#flooding incidents in reverse order:

[pagerunner-j]

One of my neighbors is making sawing noises in the bathroom. The last time anybody did DIY work in this place that involved the water pipes, it flooded four units and I was stuck living out of a hotel for nearly 3 months. I’m doing my very best not to have a panic attack, but I’m kind of failing.

Some people get PTSD over the sort of traumas you’d expect. Me? Water.

it’s great

so great

[claudemblems]

Operation "Kiss the Girl" | Prologue: The Incident

Summary: Due to an unfortunate accident in alchemy class caused by Ace and Deuce, you end up getting turned into a mermaid. You only have three days to get your true love to kiss you or else you’ll stay a mermaid forever. Though that will prove quite difficult considering Azul has absolutely no idea you’re head over heels for him, but there's no need to worry. Jade and Floyd are willing to help, especially because they know Azul likes you, too. Let operation Kiss the Girl commence!

Genre: Fem!Reader. Lots of pining.

Notes: Inspiration for the beginning of this story comes from this fic. This part uses the same characters and a similar plotline, but the other parts will follow the storyline of The Little Mermaid film. I hope you all enjoy! Part 2 is (hopefully) coming soon 💜

Just when you thought that your adventures in Twisted Wonderland couldn't get any more bizarre, Ace and Deuce were there to make sure you never experienced a single day of normalcy. Their antics didn't usually bother you, but this time proved different. In your anger, you found yourself tempted to grab them both with your shiny new tail and squeeze the life out of them.

Yes, tail. As in, a mermaid's tail.

"I told you to stop grabbing the other potions and follow the instructions!"

"I was following the instructions! You were the one who insisted on summoning another cauldron for yourself because you don't trust me enough to do a project with you!"

"Last time we were in this class, you tried putting sugar cubes into the potion mix!"

"Yeah, because you decided to substitute grass for flowers because you smushed them in your bag on the way here. I wasn't about to eat dirty grass!"

"Quiet down, you troublesome puppies!" Crewel ordered with the snap of a whip. "Quit your yapping and help your friend that's like a fish out of water...literally."

Ace and Deuce quickly turned their attention to you, panic beginning to flood their faces.

"Prefect..." Deuce whispered, a hand hovering above the scales on your arm. "I'm so sorry we did this to you. We didn't mean to, but we're sorry!"

"We screwed up big time," Ace sighed, taking a seat behind you and holding your shoulders to steady you. "We shouldn't have let our frustrations get the better of us. But don't worry. We'll fix it! There's got to be a potion we can whip up to turn you back human again!"

"There is no such thing," Crewel interjected, sending ice cold glares the duo's way.

"Are you serious?" Ace groaned. "There's no way this kind of thing hasn't happened before!"

"There have been plenty of humans that have turned themselves into mermaids, and mermaids that have turned themselves into humans, but none of them have ever wanted to reverse the process. In other words, once the transformation has been completed, it cannot be undone."

"Of course. Why would anyone want to go back to being human?" Deuce sighed. "Mermaids are beautiful and powerful. No one in their right mind would want to change back."

"Well, except our Prefect here. Unless you want to stay a mermaid? It's up to you."

Ace immediately zipped his lips when you shot him a terrifyingly angry look. "No, I do not want to stay a mermaid. I'm trying to get back to my world after all. You know, the one filled with humans."

"Professor, there has to be a way to undo it!" Deuce cried. "We can't let [Name] suffer the consequences of our mistake."

"Yeah, there's gotta be something we can do!"

"Well..."

"Well?!"

"It seems that True Love's Kiss is your only viable antidote."

Ace and Deuce turned to look at each other in what could only be described as a mixture of disbelief and confusion.

"True Love's Kiss?" Ace shook his head. "Why would that work?"

"Because it worked for the Little Mermaid." Crewel grabbed a bottle of water from his desk and motioned for you to pour some on your skin as he continued his explanation. "After taking a potion to turn herself human, she had three days to get the prince to kiss her. Otherwise, she would return to being a mermaid. When she received her True Love's Kiss, the Little Mermaid became a human forever. That is how the story goes, and so True Love's Kiss is the only way to stop the Prefect's complete transformation."

"Will it really work...?"

"It will. True Love's Kiss can break many spells, and it can fulfill the wishes of the heart. If the Prefect desires to stay a human, all she needs is for her true love to kiss her. However, the Little Mermaid only had three days to woo her prince. It's likely that the Prefect also has only three days before her condition becomes permanent."

"Three days?!" Ace and Deuce exclaimed, holding their heads in frustration. "How are we going to find her a true love that will kiss her in three days?!"

"You two are rather bone-headed puppies, aren't you?" Crewel sighed, smacking their heads with the potion brewing instructions. "What makes you think you need to find her true love?"

"Because she doesn't have one! She would have told us otherwise."

"Is that so? The look on her face tells an entirely different story."

Your face burned as you felt Ace and Deuce's eyes on you, the wheels slowly starting to turn in their heads. You couldn't bring yourself to meet their gazes. Instead, you readied yourself for the onslaught of questions that were bound to tumble from their mouths.

And, of course, that's exactly what happened.

"You have a crush on someone???!!!"

"When did this start? How did it start? Who do you have feelings for?!"

"Enough," Crewel hissed, directing his attention to you once again. "You can ask your questions after you find some water for the Prefect. I'll cover you with temporary invisibility magic so you can get somewhere undetected. We don't need the entire college knowing about the precarious situation you've gotten your friend into."

"Yes sir!" the duo said in unison.

With a wave of his wand, Crewel surrounded you with a curtain of invisibility. Ace and Deuce wasted no time in gathering you into their arms, heading straight for Ramshackle dorm. The questions could come later--and indeed, they would bombard you with them. For now, their goal was to get you to some water before you became a shriveled up mermaid.

Ace, Deuce, you thought to yourself, I'm going to make you both pay when this is over with.

[halofcrged]

Ok. So now that I’ve read more of the flood novel I have my own take on what happens to my John post season two that ends up in other universes - obviously Halo based verses will be based on plotting and eventually we will have more show to based stuff on but - the controller that we see at the end of the season that’s querying John (and Makee) is attempting to find someone to access the Halo’s index and control systems so that it can activate the Halo rings all across the galaxy because it has once again detected the presence of the Flood and it’s protocol is to destroy all sentient life (again) in order to starve out the mutation (that can only replicate through infecting sentient life to create the super hive); John does not realize that’s what the controller is trying to get him to do until he gets back to collect Cortana from where she has been absorbing the data banks of the Halo. Once she tells him that’s what the controller unit is trying to get him to do he immediately stops cooperating, and Cortana steals the index so that the controller can’t get anyone else to use it (like Makee).

At this point, in my other universe rps, is when the controller attempts to transport John and Cortana off the Halo. Cortana attempts to counteract this and is warring off a cyberattack from the controller who is trying to steal the index back and in the end the entire system gets overwhelmed and glitches and thus John awakes in -whatever- other time and place. Cortana’s memories are slightly corrupted bc of the battle for control that was going on when they were transported so she does not have full recall of what happened to be able to easily find some way to reverse it. Also, since Cortana has the index, the controller can’t activate the attack to eradicate sentient life and because Makee was willing to activate the protocol, the controller recreates the incident in an attempt to send Makee to retrieve the Index (activation code basically). Makee may have a way to return (?) but depending on where and when she lands may choose not to pursue John and just live her life as she pleases for once.

[divtanver]

Tried to rewrite my old fanfiction at the same time and check how much my writing has changed.

Mobius, the evening of a significant day. A blue hedgehog was walking along a half-empty corridor, barely illuminated by the light of ceiling lamps and the not yet put in order command center of the "restoration", towards the much-desired sleeping cabins. Uncharacteristically, he slowly shuffled his feet on the floor, which was somewhat dirty from a relatively recent incident, paying little attention to the workers here and there doing their job.

