, but she stood on her tiptoes to guide him to her lips. 

Her lips were cold from the rain, but he was pleasantly surprised at how passionately she kissed. Any doubts or insecurities he may have had were put to rest. There wasn’t a thing she’d rather be doing, as she took her time exploring his mouth. 

The snap of a twig was all he heard. Eskel quickly shoved the sorceress behind him, his silver blade already in his hand. A bloedzuiger has emerged from the murky pool. The sound of the grapeshot going off had drawn the monster to them. 

“Run.” Eskel said flatly, backing up from the monster keeping the sorceress behind him. By the Witcher’s tone she did not hesitate to obey. She scrambled up the hill, out of the Witcher’s way. She’d never come across this type of monster in the swamp and had no knowledge of what the monster was capable of.

It looked terrifying; sharp teeth ringed its mouth, and long needle claws swiped at Eskel. The dark haired Witcher was quick on his feet. Using igni and his silver blade in unison. The way he dodged, and striked looked like a dance to the (short/moderate/tall) woman. 

Eskel’s silver blade sank deep into the monster’s flesh. It appeared that the fight was over. In the blink of an eye the monster exploded into a mist of lizard green acid. “Eskel!” The sorceress cried, slipping down the muddy slope, running as fast as her legs could carry her. 

She found him laying face down in the mud. She fell to her knees to check for any signs of life when two strong arms shot out wrapping around her waist, pulling her down into the mud with him. She let out a startled squeak, as he rolled on top of her planting a kiss right on her lips. He broke the kiss as chuckles rumbled through his body. Dark hair tickled her cheeks as she peered up at his feline eyes. 

“I cannot believe you!” She cried. “Making me think you were dead, and then basting me in mud.” She propped herself up on her elbows, “don’t think your boyish charm is going to get you out of this on-“ he cut her off with his lips. 

Her mind went blank at the feel of his full lips. The unabashed kisses came as a bit of a shock to the sorceress. He’d been so guarded the first time they met, and one kiss was all it took for the man to open up. The kiss was over too quickly, “please let me teleport us to a bathtub.” The sorceress muttered inspecting her mud soaked clothes. 

Eskel chuckled, pulling her to her feet, “you’ll get used to it.” 

Y/N rolled her eyes, “I take that as a no to the teleportation to a bath.” 

“No to the teleportation.” He said, leaning closer to murmur in her ear, “I never said no to the bath.” 

The sorceress turned red as she watched the departing Witcher. She knew he had a smug look on his face. He knew exactly how to push her buttons. “You coming?” He asked turning, walking backwards a few steps waiting for her to catch up. 

“You’re helping me up this hill.” She stated, as he graciously held out his hand to pull her up the steep slope. 

The trek back through the swamp was slower than before. The sorceress was miserable in her wet boots, and she could tell the Witcher was fairing the same. 

Twilight had hit when the two finally reached Y/N’s home. “I’ll heat up the water.” Y/N said walking up the stairs. Eskel followed a bit slower taking in the various artwork that hung on the wall. Y/N had already stripped herself of her boots when Eskel leaned against the wooden bathing screen. “Rose hip, or lemon verbena?” She inquired, studying two glass bottles. “Lemon.” She muttered to herself pouring a generous amount in the empty tub. 

“Would you fill the tub?” She inquired, as she grabbed some more soap. The cauldron was awkward, as Eskel poured the water in the tub. He placed the empty cauldron over the fire where it hung. Y/N had started to undress when Eskel brushed her hair aside, his voice husky in her ear, “allow me.”

Tag List:

@mishafaye @nvmnd @rebellicorne

[notoriousjae]

Love is a Little Box (For Home to Lay Inside) || Edeleth Fanfic (2/?)

Chapter Title: A Box

Pairing: Byleth Eisner (F)/ Edelgard von Hresvelg

Rating: M

Chapter Description:

Where does Byleth put a person like Edelgard? How does Byleth hold her as she walks from camp to camp so that she doesn’t get lost in a bog--in this dirty pit of mud and dried blood and fire and rain and ash and felled trees and lost men and fathers and siblings and goddesses?--where does Byleth hold her, so that Byleth doesn’t lose her? So that Edelgard can be planted, someday so that El can grow, instead?

Chapter 1 | AO3 | Tumblr |

Chapter 2 (Current) | AO3 | Below :

When Byleth was as tall as Jeralt’s knees, he’d made her a box. A rough, inelegantly-shaped thing that had far more charm than actual craftsmanship--fashioned by the well-stroped edge of a hunter’s knife, but never sanded. It was heavy, made from the thick of a tree trunk, and it took many moons for her to realize how to carry it properly without stumbling, small stature determined to mount its hefty weight regardless of the quiet snickering behind her. 

And the rallying cries once she learned how to hop over trees with its weight strapped to her back, buried in the thick scrunched black of a makeshift bag.

Byleth knew she was as tall as Jeralt's knees, exactly, because she was always beside them. She didn’t stretch upwards like other children did, spindly arms and stubby fingertips curving like anxious trees reaching for the sun--not that she had seen many children outside of their rare trips to towns for contracts, but this is what they looked like to her. Like small little shrubs, stiff and hobbled and stout. Dependent and unable to move their legs upon their own. Byleth didn’t have the words to voice such thoughts as a child, or the complexity to place them, but she had the distaste all the same, like a weight someone else carried along with her. Something in her knew how to walk, it just had to learn again, and one day she simply did. And when she learned, oddly slim fingertips calmly swung by hips as she charted a path beside Jeralt; she never remembered stumbling or crawling--didn’t remember much, really, at all--but she does remember walking. 

A lot of walking.

If Byleth had crawled, it hadn’t been for long.

Jeralt’s callouses were rough when he would reach down to help her over a prickly log full of sharp splinters and edges or from getting feet tangled about vines as they traversed through the bogs West of Lake Teutales. Sometimes she would sink down to her knees in the mud and muck and then she was as high as the edge of his boots, no higher, and his laugh would ring through the bogs. 

But he would...bend down and hold her, then, when she would fall. 

His arms were warm and strong and he never stumbled, carrying her, until she learned not to sink into the mud, too, and he wouldn’t carry her, anymore.

He never carried her, again.

(But one day Edelgard did). 

Byleth isn’t certain of how many moons passed, but Jeralt fashioned a box out of one of those trees from Teutales. 

Gotta exact revenge, kid!-- rumbling and rousing and full of life and scratches like a match catching along a board.

Yes, it’s when she was as high as his knees that she started remembering the most. They would spend their mornings walking and afternoons hunting, his hands firm on her back to straighten them until her fingers didn’t quiver about a bow’s edge, and she would scout far ahead for them, at times, before returning to the crackling rustle of a fire. Some of the men in the company would show her how to fight other ways, when she was as tall as their knees. With their fists and their axes and their lances and the glowing brush of fire from their fingertips, all of their palms scarred and full of puckered flesh, flies buzzing about heads in the only way Byleth knew flies to be: swarming and ever-present. 

And Jeralt would sit to the side and drink and laugh and tell stories as his knife buried into the trunk of a tree that had felled the Ashen squirt . 

Byleth used to pick up branches and stones and twigs, curious how they felt beneath her fingertips, staring at them for a time until Jeralt would call her over to him, wondering what she was doing. He would give her a quizzical look and she would stare, unblinking, and most days he would sigh and leave it at that...until one day when he called her over to him he knelt down, as well. She was a little taller, then, but not quite as tall as his hips. Maybe as tall as his belt, satchel hanging slightly lower than the rest of him.

You’ve been carrying all this stuff around with you, kid. 

Byleth simply stared, watching as Jeralt’s cut hand curved around the back of his stiff neck, the man not minding the bandage, wounded from a bandit’s lance mere hours before. Some of the men around the fire cried about wounds when no one else could see them, but Jeralt never did. Neither did Byleth. 

One of the men (Abner) claimed Jeralt was her father--said it so obviously--and Byleth had guessed it must have been so, if neither of them cried at things people were supposed to cry about.

The bandit's lance killed Matias, who had taught Byleth how to garden many suns before. Their lance pierced straight through Matias’ thick neck (so thick that Byleth would wrap her arms around it when Matias would carry her in the woods to see up into the highest trees and watch the highest birds and see the highest clouds) speckling Byleth’s face with dried flecks of red that glowed underneath their campfire in the nighttime air, moist and boggy from the swamps surrounding their band of men that was smaller, now, by one. Byleth had snapped the bandit’s lance in half with her small boot like Jeralt had taught her and pulled it out of Matias’ still neck before plunging it through the bandit’s eye, straight into Jeralt’s hand, who had moved to pull the bandit back by his head away from Byleth and Matias’ slump, lifeless form.

Maybe too quickly, Byleth always thought in retrospect. Frantically, without paying attention. It was unlike Jeralt to be frantic about anything, at all.

And Byleth remembers that night well.

She blinked and watched the fire engulfing the nearby tavern light up an emotion she wouldn’t understand until Edelgard --until Byleth was taller than Jeralt would ever be, a full man under the ground, far below her.

Where Byleth can’t reach down to help him, above the roots and the trees and the bogs, because he fell too far into them, and she wasn't quick enough to reach out her hand to help him.

She hadn’t meant to hurt him when she was a child, but he was more careful offering her his hand as they walked through the bog, that night. It was clear Byleth could carry herself over her own branches, now that she was almost as tall as his hips.