Not out of disrespect, of course. It was just that too much was spinning in his unusually foggy head, once the fleeting flow of time hardly left an opportunity to slow down the movement of events floating along it, that one after another collision against the rocks of his consciousness blurred the already crumbling from exhaustion psyche. However, all this was behind him, the only thing that mattered to him now was the need to get a good healthy sleep and forget this part of the past as a terrible nightmare. But to Sonic's great regret, like any other emotionally colored dream, it could settle on a perception of reality distorted by accumulated fatigue. For example, by touching.

The self-absorbed hedgehog was brought back to reality by the feeling of a heavy touch on his shoulder. Uncomfortably cold and vaguely familiar, it caused anxiety coming from somewhere deep in forcibly forgotten memories.

Alarmed, he carefully turned his head in the direction of the cause of this sensation. The outlines gleaming in the dim light were enough to plunge his body into a shallow tremor, and his mind into an unrestrained panic. A cold iron hand, with pointed fingers and a shimmering liquid spreading from it, held the base of his limb. Immediately, fragments of the past flooded into the hedgehog, numb with fear, and the darkness of horror overshadowed his mind. Sonic immediately realized who had grabbed him, he did not need to see an angry, angular muzzle full of razor-sharp fangs in order to recognize the zombot standing behind him and realize what would happen if he did not immediately take the necessary measures.

With a supersonic movement, the blue hedgehog knocked the arm off his shoulder and with an equally significant swing of his leg, he threw the source of danger away from himself. Metal monster screeched against the cracked surface of the collision and made several uncontrolled somersaults before stopping its chaotic movement. Defeated creature seemed to be trying to say something, but only a quiet growl came from its cold lips, dispersing the dust that rose into the air.

Time is short, infected hedgehog needs to run while the transformation process can still be reversed.

"What are you doing, Sonic?!" weak voice confuses, the familiar pronunciation makes him freeze.

Zombots can't talk, and if it's not one of them, then it means…

The veil of fear slowly fell from his darting eyes, along with it came awareness and showed a terrible picture hiding behind its intangible fabric: A two-tailed fox cub lay on the floor, holding his head and moaning softly, his small paws covered a noticeable bruise, his lower limbs bent at an unnatural angle trying to calm the surging pain. Several workers standing behind him, their faces expressing the highest degree of incomprehension.

Sonic was numb, he couldn't believe what he saw, didn't wanted to, was afraid to accept what just happened.

"Tails, but how… How is that?! There was..."

Shocked hedgehog did not have time to finish, his gaze fell on the gray welding gloves lying next to the victim of his outburst, the same ones that terrified his mind with the cold of their contact and forced to do the impossible – to hit Tails, his support and pride, his friend and partner, his little brother. With wet eyes, Sonic quickly ran up to the bent fox cub, picked up from the ice-cold floor, pressed to himself with all strength and lowered his head onto twin-tailed one neck.

"I'm sorry, Miles! You know I wouldn't hurt you for anything, you know that, right?!" tears began to slowly drip from his eyes. He didn't know what was weighing more heavily on his wildly beating heart: the memories of the nightmares he had experienced over the past few stressful days, or the fact that he had just brought torment to his younger brother, the light of life that he promised himself at all costs to protect. Probably all of this.

Unbearable pain was bursting inside him, he wanted to disappear, evaporate, run away from himself as far as possible, just not to experience this burning sensation of guilt. It was scary to think what he would have done if the quiet words hadn't reached his ears.

"I know Sonic, I know better than anyone" sobbing hedgehog felt the movement of the fox cub.

Soft tails wrapped around his back, giving him a pleasant warmth and feel of materialized sympathy. Soft paws pressed his shoulders, a fluffy muzzle rubbed against his neck. Tails' words calmed and filled with confidence, which drove away the clouds of anxiety and precipitation of fear. Unwilling to disturb the peace he had found, only a minute later Sonic still got to his feet and carefully pulled the fox cub after him.

"Lean on me, let me take you to the infirmary," Sonic said, wiping his wet eyes, and led Tails along a less dim corridor.

Only a pair of gloves, having absorbed the drops of tears, remained lying on the warmed floor.

[seemabhatnagar]

“Tragedy Strikes: Three IAS Aspirants Drown in Delhi’s Heavy Rains”

Three UPSC aspirants lost their lives due to drowning in a flooded basement at Rau's IAS coaching centerat Rajendra Nagar, Delhi. A PIL was filed by an NGO Kutumb through its trustee and Amrik Singh Babbar seeking a high-level committee probe into the tragic incident where three UPSC aspirants lost their lives due to drowning in a flooded basement at Rau's IAS coaching center.

The Court directed the presence of the MCD Commissioner, concerned DCP, and Investigation Officer on the next date of hearing i.e.02.08.2024.

The Court called for a thorough investigation into the incident, including the actions of the Delhi Fire Services and other officials.

The Court ordered the Delhi government's counsel to ensure that the relevant officials are present with all necessary files at the next hearing.

Kutumb through its trustee v. State of NCT of Delhi & Ors. along with Amrik Singh Babbar (Library) v. State of NCT of Delhi & Ors.

W.P.(C)-10550/2024 & CM APPL. 43292/2024 In W.P.(C)-13308/2023

Before The Delhi High Court

Heard By Hon'ble Acting Chief Justice Mr. Manmohan J and Hon'ble Mr. Tushar Rao Gedela J

Incident: The incident occurred on July 27 evening when heavy rains in Delhi led to the flooding of the basement in Rau's IAS coaching center, located in Old Rajendra Nagar. The three aspirants were trapped in the basement and subsequently drowned.

Issue: The core issue before the Court was the alleged negligence and failure of the Delhi government and municipal authorities to prevent such tragedies despite prior judicial directions and warnings. The PIL sought accountability for these lapses and the implementation of stricter regulations and inspections to prevent future incidents. The PIL seeks the constitution of district-level committees in each district of Delhi to investigate and address illegal commercial constructions and non-compliance with safety norms.

Court's Observation:

The Court expressed concern about the city's infrastructure, highlighting that it is not in accordance with present-day realities and that there is a major disconnect between what citizens need and what is being provided.

The Court criticized the liberalization of construction by-laws without corresponding improvements in infrastructure, noting that permitting six to seven-story buildings without proper drainage and mixing sewage with drains leads to reverse flow and flooding issues.

The Bench expressed frustration with the planning and infrastructure management, questioning why the century-old infrastructure was not upgraded and criticizing the authorities for not being prepared for such eventualities.

The Court remarked on the "freebie culture," stating that without proper tax collection and financial management, the city's infrastructure cannot be improved. It noted that the civic authorities are struggling to pay salaries and questioned how they could improve infrastructure under these conditions.

The Court criticized the lack of action against senior officials, noting that actions were only taken against the junior-most staff. The Bench emphasized the need for accountability among senior officers.

The Court expressed frustration with the current state of affairs, describing the situation as "strange". The Court questioned the role of the Delhi Police and other officials in the incident, indicating a need for thorough investigation and accountability.

The Bench noted that there is a population explosion in Delhi, which was initially planned for 6-7 lakh people but now houses over 3.3 crore, and questioned how the city plans to accommodate this population without upgrading the infrastructure.

Seema Bhatnagar

[apenitentialprayer]

It’s interesting how The Tower of Babel can become a flashpoint for religiously orthodox and anti-theistic people; how this event can be portrayed in two very, very different lights. Those of a more anti-theistic bent often frame the construction of the Tower of Babel as a humanistic act; it is all of humanity, united in a single noble purpose, a brotherhood of man that is dashed by a nervous and jealous God who would rather all of mankind be separate. But Pope Francis offered a different interpretation in 2020; Pope Francis explicitly links the Tower of Babel to an imperialistic cultural paradigm, where one group of people are enforcing their will on others - humanity is unified, but in a way that oppresses the majority of it. Is there any support for such a claim from sacred tradition? Though there is a minority opinion that asserts he was righteous, Josephus, Philo, and later rabbinic tradition usually consider Nimrod to have been an opponent of God, and (explicitly in Josephus) both the mastermind behind the Tower of Babel and a tyrant. Augustine of Hippo describes the reason for wanting to reach heaven was in order to escape the punishment of God; they think that if they can build the tower high enough, they would be able to return to the “wickedness of man” practiced before the Flood without worrying about dying in another one. Menochius suggests that the Tower was made specifically for Nimrod, a base from which to consolidate his power over others; Challoner glosses Nimrod the “mighty hunter” “not of beasts, but of men.” So, we have different interpretations (~50 AD, ~90, ~420, ~1630, ~1730, 2020) that all suggest that this diversity is both a punishment and a remedy for the pride of man - a punishment, because it caused the end to the singular human nation, but a remedy because it saved the members of that nation from living under a “bland, uniform and standardized” society, “not an expression of unity between various peoples speaking to one another from their diversity,” but “a misguided attempt, born of pride and ambition” to force a single cultural model. Notice that, when the Tower of Babel incident is reversed in the speaking of tongues at Pentecost, the masses understand the Apostles, but as if the Apostles were speaking their own language. We see a very different kind of interpretation, one that warns against any kind of world unity that tramples those who are different.

[somewhatgreatexpectations]

Breaking Hearts (Wanda Maximoff/ Reader)

Hello, again! Post- Age of Ultron but Pre-Civil War (though it is getting close to Civil War, let’s pretend there was 2 years in between). Inspired by Sam Smith’s beautiful “Breaking Hearts” highly recommend listening. Let me know your thoughts! 

Summary: Wanda is upset with reader for getting injured during a mission to protect someone else. There is more, but I won’t say too much so I don’t give it away. Read to find out :)

“Summer haze of summer wine, reminded me of better times, but I let you in my heart. Why’d I let you in my heart?”

“What happened to this being an easy recon mission, Rogers?” You asked over the coms through gritted teeth as you tried to focus your attention on holding back the swarms of Hydra agents that surrounded you.

The sound of fists clashing against skin and groans of pain flooded your earpiece. “It was supposed to be! We must have been ambushed.” Steve grunted shortly from wherever he was located in the large base.

Despite the ambush you, Steve, and Natasha had been able to complete the mission with only a slight incident. That incident being you putting yourself at risk in order to protect Natasha during a dangerous moment that resulted in you taking a bullet in your abdomen. Thankfully Steve and Natasha were able to get you back to the compound in time to tend to your wounds safely. When Wanda was filled in on what happened she wasn’t happy at all and dragged you to your room as soon as it was safe to do so. 

“How could you be so reckless, Y/n!” Wanda shouted, her hands clenched at her sides as she paced the length of your room.

You stared at her incredulously from your place on the bed, “Are you serious right now, Wanda?” An angry tone marred your words. “What was I supposed to do? Stand by and watch them shoot Natasha when I knew damn well there was something I could do to save her?”

The anger in her eyes didn’t falter, “You don’t think before you act.”  

“No, actually, that’s the problem. I do think before I act. I think too much. I thought of how if I didn’t do something Nat would have died. How are you upset with me about that?” You raised your arms helplessly. 

She shook her head in response, her jaw clenched. “You don’t get it.”

You slowly stood up and made your way over to her. “Look, if you’re upset that I got hurt… I understand, but I’m fine, Wanda.”

“We’ve had this argument so many times, Y/n. Yet, you continue being reckless.” You tried to take her hand, but she pulled it away sharply.

You sighed and dropped your hand back to your side, “I’m not being reckless, Wanda. You are all my family now. If I see an opportunity to protect any of you, I’m going to take it. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.”

For a moment a look of understanding flashed across her face, but it was short lived. You thought she understood. You’d never be one to stand idly by, not after your past. A tense silence hung in the air between you for a moment as you both just stared at one another. “I need some air.” She finally said.

“I’ll go with you.” You offered hopefully. Going to the roof always eased the tension between you both. It was your spot after all, where your story began, where your love blossomed… Where you always found peace.

Wanda set her jaw and shook her head. “Alone.” She said indifferently as she walked out of the room. 

With a defeated sigh you fell onto your shared bed as you dragged a hand down your face. Wanda was right, you had had this conversation more than once, but you didn’t think you were being reckless. In situations like this you really saw no other option. If the price for saving a life was an injury, then you’d gladly pay. A knock on the door interrupted your train of thought. “Come in.” You mumbled behind your hand.

A moment later you felt the foot of the bed dip. You didn’t need to open your eyes to know who it was. “She might have a point you know.”

You removed your hand from your face to send a glare towards Natasha who just looked at you sympathetically. “Not you too, Nat. I wasn’t being reckless.” You repeated, practically shouting with frustration.

Natasha moved to kneel beside you, a comforting hand on your arm. “I wouldn’t call it reckless, Y/n, but you need to stop prioritizing everyone else’s safety over your own.”

“I couldn’t just watch them attack you.” You whispered and closed your eyes tiredly.

There was understanding in her eyes because the fact of the matter was everyone else on the team would have done the same. “And I appreciate what you did so much, just… can you try and be more careful? Maybe just tackle me next time instead of jumping in front of me?” She asked with a small smile and a playful twinkle in her eye.

You gave a weak chuckle at her words. “I guess I could have done that.”

“That’s all we ask. Now bring it in.” Natasha said gently as she opened her arms in offering which you gladly accepted as you wrapped your arms around her tightly.

For a moment Natasha just held you until you spoke up, ���Do you think she’s still mad at me?” you mumbled into her shoulder.

She rubbed your back soothingly in response, “I would give her a little more time before you try to talk to her. She seemed pretty upset when I saw her.” You sighed defeatedly at her response. “How’s about this… We watch an episode of that one show you like, the one that’s in black and white, then you can go talk to her?”

You sighed again but eventually agreed to her terms even though you typically only watched the show with Wanda. “I’ve told you the name of the show so many times, Nat.” You berated playfully as you grabbed the remote and turned on the show. Unable to focus your thoughts on anything other than the woman you loved. 

As soon as the credits rolled you couldn’t have been happier to shut off the TV. You turned to face Natasha who was already looking at you. She just shook her head at you with an amused smile on her lips. “Go get ‘em, tiger. Just remember what we talked about. Being more careful. I’m sure she’ll appreciate that.”

With a nod and one final hug you rushed out of your room and towards the elevator, eagerly hitting the button to the roof. You absolutely hated fighting with Wanda and in hindsight you couldn’t blame her for being upset. You would be upset if roles we reversed too.

When you exited the elevator and stepped hesitantly onto the roof of the compound you couldn’t help the nerves that blossomed in your chest at the thought that she may still be upset with you. That she still wouldn’t want to talk to you. You didn’t see her immediately which confused you. Maybe she wasn’t on the roof after all, you thought to yourself as you wandered a little further in. 

That’s when you found her. 

The sight before you made your heart drop as a pained gasp escaped your lips. 

The gasp was enough to get Wanda’s attention as she immediately pulled back from Vision and met your heartbroken stare. You both stared at each other for a moment until you schooled your features and nodded your head numbly. The fact that she had done this in a place that had been declared ‘ours’ broke your heart even more. You glanced at her one more time before you spun on your heel to head back in the direction of the elevator.

The movement seemed to snap Wanda out of her shock as she sprang into action. “Y/n! Wait!” Wanda shouted after you, her voice cracking. You could hear the frantic sound of her footsteps following you and the sound of Vision flying away.