She took it as acceptance. It was the way things were. She didn't have a word for it and didn't know what fear was, but she noted that look in all of the men's eyes. That same look Byleth would see underneath the silver gleam of a sword and a golden crack of a Creator and in violet eyes, trembling, when the whole world was surrounded in quaking, engulfing fire. 

Matias wasn't there, but Abner was, who taught her how to lift an axe high up in her palms despite the weapon being larger than her--the same skill she would see in an Emperor, someday, a world hefted on shoulders too slim to bear it. He didn't lift her into branches and skies, but he did clap her shoulder with a gusting laugh through his beard and told her she was one of them, now.

So she wouldn't be held from the vines or the trees or the stumbling. And she wouldn't be lifted up in the air, and she wouldn't lose the things they'd shown her. 

And Jeralt still knelt in front of her, that night, knee scratching along the dirt.

You’ve been carrying all this stuff around, kid . 

The bandage glowed like the specks of blood on Byleth’s cheek--a fact she only knew because she could see herself in his ale, reflection full of dirt and grime. Blood dried a little brown. She knew that color because it was the color of Jeralt’s boots and dirt and the tree branch, splintered and broken, that Jeralt was holding in his unwounded hand. ‘ Why? You know it’s just gonna be harder to move from camp to camp, right?’

Byleth carefully reached up to run fingers over the branch.

‘Not gonna tell me, huh?’ She remembers him saying, smile tired and slim and she watched the way the fire licked up his cheek like an overzealous pegasus. It was different, now, than it had been the night before--and different, now, than it had been a few hours prior, in front of Matias--and different, now, for the rest of time, even though she would never have the chance to ask why, because she hadn’t known it was a question. She never asked Jeralt why things were so different when she killed a man that killed a man that was going to kill her--

Why, when that was all she knew how to do?

What was so different about not having a heart beat?

Her small head barely tilted to the side, curious, instead. There were no questions.

‘ Guess you’ve never really talked, have you? I know you understand me, but--’

‘Matias said seeds grow when you plant them .’

Byleth offered, quiet and voice as calm as her eyes--as calm as the unmoving ale in Jeralt’s cup. He blinked. And he laughed, a little, this gruff, rasping noise, and he watched her. Byleth doesn’t remember if she ever spoke, before this, but it didn’t really matter to remember, and she still isn’t sure why this would matter, at all.

Why do people remember things, when they’ve already happened? Why do people feel things, when the feelings will change and go? 

‘Yeah, I guess so, huh?’ He looked down at the branch and held it up to her, dirt and blood from his fingertips caking the small branch as Byleth carefully raised it up to the light. ‘ Is that why you’re hiding all this stuff? Carrying it around? To, uh...plant it? You know they're not seeds, right?’

Byleth was quiet underneath the campfire, silence of the night settling around her shoulders like a dream. All she remembers about that next moment is lost in time--a picture of Jeralt smiling in the fire. She doesn’t remember what he did, or what he really said, or how he looked other than that smile. And that branch. 

And him pulling up a box from behind his back, something he’d spent a long time whittling away like time and ale and laughter, at night. 

Byleth doesn’t think she answered his question--doesn’t know if it matters--doesn’t know if he might hear her, now, as she stares up at the night sky, stars speckled around her like paint, Ferdinand’s tent open and him slumped next to her, faintly sleeping, never one to be outdone, even by his teacher. 

Their own campfire lighting up the darkest parts of the sky. 

She'll tell him in the morning that he did a valiant job keeping watch. Ferdinand does better with praise than critique--he isn't Edelgard.

Keep them in this, kid . Keep ‘em safe. Can’t plant anything if you don’t keep it safe, huh?

There's that memory--that smile. If she described it to Edelgard, could she paint it? Could Edelgard paint Jeralt like Edelgard had painted her? 

Little Byleth had opened the box and dropped a small little rock Jeralt had skipped across a bog the day before, inside, where Matias had picked it up with a hearty laugh and a jest about the bladebreaker’s mighty throw. 

The fire filled smoke into the heavy air.

A little girl had sleepily dropped her chin to a shoulder that barely rose to below Jeralt’s belt, then, in the still of night, warmth and wind tucking up both of their fingers as they skimmed along the wooden, rough edges of the crafted safe.

Feeling it for the first time.

Voice so very, very tired--

How can lost things be found if you can’t grow them, again? With a rock or a tree or a coin or a heart? If you plant trinkets like seeds in the soil--if you put these special, precious things in a box--will they stay safe until they grow? Will they stay safe until they matter? Will they stay safe until a child can be a tree and a person made of trees might be a child? Curious. So curious

What is a heart, anyways ? Sothis had wondered, gliding over the box Byleth kept by her bedside, what she’d learned to be years and years later, examinations graded and stacked next to it, ethereal, ephemeral palms drifting over the scratched wood of a branch they’d once tripped upon.

The one that felled the Ashen Demon.

Byleth didn’t respond to Sothis, she had merely opened the box and slid Edelgard’s birthday letter inside.

Byleth looks down at the letter in her hands, now, thumbs running along the wrinkling edges like a map--a place she can see without reading the words other people have taken the time to claim--and folds it neatly before sliding it into the hilt by her hip, a dagger forged of Adrestrian steel tucked safely inside. 

She watches the stars and remembers the ones Jeralt claimed were watching her back and wonders if he's one of them, looking down. Ready.

The hand she wounded held out, waiting for her to join him.

--

Red Wolf Moon, 1187. 

"Byleth--" The moon has settled on Edelgard's skin with such a fine glow that she brightens the whole room, herself, calm smile settled above them. Dorothea writes Byleth long letters from Brigid frequently, rarely satisfied with her short responses, and one of them had included a manuscript for a play about a woman that had become the moon in order to bastion her forces of wolves in the West (and ultimately thwart the Tyrannical Church). Byleth's critique came from reading thousands of manuscripts, over the years, but her resounding thought was simple:

'It reminds me of Edelgard.'

And she could hear Dorothea's laugh like the curling scent of her perfume along the parchment that returned backwards, the letter long but ultimately presented with a much lengthier assessment of a simple sentence:

'Of course it does.' But her P.S. was what lingered on Byleth's mind: 'That is a little funny, though, since she happened to tell me that it reminded her of you. Isn't it?'

"Come in."

It's not uncommon for Byleth to visit Edelgard's chambers after dark but it's never truly been uncommon, at all. The rumors had spread long ago over what exactly an ex-professor and Emperor were doing, but she hadn't paid them any mind. People would talk. They had from the time she was a teacher to the time Edelgard was an Emperor, and would talk far after both of them were gone.

(Hubert, on the other hand, had absolutely no problem looking at his old professor and dryly sighing, long-winded and barely sustaining her presence, or so he would want her to believe, ‘ you do know what they all think you’re doing in there, don’t you?’ the impassive look that followed rivaling his old professor's. She’d merely shrugged at this exact encounter in response before simply continuing down the hall, one night, prior to the early morning sun breaking the clouds. 

‘ I suppose her Majesty... does sleep better with your visits.’ Hummed to himself days later, petting the point of a chin and looking thoughtful over Byleth’s use. Although he seemed utterly uninterested in the fact that Byleth was, in fact, sitting across from him in the dining hall, commotion hiding the internal debate he was turning from soliloquy to monologue, ‘ And she does require sleep in order to fulfill her duties. Fine. I don’t see the point in curtailing your visits. For now . But be warned, I will dispose of you, Professor.’ At least he was learning to be blunt. It made Byleth smile, just a tad.

Shamir, who had begrudgingly joined them at Byleth's behest, gave her the look a fellow mercenary understood all too well as she slurped up a noodle with deadly efficiency: 

You're not paying me enough for this )

Initially it was...not innocent --what would the word be for intent that feels selfish in time? Despite the consequences, or stakes. Would...conversations be innocent, when both Byleth and Edelgard knew fully well what they were doing? Occasionally conversations that ran long into the night--and sometimes no conversation, at all, finding a few small moments in each other’s company that they could only steal in the shadows, like most things in their lives for the time being. Their encounters during the day were usually cut short, after all, and the only thing that might cut night short was the sharp knife of the sun slitting across the sky.

And Byleth would listen to Edelgard talk openly about the things in those shadows that she couldn’t in the light of day, without anyone’s ears but her own to listen--what they’ve done since Byleth returned from a dream to a war, to Edelgard. And Edelgard would ask her...questions and trace Byleth’s scars like she’s plotting a map, each week carefully stripping another layer of clothing off of her frame, growing bolder and bolder as she settled into Byleth’s arms, wrapping comfortably around her back. And sometimes, there were no words, at all, simply Byleth or Edelgard’s knock upon a door and lips and warmth and tangling fingers until the sun might rise.

It’s nothing compared to the rumors.

(But there’s nothing compared to kissing Edelgard, anyways.)

And it's clear it would be more than just kissing Edelgard...but they haven’t found the time for the extraordinarily passionate and physically impossible sex Anna at the gates has been recalling they had to the Gatekeeper, either. A fact bluntly recalled to the Emperor herself over tea weeks prior, to an amused, stifled laugh, hidden behind that slim, elegant glove.

'She said we did what in the stables? I'm not Sylvain.'