Clenching your jaw, you kept walking, ignoring the desperation in her voice. Before you could board the elevator, she caught you by the arm and spun you around to face her. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks and her lips trembled when you finally looked at her. You shut your eyes tightly, not wanting to look into the eyes you once believed held your world. 

“Please, let me explain.” She said, a sob escaping her lips.

Faintly you shook your head, fighting to keep your voice steady as you opened your eyes once again. “I don’t think there’s anything to explain.” You mumbled weakly as you yanked your arm out of her hold and tried to turn away again, but she simply took hold of your arm again, her grip tightening.

“I love you!” She cried frantically, desperate to get you to stay. 

Her words that used to comfort you now stirred resentment within you. “Don’t say that!” You shouted back at her as tears began to fall from your eyes. “You don’t get to say that anymore! You lost that privilege when you decided to cheat on me!” 

Suddenly all the fight drained out of you as though saying it out loud made it all the more real. You covered your face with your hands, quiet sobs falling from your lips. Words you never thought you’d ever say following. “You cheated on me…” 

Wanda collected you in her arms and for a moment you let her as you cried into her shoulder. Her own sobs shook her body as her hold around you tightened. “I’m sorry, Y/n, I’m so sorry.”

“Why’d I let you in my heart?” You whispered more to yourself than her.

The tears that fell from her eyes fell more rapidly as she buried her head into the crook of your neck, her body shaking slightly. “Please, Y/n…”

Mustering all your strength, you pushed her away. “How many times?” you asked, your eyes on the floor because you weren’t sure you even wanted to know.

 Once again, she reached out to you, but you merely stepped back. “Answer me, Wanda.”

“Twice,” She whimpered, “But it was only a kiss!” she added hastily as if she hoped that would make it better.

Your eyes clenched shut in pain. “Do you love him?” The silence that followed was all the answer you needed as you opened your eyes to meet hers once more. 

“I love you.” She whispered.

“I think we’re done here. I truly wish you happiness with him... since you were willing to set fire to what we had for him.”

Before she could react, you stepped on the elevator and shut the door, sliding down the wall as soon as she disappeared from your view. Sobs wracking your body. The shattered remnants of your heart lying on the floor with you.

Since your relationship had formed in the haze of summer on this exact same roof, it seemed only poetic that it ended there too.

Part 5! I had such a hard time with this chapter, I honestly started and re-started it at least 3 times. Don’t kill me though, it’s a journey and I’d say we’re only about half way through. You never know what will happen. As always, hope whoever is reading enjoyed! Thoughts and comments always welcome. :)

[harveywritings92]

MHA/BNHA: They get severely injured and you heal them

You're recovery Girl's granddaughter you have a healing quirk called Angel's Glow, which requires skin on skin contact to work, small wounds, bruises and bone fractures are healed in seconds just by placing your hands on the injured area which will glow blue and repair damage, however wounds that are near fatal are different story. In that case, it’s kind of embarrassing, but you treat it how you would hypothermia, stripping down to your panties (or naked) and lay down holding that person close letting your healing aura cover them, of course you've never been in a situation where you've had to do that, pretty much keeping it reserved for your romantic partner, So when you got a call that your boyfriend was severely injured in a fight and his chances of survival aren't looking to good.

__________________

Fatgum/Taishiro:

Reader's age 26.

The last thing Taishiro remembered was fighting this crazy strong villain with an equally strong quirk! So, one can imagine his confusion when the last thing he remembered before blacking out; was fighting as Fatgum and then waking up after who knows how long as Fitgum and in a stranger's bedroom hooked up to a very annoying heart monitor that would not. stop. beeping! Taishiro slowly sat up; with a grimace expecting to feel pain shooting all throughout his body the second he moved, but to his astonishment nothing happened... 

He was sure his left leg was broken during that fight! he cautiously wiggled his toes and jerk his left leg around, nothing no pain... in fact he felt great; giddy like he had just eaten an entire buffet of his favorite foods! But how did... His train thought was cut short when he felt an slender arm around his waist.

Taishiro suddenly became hyperaware of the other person, a woman. laying in the bed next to him! His heartrate spiked causing the monitor to start beeping rapidly!

The blond carefully reached over and gently pushed the woman's hair away from her face, the BMI hero felt a wave of relief wash over him upon seeing the calm sleeping face of his girlfriend Y/n starring back at him. But the relief quickly shifted to befuddlement, why was she here? he then noticed their apparent lack clothes, His yellow eyes widened and felt his face burn; Taishiro swallowed hard as he checked under blanket... why were they just wearing boxers and panties? 

Spotting a some of his spare clothes in Y/n's closet, Taishiro quietly and carefully got out of the bed; unplugged the Heart monitor before taking it off, and got dressed in his track pants and T-shirt, then careful got Y/n dressed in one of his hoodies before tucking her into bed, Just as Recovery-Girl popped her head in to check on them as she couldn't hear the monitor beeping anymore, and got worried she smiled seeing her *hopefully* soon to-be Grandson-law alive and healthy.  

"Oh thank goodness you're awake..."

"Yeah, I jus' woke up. Sorry for intruddin."

"It's nothing to be sorry for, though I'm sure you're confused how you aren't in a coma or dead."

"...What happened to me?"

Recovery-girl gave him the run down after he was put out of commission, Taishiro was in pretty bad shape, the out come was looking grim when Y/n ordered the ambulance be redirected to her private-practice which also doubled as her home, they got got one of her intern's to use their quirk which could burn off his fat, they cleaned his cuts and got him stitched up then the y/ht woman told everyone to go home; save for her grandmother and Kirishima who refused to leave his mentor until he was sure hew was going to be alright.

it was only when he saw Y/n taking her clothes off did the flustered teen ask about those guest rooms, she offered and recovery- Girl lead him out of the room, the y/ht woman slipped into bed next her her unconscious lover and activated her quirk, Tai's whole body was soon surrounded in veil of blue light that slowly started to repair and heal his broken body.

Taishiro smiled gently as he caressed Y/n's cheek making her wince in her sleep. "The poor thing must be exhausted over using her quirk for two days." the pride the tall man had felt to shifted into concern. "two days?!" he croaked he remembered Y/n telling him that her quirk can also transfer her patients pain onto her to the lessen their burdens, and if he was in really bad shape as recovery-girl described... "Is she gonna be okay?" he asked voice cracking, the old nurse frowned knowing that her granddaughter told him about her quirks pain absobtion. "Well, the next couple days won't be very pleasant for her, I may have to keep her sedated." the blond eyes started to burn as he watched Y/n sleeping soundly, vowing stay by her side and to take her on very nice vacation when this was all over, they could both use it.

_______________________

Shoto Todoroki:

Reader age 21, Shoto: 19

This poor touch-starved child was so confused and flustered when he woke up in a strange bed, wearing nothing but his boxers and y/n clinging to him very intimately, all while alarm-bells were going off in his head as part on his mind was still in fight or flight mode as he cautiously scanned his girlfriend expecting this to be a dream, and the villain that attacked him to pop-out at any moment...

After a few moments of waiting for the dream to end, Shoto cautiously used his fire to burn himself he winced feeling the pain burn his wrist, then the pain went numb the bi-colored haired man's brows furrowed before seeing the familiar blue aura from [y/wt] woman's quirk reverse the damage on his wrist, Shoto's stomach churred as realized what she had done, he carefully removed himself from the warm embrace of her bed and looked around the room for something to wear before spotting some a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt left out for him, he changed then carefully got his girlfriend dressed into her PJs and her tucked in.

Shoto was the picture of calm as he kept a silent vigil over the [y/hc] woman carefully playing with her hair, but internally he was freaking out! Wondering how long had he been out for? and how long had Y/n been healing him? was she going to be okay?! he grimaced at he saw her wince in her sleep; even a blind man could see she was already suffering from the effects of over using her quirk! "Why would you do something so foolish?" he sighed using his cold half to keep Y/n's forehead cool he felt her temperature spike. "Love makes you do very rash decisions." Shoto jumped to see Recovery-Girl behind him and the dual quirked boy immediate bowed his head to her in forgiveness.

"Don't do that Todoroki, you don't need to apologize."

"But because me Y/n is..."

"It's not you're fault dear, Y/n knew the risks as soon as she heard you were in critical condition."

"How long were we like that?" he asked asked dreading the answer Recovery-Girl frowned as she checked her granddaughter's vitals over. "Four days, I won't lie the next couple days won't be kind to my Granddaughter." She saw Shoto wince knowing the guilt eating at him. "But knowing she has a handsome young man looking after her, should help her make a speedy recovery.~" the room's temperature suddenly spikes as a blush adorned Shoto's cheeks Recovery-Girl giggled jubilantly as she left the room leaving Y/n in Shoto's care.

____________________

Touya/Dabi:

Reader age 25 (note you're quirk can't heal his scars (you've tried) you were childhood friends with him, he kidnapped you and keeps you in his safehouse!)

Dabi woke up that morning with a splitting headache, crap how much did he have to drink? he growled taking a sharp breath as his eyes adjusted to his dimly lit bedroom, trying to piece together what happened last night, when he caught something blue in the dim light at first he thought it was his quirk acting up, but then he noticed some of his staples were missing around his stomach...

The it all came flooding back to him one of the Nomus had gotten lose before it could be "trained" and went on a rampage the villains and a couple heroes on the league payroll stropped it, but not without consequences, the beast managed to take a bite out of Dabi's waist, the scarred man somehow managed to make it home... walking through the front door was the last thing he remembered before blacking out, then he felt his stomach drop when he realized that this blue glow wasn't his flames!

Dabi quickly turned the light on above his bed and found a sleeping Y/n hugging his waist her quirk overworking itself trying to fix his scars, which weren't healing because the tissue was to damaged to fix, "You idiot!" he barked getting out of bed, then paused when he felt a rush cold air on his everything, his teal eyes looked down... Yep, naked as the day he was born, he cussed and checked under the thin sheet Y/n had covered them in, same story.

He check her temperature she was freezing!  "Tch" Dabi quickly readjusted the sheet around his girlfriend's shivering body then went and put on some black sweat pants, he quickly went to drawers and grabbed a pair of boxers and a t-shirt and put those on his y/ht girlfriend, then grabbed the discarded blanket from off the floor covering the couple.

Dabi used his quirk to boost up his body temp while rubbing Y/n’s arms trying warm her up. the last thing he needed was her getting sick, however he paused his ministrations and checked his burner phone... shit it been 2 days since the incident! He had a lot of messages from the league demanding to know where he was, He should probably get around to telling them he's alive... meh, maybe after Y/n recovered those f-ckers will live. 

[angelrider13]

A Sea of Lotus Flowers: Leviathan Extra

I finally finished it!!!

So I meant to have this up before the holidays were over - obviously that didn’t happen - and then real life hit that crazy post-holiday rush and I didn’t have the spoons to finish this out, but it is done!!!!

Admittedly, I got a little carried away with this one. I started and was like ‘it’ll be a short oneshot, maybe ~2,000 words. Well here we are, 12,482 words later.

This is a reply to @hamelin-born‘s reply to my post from a while back (I’m sorry it took so long!!!!) and I saw your post the other day about needing a pick me up, so I hope this makes your day better. Technically not canon in this verse - it’s 100% indulgent and I had fun with it and I guess it could be canon if you want it to be.

A little clunky in some places because I didn’t edit this and I kinda half-assed proofreading so forgive me any errors!!!

Lan Wangji resists the urge to step between Wei Ying and Jiang Wanyin as they argue. He’s come to understand that arguing is largely how these two communicate, but that does nothing to change the fact that his hand twitches toward his sword every time Jiang Wanyin says something biting or Wei Ying flinches.

He’s been lectured by multiple people, both subtly and blatantly, that their relationship has nothing to do with him. As a third party, it is not his right to interfere. He may advise and support, but he has no say in whether or not the relationship exists. He is, contrary to what these people lecturing him seem to think, aware of this. If Wei Ying wishes to have a relationship with the man he still considers his brother, then who is Lan Wangji to stop him?

He would never.

That doesn’t mean he’s going to allow Wei Ying to face the man alone.

Despite Wei Ying’s many assurances, he does not trust Jiang Wanyin with Wei Ying. Jiang Wanyin cast him aside before, hurt him before, and Lan Wangji has seen no evidence that he would not be willing to do so again.

So he watches.

It helps that their reason for being here this time is the Discussion Conference. It means they are less likely to be thrown into the lake – though he knows that such a small reason will not even register to Madame Jiang. Still, it means that Jiang Wanyin doesn’t have the authority to throw him out should something happen. As much as he detests political maneuvering, he will concede that sometimes it has its uses.

Wei Ying is punching Jiang Wanyin’s arm as he laughs. Lan Wangji can’t stop his twitch when Jiang Wanyin shoves him in turn, scowling as he opens his mouth to say something Lan Wangji is sure he will disagree with on principle when the Sect Leader’s eyes catch on something over Wei Ying’s shoulder. His face shades through confusion to alarm to horror in the span of a second before he’s shoving past them.

Wei Ying blinks, turning after him, “Hey, Jiang Chen – ”

But he cuts off, eyes widening as he sucks in a sharp breath and Lan Wangji turns just in time to see Lan Yun shoving a glowing array against Madame Jiang’s chest.

There’s a single moment where everything is completely still.

And then Madame Jiang drops like a stone.

The world explodes into motion.

Jaing Wanyin is screaming, Lan Yun looks stunned, and Madame Jiang is so horrifically still where she lays collapsed in a heap on the ground.

“What did you do?!” Jiang Wanyin roars as Jiang disciples converge on Lan Yun.

“I – I didn’t – it wasn’t – ” Lan Yun stutters out as his arms are grabbed and his swords taken. “It wasn’t supposed to do that!”

“And what was it supposed to do?” Sect Leader Jiang grits out.

“It was just supposed to reveal the truth!” Lan Yun blurts out when the disciples holding him wrench his arms back, violent glints in their eyes and mouths pressed into grim lines.

“The truth?! What about this looks like the fucking truth to you?!” Jiang Wanyin yells, Zidian sparking furiously up his entire arm.

He looks like he could go on, but Madame Jiang’s body suddenly twitches before it starts convulsing.

Lan Wangji only has a second to register the building energy before he’s moving, intercepting Wei Ying from running towards his brother and wrapping his husband up in his arms just as the energy explodes outwards in a wave that nearly bowls him over. He manages to turn so that his body is shielding Wei Ying’s, but there is nothing he can do but ride the wave out. He’s distantly aware of Wei Ying screaming his name, but he just tightens his hold.

The energy is vast. Deeper and richer and far, far larger than any reserve of energy – spiritual or demonic – Lan Wangji has ever felt. It is as if someone cracked open an egg and an entire ocean spilled out, flooding the entirety of Lotus Pier in a matter of seconds and drowning all of them under the sheer weight of its might.

Just when Lan Wangji thinks he can endure no more, he feels the wave of energy pull back, condensing inwards and shooting towards the sky. The crushing pressure on his lungs releases and he drags in a ragged breath, Wei Ying gasping in his arms.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying breathes, hands frantic as they check him over, “Are you alright?”

“Fine.”

Wei Ying huffs at him. “Don’t do that, Lan Zhan. I’m fine, you know! But what was that? What –?”