'I also don't think you're that flexible.' Byleth's head tips to the side, brows barely knitting as eyes track up and down, lips barely pursing as she tries, for a moment, to imagine it. That heat of another kind flooding her chest and her clenching stomach and her eyes. 'I don't think anyone is.'

The same heat, it seems, that floods Edelgard's cheeks, however dark her eyes seem. Have they always been that shade of amethyst, swirling and swirling like dark magic in a palm, beautiful and powerful and so vigilant, from its shadows? 

'You forget, My Teacher,' Red gauntlets smooth out the elegant cloth along the table prior to standing, voice calm and confident despite that blush, 'That I've always risen to any challenge you've ever issued.' 

'That is true, Edelgard.'

Byleth spends this evening tasting the noise Edelgard makes when she feels a quick heartbeat beneath a flattening tongue, fingertips curling almost reflexively into hips as a ring catches in blue hair, hidden beneath the bleachers of the arena of Garreg Mach, tangled on the rumpled bed of a cloak to the moonlight sifting through splintered wooden beams. 

They wind up having to tactically disengage and ultimately retreat when two cadets stumble unknowingly near targets in the fog, Edelgard nearly getting her crown lodged in the wood in their haste to leave. 

'They should be focused on their studies--' Edelgard had yanked Byleth into the coliseum changing room to fix an askew shirt, hastily tugged back on, and Byleth curiously plucks a piece of wood shaving off of the edge of a horn. That smooth voice is far more amused than serious, the air still warming their cheeks. 

'They looked focused.' Byleth's head tips and El laughs, quiet, both of them looking far more presentable the second time the same cadets nearly stumble into them, both of them disheveled and panting, wide-eyed, backing up through the large stadium doors.

Clearly Byleth needs to have another lesson on paying attention to surroundings.

'I think we lost 'em, Lydia--'

'I don't think Professor Manuela was looking for us. I mean, did you see how far her tongue was down that guy's--'

Edelgard clears her throat, calm and regal, gloved hand curled over lips doing an impressive job of hiding the hint of a smile Byleth can see behind fingertips.

The cadets turn to stare in abject horror. 

'P-professor--' And then, further, deeper horror, 'Emperor Edelgard--we--'

'I--'

Byleth has learned, as a Professor, that excuses can be...elaborate. There's something involving a missing earring when ears aren't pierced--a scarf when it's warm out--

'Oof!'

Manuela and--is that the secretary to the Almyran Ambassador?--stumble into the cadets that had stumbled into the door, jostling them and nearly knocking them over.

'Professor! Edelgard!' Manuela chirps, a little too lively and likely tipsy, the Ambassador's shirt half undone. He's toned in a way Byleth is certain Manuela will recall in vivid detail for the next week regardless of the fact that Byleth has seen him and didn't ask for any details. 'Out for a late night stroll?'

'Something like that.' Edelgard offers, 'Unless any of you would like the opportunity to spar us, instead?' Byleth wryly smiles as everyone stammers out excuses before scrambling back the way they came, Emperor humming to an empty room as she twines their fingers and guides Byleth much, much closer-- 

'That's not going to help the rumors.' It's a little amused, murmuring against lips that she feels spread upwards.

'Good.'

In this--in their own secrets and shadows--neither one of them has anyone else to answer for, after all. 

Edelgard, herself, had poked fun at it several times with blushing cheeks and a smile that grows easier by the day, despite the war that holds down her shoulders yalm by yalm alongside. 

‘This must look like such a scandal. They all probably think you’re my concubine.’

‘I’m not?’ Byleth’s head tilts to the side, not really certain about the terminology regarding sovereign love interests, and Edelgard’s fond slap of her shoulder is quick enough to tell her she thinks she’s joking. The taller of the two is settled with her back against the wall, cool against the bindings she’d sustained from a broken rib a week prior--an otherwise successful mission to the West routing bandits for Garreg Mach’s caravans.

Manuela had pointed at her colleague and told her not to laugh too hard, to which Byleth had bluntly asked if that was considered a joke, causing a rather lengthy silence to ensue before she was immediately discharged with a heavy, hungover sigh.

‘ No. ’ Firm and unamused. This stirs Byleth’s chest. Warm.

“You mean you don’t intend to marry another--”

“ No. ’ The levity falls from Edelgard’s lips, leaning back from where she’s fixing Byleth’s bandages. A noble, certainly, but the Emperor herself had seen far too many wounded to not know how to do a simple dressing. Or...at least that’s what she insisted when she claimed Byleth was doing it wrong five minutes prior, shooing hands away to have her lean up against the bed. Byleth has also seen too many wounded to not know how to do a simple dressing, but she finds she likes Edelgard doing it for her, regardless. It’s...what’s the word for it? 

Is this their version of domestic? For some reason, the thought makes Byleth feel...warm, again. 

And El always feels much calmer when she has something to do with her hands, instead of just commanding. She always has, Byleth knows.

“I told you I think it’s time tradition over nobles ends, and that includes Empiric rule by royal bloodline.’

‘I know, Edelgard.’ It's said gently-- smiling.

‘Oh.’ A beat, realization and accusation donning in equal measure: ‘You’re teasing me?’

‘Sorry.’ Those white fingers curl around Byleth's bicep and squeeze at the apology and it's this subtle nudge that makes her realize it's a sign to continue, 'You agreed to marry me, someday. I thought that conversation was…clear on both of our ends.’ 

‘Oh, good, for a second you made me think--’ A dull slap against her shoulder, again, buried in Edelgard’s laughter as Byleth skims lips over her jaw and wraps the arm not cut off by a wad of binding cloth about an Emperor’s waist, holding her close. Well, as close as she might with a broken thing in her chest that, for once, has nothing to do with a still beat, just the bone that protects it. ‘You had me worried, if only momentarily.' A sigh, 'It’s a shame that day isn’t tomorrow.’

A tomorrow without those who Slither in the Dark. 

‘I can’t wait for tomorrow.’

‘Neither can I. Now straighten up and let’s fix this mess of a bandage. You’re supposed to spar me today, Professor. I can’t get sloppy simply because you decided to brazenly cover Shamir’s volley. Quite the tale, as Alois tells it. After he single-handedly felled twelve bandits with only the hilt of his axe.’ Edelgard’s gloved hand raises up to gently cover around the wrap, leaning down to brush lips so tenderly over the top of it. Responding when she sees Byleth’s curious look, ‘You don’t want to hear the story.’

She's far too focused on that curious feeling in her chest, beating and beating and beating. 

Normally, she might ask Edelgard, but they do have places to be, this morning, and neither of them appreciate being late.

‘Okay.’

And eventually, what started as an occurrence every week slowly became every few days--and then every night, Byleth slipping out into an old student corridor in the early hours of the morning, not necessarily to dissuade the spreading rumors of Byleth’s scandalous rendezvous with the Emperor...but to strengthen them.

Or at least that’s what Hubert insisted.

A simple tactic, really. Change in some areas needed to come slow, and if Edelgard was still contemplating marrying nobility, there was a chance the Slitherers might leverage their hand early to showcase which other nations they held dominion in in an attempt to once more pull Edelgard under their control.

(Marry this Kingdom, Edelgard--)

Arundel had suggested as much many times, after all, with a pointed look to Byleth, who rarely left Edelgard’s side.

A ring is only worn openly in night and the small, sliver hours of the morning prior to being tucked safely away underneath a glove or a gauntlet for the day, similar to how Byleth would safely tuck Edelgard in her arms, under moonfall. 

One day there would be less need for deceit, but Byleth rations that at least this time she’s helping create it. 

Tonight, however, the door shuts with a quiet click as Byleth raises Edelgard’s hidden hand up to her lips, brushing along a cluster of small stones, watching the way El’s features soften in that moonlight before those bare hands reach up to pull her close, their foreheads slotting together.

Byleth feels...warm when Edelgard holds her close. 

“There are still a few letters I have to write before I can sleep,” El sighs, leaning up into her and twining their fingers before sighing once more and easing down onto bare feet, “Care to keep me company?” 

Byleth nods, sinking into the warmth of Edelgard’s lips brushing over the high rise of her cheek before she settles down onto the small mattress, watching that elegant stroke of a pen beneath candlelight across the room, book tucked in her own lap. 

These nights, with the wind whistling through a cracked window, and the moonlight covering both of them, are always...peaceful.

It isn’t long before Edelgard is gently sliding the book from fingertips and replacing parchment with herself, once-hesitant touches now full of confidence as arms wrap around Byleth’s craning neck. 

Biceps flex as they wrap around El’s waist, hefting her up into her lap on the bed. 

“One of those letters was to Dorothea.” It’s hummed in the air above Byleth’s lips, who raises waiting eyes. “Among her romanticized scandals of the guard, she made sure to include how rumors of our--” A gesture from Byleth to herself, “Recently tense relations have reached Brigid. Petra apparently laughed at the story she’d heard from her guard regaling you throwing an entire vat of cold stew in my face when I mentioned I was betrothed to a prince from another kingdom. Dorothea said it’s difficult to find herself in Petra’s shoes, as she had to have her recount the story four times in her natural tongue before understanding it. Although, knowing Dorothea, she might have just enjoyed the image of our dear professor hurtling stew in my face and wanted to hear it repeated.” 

“That is a...very specific rumor.” Byleth’s head tilts and Edelgard’s nails rake through the hair against her scalp so softly that eyelashes flutter. Byleth frowns, “I would never waste stew.” 

“I'm no longer surprised that’s your lasting impression of this, my love.” 

“It’s working, at least.” Byleth nods, thoughtful as her fingers skim beneath the hem of Edelgard’s shirt, feeling her shiver at the smallest brush of nails. “Hubert has a good mind for espionage.” Edelgard's resounding hum is nothing short of appraisal.

“And scheming.” 

“Of course.” A quiet smile, leaning upwards to sigh along Edelgard’s jaw. “I’ve debated asking him to lead a seminar on it.” 

“I’m also unsurprised that you do not sound like you’re joking.” 

“I don’t joke about education, Edelgard.” That smile spreads, just a tad. Mirth is something she’s learned here, too. 

“Oh, no, of course not, my teacher.” Nails rake against skin a little harder and blue eyes grow just a little darker, leaning up to kiss her. Slowly. Lingering, fingers pushing up underneath the hem of that shirt until it's bunched around wrists, something content and restless both aching within her at the warmth of Edelgard's skin. “I suppose I...do wish I could tell our dearest friends the truth about us.” El murmurs against parted lips, eyes half-lidded and knees tucking against Byleth’s waist. "Dorothea keeps trying to drop hints about me marrying you instead of Arundel's noble."

False rumors about this bother Edelgard more than anyone else will ever know, Byleth understands. A lifetime plagued with them, but she thinks on this for a moment.

After all, what does a rumor like this say about Edelgard, the Emperor of Fódlan who longed to do away with noble blood? What does it say about the woman who would push down her love for political prestige, similar to her father and her father’s father and her father’s father’s father, before her? What does it say about just Edelgard, not the Crimson Emperor, who loves Byleth so vehemently in the dark and longs to live a life in the light? 

Byleth cups her cheek, leaning back to meet Edelgard’s eyes fully. Watching the moonlight sink into them and light the edges like starlight.

“We will.” It's a promise--and not one Byleth makes lightly. “We can tell them tomorrow, and you know I’ll stand with you, no matter what you choose.” 

This makes El’s lips ease upwards, a rattling breath settling between them. 

“I know, my love.” 

“When we... do marry,” The word had seemed so foreign to Byleth, once, and now it spreads something warm and hot through her, like sunlight. She leans upwards, their fingers twining, palm to palm in the shadows settled in the dormitory. Is this what it’s like to be a child reaching up like a tree towards heat? Towards the sun? Maybe some things needed to be learned, not relearned--sought after. Fought for. “They’ll all be there, alive and happy for us.”  

El shifts in her lap so that her back is against Byleth’s front, those twined hands wrapping around her waist and settling along Edelgard’s stomach, like she’s showing a journey laid out for them, tracing a battle trajectory on a map.

A goddess weaving the inevitable future of time. 

She’s not as elegant with words as Edelgard, but she tries:

“Those Who Slither in the Dark will be...behind us, and so will the war. I don’t know if the people we’ve lost will be watching over us, but our allies will be. We’ll have a private ceremony, and a public one--only because you’ve said it makes sense to do both--” She doesn’t have to see it to feel Edelgard’s quiet smile stretching up into the air.

“Dorothea will say something that will make me blush and you look at her with that...adorably curious look of yours.” El’s head tips a little, free hand snaking upwards to cup the jaw barely above her shoulder as they look out the window, “And Ferdinand will give a grueling , long speech.” 

“Which will be heartfelt.” Byleth nods, “And Linhardt will act like he’s not enjoying himself.”

“Caspar will probably enjoy himself a little too much,” El grouses, thumb running over her knuckle. “I can see the guards complaining in the morning after all the drunken carnage.”

“Which I’m sure Alois will also be responsible for.”

“Oh, just imagine all of the knights Manuela will scandalize and all the polite conversations regarding crests from dear Hanneman--”

“Petra will spend the evening dancing and Ingrid will be dutiful, making sure no one causes too much commotion.”

“Maybe Mercedes will enlist Jeritza to make us a cake.”

“ You could likely get him to make a cake, El.” Byleth points out to an endlessly amused chuckle.

“Not without poisoning you.”

Byleth hums in acknowledgment. That is true. “Our allies from Abyss will lurk in the shadows. I guess...literally in Yuri and Constance's cases."

"Which is where Bernadetta will be, hiding behind Yuri. And simultaneously from him."

"Sylvain will try to sweep you off your feet one last time."

" Me?" A tutt from the woman who's watched Byleth as long as she's watched her, "Oh, my love, you're many things, but I didn't think you oblivious."

"...he did transfer to the Black Eagles solely because I was a woman."

"I'm certain your, hm…" A cleared throat, blush somehow returning even in an open dream of marriage, "...definable assets assisted in his decision making process. Mine," Insistent, "Of course, were all professional."

"Of course." Byleth nods. "If Sylvain, Ingrid, and Mercedes are there, Felix will be there, as well."

"And Leonie would never miss it."

"Neither," A smile, "Will Lysithea."

"It will be a lively night, won't it? Full of laughter and happiness. I feel we've all fought hard for that future, and earned a glimpse of it." El's eyelashes flutter and Byleth eases her back closer. Wraps tighter around her.

Feels that fluttering warmth spread up from her chest to her throat and settle everywhere Edelgard does.

"Hubert will be happy, you know.”

“...I know.” El’s thumb dips down along her knuckle and squeezes. “He likes you. He’ll never say it, but I’m certain he’s happy that I’m happy.”

“Are you, El?” It’s a curious question--serious--leaning a little back until shoulders are settled against the wall and Edelgard twists towards her like Byleth might be air she's trying to catch with her fingertips, knuckles raising to caress her cheek. And Byleth leans into her--leans into the warmth of those hands and the familiarity of that heartbeat and the settling weight of Edelgard as she shifts fully to sit in her lap, like she's holding all of that air down from the sky. "Happy."

She tastes it on her mouth and knows this word and wonders why it rasps on her own tongue--wonder why her chest feels so...tight and why Edelgard sounds so adamant when their eyes meet.

“I’m very happy, Byleth. Every day I spend with you fills me with so much joy, I’m…” A quiet, small laugh--the vulnerable side of El hidden so deep in the shadows, tied so long to a table that the scars are still visible on the flexing wrists of her voice, “...frightened I’ll wake up into a horrible nightmare without you.” 

Byleth’s brows knit, both hands raising to cup the wrists about her chin, watching the way Edelgard... holds her, ring catching moonlight and the soft sadness of that slim, hopeful smile. 

This happiness makes Byleth breathless.

And Byleth's lips part and a quiet, startling gasp comes out, like someone's fist has lodged itself in her stomach. 

“What do you feel?” El asks for her, those hands steady as they curve from knuckles to fingertips, holding Byleth here in front of her, “What do you feel right now?” 

“I…” Thumbs curve over El’s pulse and she goes through all the words she knows, and all the definitions she’s heard, and all the experiences she’s had, and shakes her head at one fight that feels insurmountable, impossible to define. What does she feel? "I don't know."

"What do you know? What are you thinking?" They've gotten good at this game.

What is she thinking? That Edelgard is beautiful, here--that she became the moonlight trapped in the sky and she's holding Byleth here before she can float away. That she--

She--

Those brows knit deeper.

What does she know?

“I want to spend my life with you. I...never want to leave your side. That's all I know. I don't...know anything else.”

It’s not as much an emotion as it is something she feels , fully.

There's no wrong or right answers, here, with Edelgard--most of this they've traversed together, like mountains lined with corpses, markers sticking from the ground--but it must mean something, because that calm expression crumbles, just a little, into something...trembling.

“My love.” El murmurs before she kisses her, deep and full and so consuming Byleth finds herself quaking beneath her, herself, even though she isn’t sure why. Breath hot against her tongue, promising into the deepest parts of her: “My life is yours to have, one day.”

"So is mine." Her voice is much lower, now, their noses brushing as Byleth shifts her closer on her hips--as she feels Edelgard arch into her, the thin shirt she'd worn despite the cold outside in anticipation of Byleth's arrival slowly charting up tensing muscles.

Edelgard always tenses--always--

And Byleth brushes lips over the dip of a neck, tasting that gasp--fingers twine in hair, pulling her close, pushing off the weight of a cloak down shoulders until warm, bare hands smooth down biceps and up shoulders until black fabric bunches in her hands--and Byleth's fingertips chart the topography of mountains and valleys and the rivers of scars and the moonlight of hips--

A quiet, startled moan as Byleth's hand skims a little lower along a clenching thigh than it usually does, leaning upwards to taste that noise, too.

"It'll be ours, Byleth." Edelgard sounds almost...desperate and embarrassed and beautiful. Vulnerable, Byleth realizes. She looks vulnerable when she tugs up Byleth's chin before it can venture down, once more, kissing her again--and again--and again until Byleth is pushing them both down onto the bed. 

"It'll be ours, El." Byleth promises, shirt tangling in her shoulders and arms and hair for a breathless laugh below her before Edelgard discards the material somewhere over the foot of the bed, a ring-clad hand chasing down the front of her chest. 

That moonlight soaks into the crimson sheet tangled below them like hidden vines in a bog, its eerie glow casting Edelgard like a painting and Byleth's skin burns where her love touches her, learning every inch of her, and she wonders if Edelgard feels the same.