Lan Wangji watches as all the color drains from his husband’s face and his voice comes to a strangled halt. Worried, he follows Wei Ying’s gaze. And promptly feels his heart drop into his stomach. Lan Wangji is well aware that he has seen many impossible things in his lifetime, even for a cultivator. At this point, such a thing is not unexpected.

That does not mean he is in any way, shape, or form prepared to be facing a dragon suddenly in the center of Lotus Pier.

Its body is long and sleek, scales a deep, rippling blue, with fins and spines flaring out around it’s towering form. Molten gold eyes stare down at them – eyes that Lan Wangji has seen hundreds of times before today, eyes that he has never thought twice about meeting, eyes so familiar they make his heart move up to his mouth.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispers, “You see it too right? You see the dragon?”

“Mn,” he manages, throat too tight for anything else.

“Oh, okay then,” Wei Ying wheezes faintly, “Does this mean I’m not crazy? Or are you also crazy? And I just want it on record that this is absolutely not my fault.”

“You dare?” Madame Jiang breathes out, voice a deep, rumbling growl, revealing rows of razor sharp teeth as her burning gaze finds Lan Yun below her.

The man is paler than Lan Wangji has ever seen him. He hadn’t known it was possible for a living person to be that color. But Lan Wangji cannot find it in himself to feel any remorse for him – not even pity. A senior disciple of the Lan should know better.

“You idiotic little fool,” she snarls, fury practically dripping from her voice even though she’s holding herself oddly still, “Were I any less than I am, you would have killed every person here. All of Lotus Pier, every cultivator here for the conference, every civilian in town. Every. Single. Person. All those lives. And for what? So you could win an argument?”

Lan Yun seems incapable of speech, mouth flapping uselessly, before he seems to give up, collapsing into the arms of the Jiang disciples that are still restraining him despite the wave of energy that had been crushing them only moments before.

Madame Jiang sneers, disgust obvious. “I don’t expect any better from you Lan at this point, but this?”

She throws her head back in distain and Lan Wangji can’t even summon the usual offence that her open contempt of his sect would bring. Not when a member of said sect just tried to kill her within her own home – or not kill, so much as…reveal, he thinks, Lan Yun’s words echoing in his head.

It was just supposed to reveal the truth!

Lan Wangji looks up at the dragon towering above them and suddenly feels so very small.

“Hairong?”

He turns to see Sect Leader Jiang looking up at the dragon, concerned, but not surprised. In fact, none of the Jiang disciples seem surprised. Shaken, perhaps, but not shocked by this turn of events. Did she tell them? Did the Jiang Sect know that they were harboring a dragon this entire time? It would explain their deference to her despite her disrespectful behavior. Though, if this is in fact Madame Jiang’s true form, then perhaps it was not really disrespect at all. Lan Wangji cannot imagine having the gall to demand a dragon of all beings bow to him just because propriety dictated it.

Madame Jiang shifts to look down at them. “Little Lotus,” she replies, her voice gentling, “This is unexpected, but not…unwelcome, despite the circumstances. It has been a very long time since I wore my scales.”

Jiang Wanyin’s eyes narrow. “Can you change back?”

There’s a pause as Madame Jiang seems to consider this, head tilting to the side. “No,” she says after a moment, “I am as trapped in this form as I was in the other.”

Jiang Wanyin scowls, turning back to the disciples holding Lan Yun, who appears to have passed out. “Find out what he did,” he orders, “Figure out how to reverse it.”

The disciples bow as best they can while holding an unconscious person between them before dragging him off. Lan Wangji makes no move to stop them. None of the Lan do, not even Uncle.

“In the meantime,” Madame Jiang drawls, “I’m certain that the Lan will be more than happy to pay for the damages Lotus Pier has incurred from this little incident.”

Ah, Lan Wangji thinks as he follows the length of her body and sees the broken buildings, buckling under the sudden weight of an entire dragon atop them.

“And, of course,” she continues, “There will be reparations for any injuries sustained as a result of the Lan’s carelessness.”

The implied or else is so heavy in her tone, it is like a physical weight.

“Oh, they will,” Sect Leader Jiang agrees darkly, glaring at any and all Lan cultivators within his line of sight.

“Da-jie doesn’t need to be here for that though, does she?” Sect Leader Nie suddenly cuts in, fan fluttering in front of his face. His eyes are shrewd despite the tentative levity in his tone. He has been acting the part of the useless headshaker less and less these days, but it’s still rather difficult to get anything of substance out of him. “She should go for a swim.”

Madame Jiang chuckles. “What a splendid idea, my little hunter. A swim sounds lovely,” she says. Rather than make to leave, however, she carefully folds in on herself so that she can lower her head without shifting her body. “Will you be terribly upset if I leave you to deal with the mess?”

Jiang Wanyin huffs, reaching up to place a hand against the line of her jaw, seemingly lowered for the sole purpose of being within the Sect Leader’s reach. As if the action of touching a dragon is something simple and easy and common. Though, Lan Wangji supposes, given the way Madame Jiang has a tendency to drape herself over people she likes, perhaps it really is that easy.

“I always deal with the mess,” Jiang Wanyin retorts.

“That’s not true,” Madame Jiang pouts. Pouts­ of all things, as if she is still a small, young woman with a delicate face rather than a towering being of legend. “Sometimes you never know there’s a mess to begin with.”

“That’s terrifying,” Sect Leader Jiang says flatly, “Go away.”

“Very well, little love,” she says, nudging him almost playfully with her muzzle, “I will be in the lake.”

She straightens up, fins flaring out as she delicately lifts herself. Wood splinters and glass shatters with every movement as her coils lift out of the rubble. Madame Jiang glides easily through the sky, circling over Lotus Pier. Lan Wangji can hear the exclamations from town, they are so loud. They have good reason to be. It’s not everyday that a dragon passes overhead.

They watch Madame Jiang fly over the lake. She circles for a moment, scales glinting in sunlight, before diving straight down. She cuts through the water easily, not a single wave displaced despite the large body entering it, the only sign of her passage an echoing ring of ripples.

Lan Wangji had never known silence could be so loud before.

“Well,” Sect Leader Nie cuts through it cheerfully, “Let’s get this sorted out, shall we?”

-

“Seclusion?!” Jiang Cheng asks incredulously, face thunderous.

Privately, Nie Huaisang agrees. The Lan seem to solve everything by shoving the problem in seclusion. Not that it ever seems to work. It seems to be an ‘out of sight, out of mind’ solution more than anything. If the Lan don’t have to see the problem, they can pretend it doesn’t exist.

“Lan Yun,” Jiang Cheng says with a forced calm, keeping eye contact with the idiot who had confidently announced Lan Yun’s punishment. Lan Qiren doesn’t seem inclined to save him, Nie Huaisang notes with amusement, “attacked a member of my sect, a member of my family, in the middle of our home and you think sticking him in seclusion to reflect on his mistakes is a just punishment?”

Well, it sounds stupid when you say it like that, Jiang Cheng.

“It is our way,” Elder Idiot says, apparently completely oblivious to the furious sect leader that is two seconds away from going straight for his throat.

“Hairong could have died!” Jiang Cheng snaps.

“And had she, the punishment would be much more severe,” is the reply, “But she did not. Therefore, seclusion will suffice.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrow. “If Lan Yun ever shows his face in Yunmeng lands again, his life is mine. In the meantime, it seems the Jiang Sect needs to make some revisions to its trade agreements with the Lan. You’ve demonstrated a reduced need for Yunmeng goods. Does that suffice?”

Oh look, the elder is turning red. It’s always fun when someone manages to make a Lan lose their cool, Nie Huaisang muses, fanning himself. It makes things much more interesting.

“Enough,” Lan Qiren cuts in, “The exact details of Lan Yun’s punishment have yet to be decided by the elders of our sect and it will, of course, be pending Sect Leader Jiang’s approval.” He holds up a hand to stall the protests of his clan members. “As the Sect Leader of the one who was wronged, it is his right. Now, onto the matter of the damages.”

Trust Teacher Lan to steer things back on course without causing an explosion. Though usually, he is the one doing the exploding. Perhaps dealing with Da-jie and Wei-xiong has finally tempered him some? Nie Huaisang eyes the tension around the old man’s eyes, the grim set of his mouth, the tight line of his shoulders. Then again, perhaps not. Perhaps he is simply well aware that Jiang Cheng is not making idle threats. He really will cut off the Lan Sect if he feels it justified. And he has both the power and the means to do so without it hurting his own sect.

The Jiang Sect has always kept largely to themselves, even before Jiang Cheng became Sect Leader. The benefit of maintaining such a stance is that most people tend to leave you to yourselves and, as a result, stop paying attention to you. From a purely technical stand point, Nie Huaisang would consider the Jiang Sect the most powerful sect – even among the Great Sects. The only reason they aren’t considered as such by the world at large is because of the above-mentioned isolation stance. The last time the Jiang Sect was publicly entrenched in politics was the Sunshot Campaign and the period of rebuilding that followed. As soon as the disaster that was the battle at the Nightless City happened, the Jiang Sect had all but withdrawn from the cultivation world. If it weren’t for little Jin Ling being a Jin and therefore outside of the Jiang Sect’s jurisdiction, Nie Huaisang is willing to bet that Jiang Cheng wouldn’t have even shown up to the Discussion Conferences all Sect Leaders were expected to attend, or in the rare cases they were unable to, send a representative. Before Da-jie showed up, Nie Huaisang wouldn’t have been surprised if Jiang Cheng had one day decided to never step outside of Yunmeng again. The cultivation world hadn’t given him much reason to want to.

Now, though, he has reasons to want things.

And Lan Qiren knows it to.

Most of the Lan may be content to think themselves above the petty politics of the cultivation world, but Lan Qiren can’t afford to. He was the unofficial Sect Leader Lan for decades after his brother’s seclusion and he has once again been unofficially thrust into the position. Lan Wangji may help, but most of his attention these days goes to either Wei-xiong or his duties as Chief Cultivator and with Er-ge – with Lan Xichen still in seclusion, Lan Qiren must once again contend with sect politics.

Nie Huaisang isn’t sure how aware Teacher Lan is of Jiang Cheng’s power as a sect (There are, after all, many an incident with Jiang Cheng’s children that prove just how very many people don’t pay attention to the Jiang Sect even though they really should.) but he knows that the old man is shrewd enough to realize that favoring his own clan in this will hurt them more in the long run. Better to suffer a blow to your pride now than to lose it all later.

What follows is an intense round of haggling that he and most of the other Sect Leaders in the room are only witnesses to. The conflict is between the Lan and the Jiang after all – minor sects would have no say regardless and the Jin and the Nie are officially uninvolved. (Everyone knows that the new Sect Leader Jin will side with his uncle. If anyone is actually paying attention, they’ll know the Nie will side with him too. Nie Huaisang has never taken threats to his older siblings well.) The list of damages is impressive both because of how much it is – Nie Huaisang doubts Lotus Pier has been in such a state since the Sunshot Campaign, something that is likely making Jiang Cheng twitchy – and because of how little it is – Nie Huaisang saw how big Da-jie was and he might not be a great cultivator, but even his little spark of ability allowed him to feel the veritable flood of power that is now living under his Da-jie’s skin.

A budget is set and a contract is drawn up and signed, before the meeting is dismissed. Nie Huaisang finds himself walking with Jiang Cheng, Jin Ling and Jiang Cheng’s head disciple, Xia Lian, trailing behind them.

“So who won the bet?” he asks, glorying in the way Jiang Cheng sighs the sigh of a man who suffers far too many fools. Xia Lian snorts and Jin Ling almost manages to stifle his laugh in time.

“Huaisang,” he warns, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“A-Cheng,” he returns with a smile.

“A-Sang,” Jiang Cheng glares at him.

Nie Huaisang pokes him in the side. “Come on, tell me, tell me! Who won the bet?”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “Guess.”

“Grandma Ming,” Jin Ling says immediately.

“We’re still checking the books,” Xia Lian says with an easy shrug, a wicked grin tugging at her lips. The way it pulls at the scar across her face is really quite fetching. He’ll have to ask her to let him paint it later. “But Grandma Ming is a pretty good guess.”

“Grandma Ming always knows,” he muses.

Jiang Cheng scoffs and rolls his eyes again, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips as he stalks off to undoubtedly check on his people, so Nie Huaisang will call it a win.

-

“Young Mistress!”

Jin Ling immediately feels a stab of annoyance.

Ouyang Zizhen chuckles next to him as he raises a hand in greeting. “Lan Jingyi! Lan Sizhui!”

Lan Sizhui smiles at them as they draw near, falling into a proper bow. “Sect Leader Jin,” he greets.

Oh. No. Nope. Absolutely not.

“Never call me that again,” he snaps, pushing the older boy up from his bow.

Lan Jingyi snorts. “He prefers ‘Young Mistress.’”

“I prefer my name, you absolute disaster of a person,” Jin Ling shoots back.

Lan Sizhui’s smile somehow becomes warmer without his expression shifting at all. “Jin Ling,” he corrects.

“How are you?” Ouyang Zizhen asks, “Neither of you showed up with the rest of the Lan for the conference. Did something happen?”

“Nothing serious,” Lan Sizhui reassures, “We were on a night hunt that ran long. A restless ghost. He wasn’t…malicious, but he very much did not want to rest.”

Lan Sizhui’s slightly strained expression implies that the night hunt was more complicated than that and did not even slightly go according to plan.

“Forget the night hunt,” Lan Jingyi cuts in before Jin Ling can ask, practically vibrating out of his skin, “Are the rumors true?!”

Ouyang Zizhen blinks, head tilting to the side. “Rumors?”

“Gossip is forbidden,” Lan Sizhui sighs in such a way that implies he has said this many times in the last few days.

“Little Mother says that all rumors are based on something. The important part is checking your facts,” Lan Jingyi immediately retorts. “This is me checking my facts.” He grabs Jin Ling by the shoulders. “Is your aunt a dragon?”

“Oh that,” he says as blandly as he can manage.

Lan Jingyi starts shaking him. “Oh that? Oh that? Explain, you stingy – ”

“Jingyi,” Lan Sizhui admonishes.

Lan Jingyi obligingly stops shaking him but his glare does not diminish in the slightest.

“She’s in the lake,” Jin Ling offers after a long moment of aggressive staring, “We can go visit her if you like.”

Lan Jingyi makes an embarrassingly high pitch sound in the back of his throat, even as Jin Ling starts nudging him in the right direction. “Oh my god, your aunt is a dragon!”

“How did that happen?” Lan Sizhui asks, eyes wide as he moves to follow them.

Ah. Hm. Right. Is there a polite way to say that one of your sect members tried to kill your aunt?

Ouyang Zizhen makes an awkward sound that might have been a laugh in a different situation. “Are either of you particularly attached to Lan Yun?”

Jin Ling snorts. Lan Jingyi and Lan Sizhui exchange bewildered looks.

“No?” Lan Sizhui offers after a moment. “He’s not in our generation so we’re not really familiar with him.”

“Oh good,” Ouyang Zizhen says brightly.

“What did he do?” Lan Jingyi asks eagerly, leaning forward.

Jin Ling crosses his arms. “He attacked Jiuma in the middle of Lotus Pier,” he says flatly.