If Edelgard knows how Byleth feels, as they shift along the sheets until a gasp bounces off the wall like a wayward arrow and nails curl into shoulders. Edelgard's skin tastes like flowers and tea and sweat as she kisses every inch of her she can, until she eases a little more comfortably into the sheets and looks at her with--with--

What does that look mean? What does it mean, to have someone like a memento? Like a seed?

Where does Byleth put a person like Edelgard? How does Byleth hold her as she walks from camp to camp so that she doesn’t get lost in a bog--in this dirty pit of mud and dried blood and fire and rain and ash and felled trees and lost men and fathers and siblings and goddesses?--where does Byleth hold her, so that Byleth doesn’t lose her? So that Edelgard can be planted, someday so that El can grow, instead?

“Byleth--” Edelgard gasps against her mouth, her hands pushing down to curve underneath the thin fabric of shorts, tugging hips close until they both gasp, knees spreading and muscles trembling and that curving, wonderful back arching along the bed, “Byleth--” Edelgard prays into the nighttime air around them, holding Byleth so tight she knows nails will bruise into skin until it’s red and then brown and then nothing, at all, as lips curve around breasts. 

“El…” Byleth murmurs, raising up on burning arms to kiss her, fingers shifting and curling and--she’s read about this. All of this. But she’s never felt it.

She promises, chest tight and muscles clenching and this--this feeling--this feeling--

“Byleth--” Eyes are wrenching shut before they open, wet and wide and far too vulnerable for Edelgard to likely ever intentionally look at Byleth in such a way, fingers raising to hold her and hold her as she gasps and arches and-- “I--”

Edelgard, Byleth learns, is warm and wet, like silken sheets--beautiful and soft and shining in their soft hue.

"What do you feel, El?" Byleth wonders, voice low and full of...desire and so many more things she doesn't know how to name--their foreheads slotted as Byleth's hands venture places they've never been.

"I--" Edelgard's voice cracks on the air, rocking up towards her--

Please, Edelgard quakes so quiet that she might never had said it, at all. 

Her voice cracks and Byleth kisses her until her moans are lost into the depth of Byleth’s lungs and she tastes her own name and holds Edelgard as tightly as she knows how. 

Their bodies fit so well, holding her was something Byleth never truly had to learn. 

“Stay…” It's not the first thing she expects Edelgard to say, rasping a little and...content after her breath evens. Half-lidded as she curls knees around Byleth's waist and pulls her closer, once more, gasping as they shift. “Stay until the morning.”

Byleth kisses her, again, in response, slow and intimate until Edelgard's hands smooth down breasts and the kiss breaks only for Byleth to look down curiously at the sensation. At the look in dark eyes. 

At that hesitant, pleasing smile that tucks up Edelgard's lips. 

“I’d like...I’d like to be with you, as well. If you’d like.”

“Is that something you would like?” Byleth's head barely dips until a waterfall of tangled blue, dark in the moonlight, traces along the top of Edelgard's bare breasts, watching her. 

“...you--” Edelgard clears her throat, cheeks red, shifting beneath her weight and groaning. Byleth isn't certain why until she realizes her fingers are still-- “My teacher, you are a wonderfully intelligent woman for someone so naive--are you teasing me, again?”

Edelgard is tugging her down--kissing her jaw. Her neck. Nipping at her ear--

Desire. Byleth knows this word. She's read about it in books about men tearing down lands to bow at the feet of Goddesses. She's read it about tongues curling beneath gold and fingers trembling beneath the weight of it. 

She's never understood it until this look in Edelgard's eyes, not truly.

“No.”

“You honestly haven’t seen--” Edelgard's voice is low and Byleth shifts, stomach tight and thighs clenching because Edelgard is leaning down into her palm, now, until fingers sink all the way to knuckles. Like she wants her to...feel her. And Byleth does. Every inch. “You don’t see the way I look at you? I didn’t...did you think this union would be...when I called you my dearest friend you do know I simply meant--”

Byleth purses her lips, thoughtful, thinking for the first time, about how Edelgard does look at her,  with more than just idle recognition. “Do you want me to put back on my tights?” 

“...you must be kidding. You are. You’re teasing me.” Edelgard falls back to the bed, that sultry voice covered with a hint of disbelief.

“No, Edelgard, I just think if you like them I don’t mind--”

“I suddenly wish Rhea killed me.” It's sighed, but there's a brightness in eyes when she shifts Byleth onto the sheets in her place with a gasp, something wet and warm trailing down Byleth's fingers and her knuckles and her wrist. "But I suppose if she had, I would lose the opportunity to repay your kindness"  

And it's now that Byleth realizes Edelgard's been waiting for permission and she thinks about it for a long moment before she nods and her student--her lover--her dearest friend and wife--has always been one eager to please.

Edelgard never was a fan of tradition, which might be why Byleth feels like this is their true wedding night, and tells her as much in the morning as she's dressing to slip out into sunlight to a quiet, blushing laugh. It sounds almost...giddy on her tongue, it's so at ease, and Byleth wonders if she's ever seen her quite like this.

What would this emotion be? What is the emotion that comes with...this?

“At last,” El’s teeth bite at the edge of a curving lip, fingers skimming down the lace of Byleth’s stockings in a way she seems to catch herself in, lingering along thighs, “A secret of just our own, then.” 

"Is that so?" Muscles of a thigh clench beneath wandering fingertips and Edelgard hums in the back of throat. Byleth tucks up her chin with a tilting head and a spreading smile--smaller than Edelgard’s, but wider than it used to be, by far, “I guess that means I can call you my wife.” 

It surprises her how much El’s eyes darken, but with nothing short of desire and love, Byleth stepping into arms and kissing her--deep. Lingering. Aching.

“ Only yours, my Empress,” Edelgard husks against her lips, raising up off the sheets to tangle Byleth in arms and warmth and scratching fingertips, “No matter what the rumors claim.”

Hopefully it won’t shatter the rumors entirely to find Byleth Eisner, normally stalwart and impassive, leaving the Emperor’s room in the early twilight hours of morning slightly disheveled two hours later with a quiet, unshakeable smile on her lips.

So slim that it almost isn’t seen.

Hubert, of course, sees it and sighs but Byleth doesn't mind the sound of it, at all.

--

Great Tree Moon, 1188.

The land has been ravaged by war in a way the soil shows.

Byleth’s hand dips down into it, watching clumps of it sift through her fingertips, its texture gritty and harsh. 

There won’t be any plants that can be sewn in these fields for years...but the fires will have set into the earth, by then, and the crops pulled from the soil will be two times as valuable.

That’s what Jeralt used to say, anyways. 

People are like plants, kid. War seems bad, now, but give it a few years and you’ll see how much the land changes them for the better, with the right fire. But you can see how bad they change, too, with the wrong one.

A fire has to burn just right. Otherwise it will take everything with it until there’s nothing left, anymore. 

What would Jeralt have said of Edelgard’s fire? 

The condensation feels thick on her tongue as she stands.

“They’re heading to Morfis. But they’re also heading towards the East.” Byleth calmly notes over her shoulder, Ferdinand leaning half over her shoulder to watch fingertips rub the soil between them.

“You can tell that from the dirt, Professor?” He looks curious, hands settled on hips as he appraises it. Say what history will about the Black Eagles, most of them were always eager to learn--even now.

“...I can tell that from the tracks breaking off at the path straight ahead. One is heading towards Morfis...and the other is heading to the East.” 

“...oh, yes. I see.” Still, there’s a curiosity in the thumb and pointer holding that cut jaw of Ferdinan von Aegir, frown steadily working its way into features like a cat slyly scratching its back upon calves uninvited calves. He likely doesn’t even know it’s there, creeping upon him, but the thoughts buried behind eyes are likely far more grave than the fluffy scratchings of a stray cat. “Can you show me, Professor?” 

Byleth watches him for a moment before nodding, feet sinking into the mud, herself, as she walks.

“It’s difficult.” She admits, bending once more to hover fingertips above mud. “These footprints are deep and even. Soldiers left them. Bandits don’t walk in even straits. The footprints heading towards the East are lighter--there’s less weight upon their backs. I would assume it’s a scouting party. You can see they met here coming from the forest--” Byleth points up towards the forest ahead, where the tracks are mingled before thinning out into the mud. Trampled tree branches and leaves scattered about the otherwise cluttered forest floor. “There’s no way to tell where the scouting party was heading without following their tracks.” 

“How do you know that the soldiers are heading to Morfis?” 

“We came from Morfis.” Byleth states simply, but at Ferdinand’s confused look, she once more stands. Eyes, however, tilt upwards towards the trees, the smallest frown of her own working shadows into the dark crevices of an ashen demon’s lips. Down-turned. Knowing. It’s been a week since she arrived with Ferdinand, their course charting north from their meeting point East of Garreg Mach to head towards his hold restored in the territory once known as Kleimann, a noble realm entrenched in the valley near the ocean. 

Morfis, the continent to the Southwest of Kleiman, has been notably silent since the start of the War. While initially Hubert had informed her that they’d assumed it was in order to politically distance themselves during volatile times, Byleth suspected trade embargoes weren’t high on their list of problems. They were a harsh desertland and because of this there was little export or import. She wasn’t as politically inclined as Edelgard--she knew nothing about the magic schools and people that Morfis sent across the continents, famed for their crest research and influence on magic use...but she understood what a town would do for survival.

So how were they surviving without support from an outside nation during the harshest Winter and Summer Fódlan had ever seen--temperatures of which were likely ten-fold worse in the Western nation--without any traded goods?

How could they survive for six years without assistance? It was simple: they didn’t. 

Byleth frowns, “We haven’t been able to track any game for food all week.” Calm eyes turn towards Ferdinand, who hesitates--

“You...think that’s because of the troops?” He nods, “Ah, of course--they’re loud, aren’t they?” Byleth nods in kind. “There must have been some disturbance to run off the deer in the forests and the food in the swamps. So you’re saying that even though these tracks are likely a week or two old from the way the mud dried--from when it rained last week.” A hint of warmth radiates--pride, once more, at Ferdinand, however small. He does listen. “--that maybe we haven’t seen their tracks, but they’re likely heading towards Morfis based upon the lack of animals in the area?”

“Yes.” Fingertips pinch the dirt, again, watching the way it clumped. “Hmm…”

“What is it, Professor?”

“Ferdinand, what do you know about Morfis?”

“I’ve never been, but they’re a land famed for their magic-users. The Empire is known for them, as well, but the most famous schools for scholars are hidden deep in the City of Illusion.” 

“Do you know what magic does to dirt?” 

“It makes it clump.”

Byleth drops a clump of dirt in his hand, pointing towards the scout’s footsteps. 

“They’re magic users. I could procure a team of specialists to try to lift the charms on their illusions, if they’re masking their tracks. We might need to track them East.”

Byleth tilts her head upon her knuckles, looking curiously down at the path below her. 

“It’s just as likely they would use what we found to mislead us.” 

“We musn’t be disheartened, Professor. While it might appear that we are at square one, I assure you we’ve learned much tracking our foes to the outskirts.” 

“Maybe, Ferdinand.” Byleth agrees, “But we still must head further West to meet Dorothea before going to Kleiman.”

“You don’t believe they’re intercepting her, do you?”

“We can’t rule out the possibility, I guess.” Byleth shakes her head, “Hubert’s been worried we have a spy.”

“Yeah, but Hubert’s always worried we have a spy.” Leonie notes from behind them, walking between the trees. “Professor--I started scouting those tracks, like you asked?” A nod. “Well...they disappear into the trees.” Leonie drops clumps of what might be weakened pebbles from her palms.

Dirt, magic seeped into the ground so deep that it pebbled the Earth before being lifted to the surface. 

“Well, Professor, it appears you were right.” 

“Kind of tired of that always being the case.” Leonie sighs , lips tipping upwards in a way only exhaustion can ever attempt to muster, half-hearted and slim. “No offense. But can’t you ever be right about some good stuff, for a change?” 

“The professor has been right about many positive things!” Ferdinand immediately-- expectedly --jumps to his teacher’s defense. Quite literally. In front of her until his boots sink into mud, head bouncing backwards as hair, still unkempt but likely to be enviously thick by Dorothea when she does arrive, fluttering in the wind behind him. “Why, she’s the one that appointed me here !” 

“...actually, Edelgard--” Byleth starts but Leonie cuts her off.

“Okay, seriously, how do you get your hair to do that?”

"I'm getting it cut by Dorothea. The Professor says it will be more manageable and less easier to grab in the field."

"That…" Leonie nods. "...actually makes sense."

Byleth sighs.

“Leonie...I’m going to need you to go South once we meet with Dorothea. Take a small battallion of mercenaries.” 

“Professor, are you sure that’s a good idea? Do we really want to take troops away from the garrison when we’ve already had a tough time defending it?” Leonie shakes her head. 

“I need you to scout somewhere.” 

This gets Leonie’s attention. 

“If we do have a spy and they know Dorothea’s coming, perhaps we should have a second outpost not too far from here to fall back towards.” Ferdinand offers and Byleth nods.

“I think that’s a good idea, Ferdinand. Head towards the mountains.” Byleth rolls out the rough map, its edges worn and canvas well-wrinkled. There were so many wrinkles in the map it might be confused for a topography, edges so well-used that they’d pill at the corners no matter how much fingertips tried to smooth out their peaks. “Settle a fallback position here,” A dirt-crusted nail points to the Southwest of Kleiman, “And here,” And once again between the mountains south of what used to be the border of Faerghus and Adrestria, West of Garreg Mach and East of the Coast. It’s still close enough to Morfis to serve as a good vantage. “And see if you can’t scout Morfis’ movements towards the East.”

“If we can figure out who is coming and going, maybe we’ll know more about who we’re dealing with.” Leonie agrees. 

“And if this outpost were to fall,” Ferdinand continues, “We will still have a place to retreat, or a place to bolster our position.”

Byleth nods. “Take Jeralt's Mercenaries, Leonie. They'll listen to you.” 

“You know…” Leonie hesitates, “I’d...prefer to stay with you, Professor. I can’t protect you if--” 

“You’ll be protecting me more if you go.” Byleth’s voice turns serious, “And don’t tell anyone else where you’re going.”

“Perhaps...we should limit communication, as well. We could still send word from the middle vantage, but keep the mountain settlement clandestine.” Ferdinand offers and after a long moment, Leonie sighs before nodding, relenting herself to the plan. And, likely, another two weeks on the road and in the sky.

“Sounds good to me.”

“We’ll all send word to Hubert.” Byleth says after a long moment. “He’ll organize communication.” 

“Alright, then I guess I have my orders. I’m kind of sad I won’t get to see Dorothea.” Leonie frowns, just a little-- sighs --before she whistles to call a Pegasus who’d settled behind a nearby tree. 

“I promise I’ll give her your well wishes, or my name isn’t Ferdinand von Aegir!” Ferdinand offers, ever-sincere, that noble smile widening as he bows.

Leonie and Byleth share a look before Leonie nods. 

“Thanks Ferdinand.” Much quieter, “...I think. Okay, I’ll send a messenger as soon as I’m out.” 

“And Leonie--” Ferdinand’s head tips up, that frown still visible. Those eyes still a little sunken. This war has taken its toll, but the war deeper in shadows even moreso. “...be careful.” 

“Will do.” 

And with that, Leonie disappears into the trees, walking alongside her pegasus to find Byleth’s battalion before likely finding a safe place to launch upwards towards her destination. 

Byleth wonders if Jeralt kept Leonie like a seed--if he planted her to let her grow. 

If be would be proud of her. 

Proud.

Brows knit as Byleth looks down at the tracks in the ground, hand hovering over them.

Proud.

--

Ethereal Moon, 1187

"Professor…" The title had long ago become a term of endearment underneath the soft sunlight sifting through drawn curtains. Byleth will be slipping away into that sun in a few hours before the rest of the world awakes, but for now she can imagine she's sleeping like the rest of them, even though sleep finds neither of the bed's occupants very easily.

It's funny. She feels like she spent so much time sleeping, but she’s never actually rested. 

The Professor hums in acknowledgement, calmly tilting her head upwards to look up at Edelgard, whose smile rests upon her bare shoulder--whose chest lays so perfectly against the flat of her back, both of their arms tented outwards to hold cheeks as they lay on their stomachs. Byleth on the bed...and Edelgard on Byleth. 

Laying here with Edelgard feels like she’s resting upon the top of a pond on a warm, bright day. Calm. Like still water beneath her palms. 

“Leonie told me about Jeralt coming to her village when she was fourteen.”

Byleth nods, though the gesture is a little muffled from Edelgard’s weight, watching the caution and curiosity on her features with a small hint of curiosity of her own. Edelgard’s bare fingertips circle around the flexing muscle around Byleth’s shoulder--a seemingly absent gesture...but Edelgard doesn't do absent gestures. Not really. Everything has a purpose.

This, alone, makes Byleth smile. Small. Fleeting.

“How old were you?” Edelgard’s voice is quiet and Byleth’s head barely tips to the side, honest:

“I don’t know.”

“You... really don’t know how old you are?”

“No.” Byleth rolls onto her back so that she can gently guide Edelgard fully into her arms and it’s warm when the other woman obliges. It again seems so thoughtless, but...it wouldn’t be. Not from Edelgard. Fingers brush through white strands of hair and watch sunlight sink into them like they do the curtains gently dancing a little overhead, fluttering in the wind. 

“Did he never tell you?”

“I guess not.” Byleth barely shrugs. “And I never thought to ask. It didn’t seem important.”

“So you never celebrated birthdays.”

“No. I...don’t think we kept much track of time.”

“You don’t remember?”

“I…” Byleth’s brows barely knit, honestly thinking on it for the first time. Something a little...strained. In her chest. Features must deepen because Edelgard’s knuckles skim down her cheek. Dip below her chin. And her breath tastes like Bergamot from their afternoon tea, shared over the desk along with soft brushes of lips just like this one. Calm. 

Her stomach clenches with something other than calm . 

A small breath against El’s lips. “...I guess I never paid attention.” 

Edelgard wraps an arm around her neck--her shoulders--their noses brushing as foreheads slot together and Byleth suddenly sees no reason for a comforter on the bed, at all, when such warmth could be found here. 

“So you don’t know how old you were when he...left to go to Leonie’s village? You don’t know how long he was gone?” 

“No.” Eyelashes flutter, taking in how close violet is to her. “I was...as tall as his chest when he left, and I led the mercenaries.” She tries to recall. “And...I was as tall as his shoulders when he came back.”

Edelgard hums in the back of her throat, thoughtful. Byleth’s story is unique, of course. There are many in this world with fathers who leave--there are few whose fathers return. 

“You don’t talk about your days as a mercenary very often.”

“I guess not.” Byleth purses lips, head falling down to rest on the bed, watching Edelgard stretch up on strong arms above her, curiously searching the lines of her face. 

Edelgard kisses her, again. Soft. Lingering. 

“I knew we were alike.” Edelgard murmurs against her and Byleth’s fingertips trail up her hips and her back and her shoulders. Holding her close. “You’ve spent...so much of your life alone, haven’t you, Byleth?” 

Edelgard’s voice rasps against her and Byleth thinks on this emotion, for a moment: loneliness. 

Thinks of her heartbeat shattering to life in an instant--of her students. Of Jeralt. Of mercenaries. Of faces and dreams all about her. 

She thinks of green eyes that sink into her chest and fill her with such...such--

Sadness , she remembers. Loss. 

Loss.

“No.” She decides, fingers skimming through that hair to curve along Edelgard’s cheek, brows knitting as Byleth...swallows. Voice barely wavering at the edges before the emotion ebbs away into a familiar calm of fact: “Not alone. Just...by myself.”

“Sometimes you speak in the most cryptic of profound ways, my teacher.” Edelgard murmurs, but she sounds...sad, almost. Like there’s something Byleth might never understand so deeply in her eyes, when she looks at her. When she looks at the world. 

Edelgard, even surrounded by people, has spent her life alone, Byleth knows.

“El,” Byleth says, after realizing this--cupping her cheek--holding her up in the sunlight with their bodies pressed together, hidden from the world, “You’re not alone, anymore.” 

Violet blinks away a hint of what Edelgard would deny was moisture before the other woman smiles. 

“And you’re not by yourself.” 

“I think Jeralt would have been happy I gave you the ring.”

A second blink at the sudden shift, undoubtedly, and doubt is such an unusual look on those ever-careful features. “Are you sure of that, Byleth?”

Byleth thinks of a box and a ring he gave to a woman his heart never left.

“Yes.” She says simply, because she is. Quiet for a long moment before she offers, holding Edelgard closer instead of letting either of them sneak out into the sunlight. "Calm. I think...this is calm."

Calm. 

Byleth knows this emotion. She's seen it in ponds and the sky and read about it happening before storms.

She's never felt it, until Edelgard, because she never felt anything but calm, at all.

"It is, Byleth." Edelgard murmurs in agreement, shifting only to nuzzle her nose into Byleth's neck, eyes closing as arms wrap around her. Byleth can feel it. Can feel eyelashes fluttering and Edelgard's heart skipping and her breath evening. "Calm."

Calm.

She smiles.

--

Great Tree Moon, 1188.

“Edie must be beside herself with worry.” Dorothea hums into her tea, Ferdinand looking curiously between the two of them, his hair pulled up into a high ponytail so that it will dry quicker in the sun. Deft hands had already spent the slim hours of the morning cutting it before the troops rose because while Ferdinand had acquiesced far better to the life of a commoner’s man, he still thought it was improper for all of them to see him getting his hair sliced and diced by their foreign ambassador to Brigid. 

‘I must look proper at all times, Dorothea! How else will they respect me?’ Tea kettle swinging from his firm grip, hair flopping over the top of its glorious mane in its new vice of a ponytail.

‘ You’re so...right, Ferdie! This look is much better on you. I’m sure the men will absolutely respect you after one glance.’

‘ Well of course they will!’  

Dorothea arrived the night prior to a rousing hug from Ferdinand prior to tugging Byleth into one, herself, whose arms tensed...prior to raising up to curl around shoulders. 

A warmth had bloomed in her chest, since then. 

She had...missed Dorothea, Byleth now knows, even with that mischievous look in familiar eyes.

“Edelgard has no need to worry. I am at the lead of the charge--she knows I am more than capable of seeing this battle to its conclusion, otherwise she would not have put Ferdinand von Aegir in--"

“That’s not what she’s going to be worried about, Ferdie.” Dorothea cuts off.

“What else could she possibly have to worry about?” Ferdie, himself, frowns.

Byleth shakes her head, knowing exactly what Dorothea is getting at.

“Is that what you’re feeling about Petra, right now?" It's a serious question, "Worry?” 

Dorothea's frown suddenly matches Ferdinand's, turning towards her professor with the smallest pout upon her lips. 

“I'm coming to realize I really don’t appreciate that stare of yours, professor.”

“Is the professor staring?” Ferdinand pouts, himself, looking between the two of them. Byleth wonders if they're aware how simultaneously different and similar they are, at times, in the oddest of ways.

Only in Ferdinand’s case, his ponytail flops slightly into his eyes.

“Sorry, Dorothea.” Byleth offers, dipping a scone into her tea. Bergamot isn’t Byleth’s favorite, but it does warm her chest and tip up her lips.

How Ferdinand von Aegir managed to procure tea at the head of a battle front was anyone’s guess, but Dorothea and Byleth knew better than to ask. 

“This is a good cup of tea, Ferdinand.” Byleth offers, instead--a tactical diversion--and the General bolsters shoulders at the praise. 

“It’s important to devote time and energy to keeping morale high.” Ferdinand nods and Dorothea rolls her eyes above a steaming cup. 

“Of course it is, Ferdie. You have to keep up those noble standards.” Begrudgingly, after a moment, she sighs into her cup, murmuring into its secure, warm depths, “...this is a pretty good cup of tea.” 

Ferdinand beams. 

Not an hour later, Ferdinand’s far more manageable hair is laid down upon his shoulders as they stand upon a map in Byleth’s tent.

“...so the plague has gotten that bad?” Dorothea’s voice holds a certain weight to it--a knowledge of what it might be like to not afford medicine, or care; an empathy not likely found from most nobles towards commoners, but one that a commoner finds towards nobles who hold crests. 

Byleth wonders what it must be like to have a heart as big as Dorothea's at times--so much larger than herself.

“There’s no known cure.” Ferdinand pushes hair behind ears, looking down at the map, “And no visible pattern amongst its victims. Initially, we had assumed that it had only been those who supported Edelgard, but it seems…” He shifts--frowns.

“They’re targeting everyone.” Byleth calmly supplies.

Ferdinand nods, “It’s...starting to cause rumors among the nobility that Edelgard isn’t trying to cause a reformation, but is trying to eradicate crests completely . They’re starting to call the plague the Adrestrian genocide.” 

“But only three people have died--”

“Twenty-two.” Byleth shakes her head. “Only three publicly.” 

Dorothea pales, hand hovering over Brigid. “I can’t believe this.” 

“The rumors are being appeased with the ones of Edelgard’s engagement to the crowned prince of Morfis’ City of Illusion--” Ferdinand shakes out his hair, sighing down at the board, and Byleth can feel Dorothea’s eyes settle firmly upon her. “But there’s no denying that troops are being mobilized from Morfis and to Morfis for... some kind of organized attack on Enbarr.” 

“You think that... Their presence is in Morfis?” 

“Yes.” Byleth offers, pointing to one pin mark, unnamed, ahead of their position. Where Ferdinand and herself had camped two days prior, on their way to Dorothea from Garreg Mach. “We found tracks here heading both to Morfis and East.”

“We cannot rule out the possibility that they’re mobilizing against Enbarr. Or...heading towards Garreg Mach, or our strongholds in the East.” 

“So why are we still in Kleiman?” Dorothea’s voice only quivers a little at the edges before it strengthens into steel, a determination that’s been tempered through years of war and devotion . 

“Because I think the Slithers have a bigger goal.” Byleth offers after Ferdinand looks her way, “They’re going to attack all of the territories with the plague so that they’re weakened before attacking from Morfis.” 

Dorothea pauses, looking down at the map. Her hand knowingly hovers over an island far smaller than Fódlan to the Southwest, so many yalms away from her, now. Ferdinand reaches out and gently curls fingers around her wrist, brows barely furrowing in understanding. 

They leave what would happen to Brigid were the land to be invaded by Morfis unsaid. Some things are better that way. 

"So these pins are…"

Byleth nods, fingers skirting over the red pins pressed into strategic locations throughout Fódlan. "These are our vantage points where we'll gather our troops to launch an offensive attack before they can reach Enbarr."

"But don't...don't all of these Garrisons--" 

"Surround Garreg Mach." Ferdinand nods. "They're working on curing the plague in Enbarr, and if it worsens in Hyrm…"

"Then we'll have an outpost in Leicester ready to start treating them." Dorothea realizes.

Byleth doesn't mention that Edelgard, herself, has planned on going, but there's far more keeping them from pushing towards Hyrm.

"Hubert has been arranging scholars without crests to head to the capital. And we do still need to secure Kleiman. The attacks on the fortress have become more and more apparent. It might take months to route out the rebellion, at this rate."

"There's more." Byleth notes and Ferdinand's brows knit.

"There is?"

"Yes." Byleth picks up another pin and places it right on Hyrm, black. "Part of the reason we're here is because we believe there is a spy in one of your convoys. Hubert is…" Byleth's chin rests upon knuckles, head barely nodding, "Expecting there to be an attack either here or in Hyrm. If it's here, then we'll know not only which of your convoys holds the spy, but that their true intent isn't to spread the plague."

"Why...would they attack here?"

"All of us are here." Byleth says simply. Bluntly. "All of us are important to Edelgard and Dorothea is also important to Brigid."

"We're... bait?" Ferdinand realizes.

Dorothea gasps, hand raising up to her chest and then her lips. "That...that does sound like Hubie, doesn't it?"

"No." Byleth shakes her head. "The reason why I had Leonie scout out two fallbacks is so that both of you can retreat towards them and head off a force if Kleiman does fall."

"What?" Ferdinand's brows knit.

Byleth looks down at the map.

I hate this, Byleth--

" You're bait." Dorothea's hand lowers.

Both students look appalled in Byleth's direction in silence, waiting for her to agree or disagree about the assumption as she stares. And then, ultimately, nods.

"Professor, we can't--"

"I can't let you--"

And the professor shakes her head in response.

Dorothea steps forward. "You've... you've made up your mind about this. Does Edie even...does she know you're--" 

A nod. Dorothea's head bows as her fingers twine and clasp and unclasp, again, in her lap.

There's silence for a long moment before Ferdinand steps forward, "Well I won't let you stay here by yourself, Professor. It simply wouldn't be honorable." 

"Right. What Ferdie said. Also, I'm pretty sure Edie would kill us if something happened to you." 

"While I wouldn't go that far, Dorothea, I do believe you have a point. Edelgard would certainly be devastated at your loss, Professor."

"We know it. We've seen it." Dorothea steps a little closer, those twining hands settled in themselves between them, and smiles. "And so would we."

"Of course."

Byleth looks between both of them, quiet for a long moment, this...this feeling she still doesn't understand rising up within her. It feels like too many things and Byleth feels like not enough of them, at all. 

"...alright." She says simply, "But if I'm right and we're the first stop on the siege…"

"We'll be yours to command, Professor." 

Ferdinand clasps her hand and Dorothea smiles and Byleth...smiles back before she nods. 

"Then let's head North."

A rallying cry of two sounds throughout the tent, but across all of Fódlan, Byleth knows all of the Black Eagles would rally alongside them, Edelgard at the front.

Byleth right behind her.

A box can hold many things. Stones and branches and so much love it can wrap around the jostling contents inside like cloth and keep them safe as they rattle around the inside of a makeshift bag, hopping over trees and wading through swamps and breaking lances with the tip of a scuffed, scratched boot the color of dried blood and still ale.

It's not so hard to carry things from camp to camp to camp, she thinks, thumb smoothing down the center of a dagger, campfire heating up her shoulders as she takes in the night stars, eyes closing. Breath evening into something calm.

It's not hard to carry them when they're all in a box.

[bsidethetrees]

Rainstorms and Picnics

“There’s just something so freeing about it,” Mirajane insisted through a bright grin. “Don’t you think? Laxus?”

Freeing wasn’t exactly the words the man would have used when describing their current predicament. Which is what it was. Not a free, joyful excursion. It was a predicament. When he’d asked the demon to take the day off, he planned for it to be a fun filled day (and hopefully eventful evening), but what he’d failed to consider was the possibility of a rainstorm. A massive one. It drenched the entirety of Magnolia with the harshest of a downpour. Worst of all, it brought about no thunder or lightning either. Well, worst of all was that he and Mirajane were off, far in the forest, where he’d taken his girlfriend on what was supposed to be a nice nature walk and then a picnic, but now there he was, rain as the wind wiped it around the thick tree leaves and, honestly, maybe he should be thankful for the no thunder thing; a storm anymore intense might include hail.

As he was rushing though, with a curse on his breath at the freezing cold, driving rain that pelted them in the quickly becoming muddy forest, he found Mirajane lagging behind at a much less serious pace. When he turned back to glare at her and complain though, he found taking his eyes off the twisty path wasn’t such a good idea. He ran smack into a huge tree branch, which caused him to fall backwards, onto his butt, getting mud all over his poor fluffy coat. It was as he stewed about this that Mirajane sauntered over, little concern for their surroundings apparently as she only giggled down at the lump forming on his head.

“Oh, dragon,” she’d grinned, “did you fall down?”

“Yeah, Mira. I did.” And he was shoving up then in annoyance. It wasn’t as if, considering he was a traveling mage, he was used to high exposure to the elements. Because, oh, he was. But there was something...embarrassing, about this, that he couldn’t quite grasp. “Obviously.”

It was strange, his feelings. Embarrassment wasn’t something he was used to in general (he was typically much better composed), but for some reason, this wasn’t what was bothering him the most. No. It was that...Mirajane was viewing it. If he was collected on a regular basis, then he was typically far more suave when it came to the women he frequently spent his time with.

And Mira was far more than just some woman.

Far more.

They’d been dating for a good amount of time by that point and he’d sworn all the others off. Every last one of them. Just for those blue eyes that were blinking down at him, bright and round with just a slight bit of concern though it was hidden behind a slight amusement. She meant something to him, the demon did, that he couldn’t put into words too well, not yet, but as he shook off the mud (the rain assisting heavily in this) he did have a few words on the tip of his tongue for the woman.

“You’re fucking psycho,” he complained as, once she was certain he was stable on his feet, she only twirled a bit, in the still pouring rainstorm, their poor drenched picnic basket dangling from one hand.

“I’m free, Laxus,” she corrected. “Think about it; we’re already soaked. And you're esuper muddy and gross now. And probably are concussed. Why not have some fun while making the most of it?”

Because this was not how Laxus had fun.

At all.

But moist of the things the woman drug him into doing weren’t his conventional idea of a good time.

Spending one of his rare days not out traveling, on a job, or training by instead going out on a picnic and nature walk were hardly things he’d consider fun either. Before Mirajane. But here he was this time, purposely inviting this situation. It was him who suggested that they spend the day, not only together, but out doing something so ridiculous and (somewhat) romantic and just...not something anyone else would expect of the man.

She just did something to him. Mirajane did. She made him want to do dumb and stupid things that he would usually ridicule another if he heard about in passing. Because even as angry as he was in that moment, over the fact he was hurt and dirty and, well, embarrassed, there was still something beneath  it all that was just pleased in an unusual way, to be in that moment, in any moment, with his girlfriend.

“I am not,” he told her simply as he rubbed at his head and she twirled, “spinning around in the fucking rain with you.”

“Oh, who asked you to?” she laughed over at him. “I’m just saying stop rushing, dragon. What’s waiting us at home? Well, a shower, I suppose.”

“All the more reason to rush.”

“But don’t you know,” she called over her shoulder, in the lead now, but only because he was still stumbling a bit, maybe, from banging his head on that damn branch, “the dirtier you are, the longer the shower?”

“In what world?”

“Ours, I’d think. I mean, come on, Lax, it’s just common sense.”

He doubted it, but only because he doubted her own intellect. Well, not the overall state of it, but certainly the more common assertion. While the woman wasn’t a completely and utter idiot, well…

“And you’re all muddy now,” Mira hummed with a click of her tongue. “I’ll probably have to wash your clothes for you, huh? If you’re coming back to my place with me? Your coat at least. So you’ll probablyl have to stay the night, until they’re all dry and clean and fresh. But I mean, if you don’t think so-”

But he wasn’t so easily enticed.

Shaking his head some, he explained simply, “The rain ruined our picnic.”

“We’ll have another picnic, dragon,” she insisted. “Back at my house.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Sometimes, Lax, for the rest of us mere mortals, things go wrong and you make the best whatever you can salvage.” Sighing some as, just as suddenly as the rain had appeared, it seemed to cease, leaving them both dripping wet and cold. She looked back at him again then and her grin didn’t seem as amused as just glad, like he was, to be there. Wtih him. “Storms always pass.”

Heh.

He made a face then as he quicked his pace, to catch up with the woman. Once he had, he only grumbled, “Don’t tell me about storms, woman. I’m the fucking Thunder God. You forget?”

“Only long enough for you to remind me.”

“Damn right.”

But she was looking up at him then with a bit more concern about the growing knot on his head while Laxus merely looked off, towards the sun that was now peeking through the trees at them. Things were already looking up.

Somehow.

“You don’t always have get so bogged down by little things, you know, dragon,” she chided later in the day, as they sat together on her bed.

They’d showered and she’d done off with his clothes as she said, to clean it up, which meant until they dried out on the line (which would take a bit), he was kind of stuck sitting around her room in his only somewhat damp boxers. This meant their picnic was had on her bedspread, rather than kitchen table, given she shared a home with her siblings, but he found he liked the atmosphere better in there anyways.

“Not everything,” Mirajane was going on as he only watched her more than he picked at what bit of food hadn’t been waterlogged by the time they got it back home, “has to be perfect to be good, you know? Sometimes the imperfect is just as good. If not better. You know?”

He made a face at her as he looked off, but it was with a snort that the slayer got out a, “Yeah,” to the giggles of the woman.

It was no romantic walk through nature or nice picnic to start off what would hopefully be an eventful night. And it wasn’t even that eventful of a night considering Mirajane made him hold an ice pack to his head for the majority of it while she busied their time trapped in her room by playing him all these songs he didn’t really wanna hear that much, if at all, on her guitar.

But it was their night.

Together.

And that was all that mattered.