He watches the Lans’ mouths drop open in shock and Ouyang Zizhen immediately launches into the story. He’s good with words and makes it sound like an adventure rather than the heart stopping moment it really was. Jin Ling pointedly doesn’t think about the way his aunt looked when she collapsed, limbs splayed awkwardly where they fell and oh so frightfully still. Lan Jingyi is hanging on every word, gasping at all the appropriate parts which only seems to egg Ouyang Zichen on. Lan Sizhui, on the other hand, looks concerned. There is a furrow between his brows and a frown tugging at his lips.

“What happened after?” he asks, “Is everyone alright?”

“There were a few injuries, but nothing too serious,” Jin Ling answers, “Most of it was property damage.”

“And your aunt turning into a dragon,” Lan Jingyi adds.

“And Jiuma turning into a dragon,” he agrees.

“She’s always been one though,” Ouyang Zizhen points out, “She just had a different shape before.”

“About that,” Lan Jingyi says, “Can’t she just change back?”

“Nope,” Jin Ling answers, “She says she’s stuck.”

“Do you know what array was used?” Lan Sizhui asks.

He shakes his head. “Only that it had some sort of truth element to it. Lan Yun claimed it was to ‘reveal the truth’ whatever that means. Senior Wei has been working on reversing it for the past few days and he says it’s not that straight forward.”

“Well, if Senior Wei is working on it, I’m sure it’ll turn out fine,” Lan Jingyi says. Privately, Jin Ling isn’t convinced. But he does concede that if anyone can figure it out, it would be Senior Wei. “But what happened to Lan Yun? Sect Leader Jiang wouldn’t have taken any of this lying down.”

Jin Ling snorts. “Oh, he didn’t. Lan Yun’s currently in a cell with his spiritual powers sealed and his sword confiscated. Even he isn’t really sure what he did, so he hasn’t been much help in reversing it.”

“I thought for sure Sect Leader Jiang was going to gut the Lan Elder that suggested seclusion as punishment,” Ouyang Zizhen pipes in, because as heir of the Ouyang Sect, he had the pleasure of front row seats to the disaster that was that meeting.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jin Ling scoffs, “Jiujiu would never do that in the middle of a meeting.”

“But he would absolutely do it elsewhere,” Lan Jingyi drawls and Jin Ling doesn’t disagree, “Was anything actually decided or did everyone just shout at each other?”

“The Lan are paying for the damages,” Ouyang Zizhen answers, “They’re covering the cost of the materials and half of the labor costs.”

“Good,” Lan Sizhui says firmly, disapproval over this entire situation heavy in his voice, Lan Jingyi nodding his agreement. It makes something in Jin Ling uncoil. Not that he was worried either of his Lan friends would be upset over the backlash the Lan would likely face for this, but it was still nice to have the confirmation that neither of them agrees with the actions that were taken against his family.

“As for Lan Yun,” Ouyang Zizhen continues, “No official punishment has been decided yet, but it’s pending Sect Leader Jiang’s approval.”

“Well,” Lan Jingyi says after a beat, “It’s a good thing neither of us are particularly attached to him. We’ll be sure he gets a proper burial.”

“Jingyi,” Lan Sizhui tries to sound disapproving, but the slight upward tilt of his lips gives him away.

Soft laughter cuts through their conversation. Startled, they look up to see Sect Leader Nie grinning at them. They’re passing by the pavilion he’s been using to observe the lake. Jin Ling has seen his paintings of his aunt’s dragon form. They are very beautiful.  Jin Ling has already extracted a promise from the sect leader for one of the paintings, he just has to decide which one.

“Jiang-xiong wouldn’t kill him,” Sect Leader Nie says with an amused smile.

“…I’m pretty sure he would?” Lan Jingyi says slowly. Lan Sizhui elbows him in the side and he adds, “Sect Leader Nie.”

Sect Leader Nie’s smile widens. “Oh, to be young and innocent,” he sighs fondly.

“Stop trying to be vague and mysterious, Nie-shushu,” Jin Ling says, crossing his arms, “It doesn’t make you look wise.”

“I’ve no idea what you mean, A-Ling,” he replies airily.

Jin Ling snorts. “What are you doing? Did you make another painting?”

“Mm. I just finished one. Would you like to see?”

Ouyang Zizhen’s eyes go wide and pleading. “Can we? Your paintings are so beautiful, Sect Leader Nie!”

Nie-shushu waves them in with his fan. “Don’t touch though. It’s still drying.”

“Sect Leader Nie has been painting Little Mother,” Ouyang Zizhen explains as they enter the pavilion, “They’re really quite lovely pieces.”

Jin Ling walks over to the table, ignoring the others that have been hung up in various spots. He’s seen them already. This new one has been done entirely in blue inks – a blue dragon dancing gracefully over a lake. The dragon is a darker blue, cutting through the water with an elegant ease. The lake seems to rise up to join in the dance, tendrils of water curling around the dragon’s form. It’s a scene that Jin Ling has seen often these past few days. It’s breathtaking.

“Nie-shushu, I want this one,” he whispers.

“Mmm? You’re certain? I might paint another one you like more,” Nie-shushu replies.

“I’m sure. I want this one.”

Nie-shushu smiles. “I’ll set it aside then.”

“Did this actually happen?” Lan Jingyi interrupts loudly.

Ouyang Zizhen is already nodding. “Every day,” he insists.

Jin Ling turns. They’re looking at the painting of Hairong sunning herself in the shallows of Lotus Cove. She’s taken to doing so every afternoon since this entire thing started. Pretty much all of the younger disciples and all the children in town have taken to swimming around her, climbing her coils and using her fins as slides. It’s fun and it makes Hairong laugh, though she isn’t above shifting suddenly to knock them into the water just because.

“Do Lans even know how to swim?” he asks dubiously, because he’s a little shit as his aunt fondly informs him, and he likes to tug at Lan Jingyi sleeves just as much as the older boy tugs at his.

Lan Jingyi puffs up in offence exactly the way he thought he would. “Of course we do!”

“Then you should join us!” Ouyang Zizhen says.

“Ah,” Lan Sizhui says, “Maybe not.”

Right. Lan Sizhui got boat sick.

“You could just sit with Jiuma,” he offers, “She keeps herself close to the shore and tells stories. Jiujiu meditates on her head sometimes.”

Lan Jingyi’s jaw dropped. “He does not.”

“Sometimes he even naps on her head,” Nie-shushu adds shamelessly, always ready and willing to embarrass Jiujiu at any given opportunity.

“You’re lying,” Lan Jingyi says as Ouyang Zizhen claps his hands over his mouth to hide his smile, “There is no way Sandu Shengshou takes naps in public.”

“I’m not very familiar with the Lan rules,” Nie-shushu says mildly, which is a lie if Jin Ling has ever heard one, “But I’m fairly certain that lying is forbidden.”

Lan Jingyi squints at him. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says, because apparently even he will not call a sect leader a lying liar who lies to their face when Lan Sizhui is standing right next to him. “Speaking of, no one has actually shown me a dragon yet and I demand proof.”

Nie-shushu blinks. “Proof?”

“Gossip is forbidden,” Lan Jingyi informs gravely, “So I have to find out for myself.”

“A sound policy,” Sect Leader Nie agrees, “She’s in the lake.”

“That’s what I said,” Jin Ling huffs.

“Best get on that, then,” he replies waving them towards the entrance of the pavilion, “You’re burning daylight.”

“Like she wouldn’t be around at night,” Jin Ling grumbles.

“Ah, but little Lans have bedtimes.”

“We do not!” Lan Jingyi protests.

“You kind of do,” Ouyang Zizhen says.

“Let’s just go down to the lake, shall we?” Lan Sizhui starts herding them out, “Apologies for disturbing you, Sect Leader Nie. Thank you for letting us look at your paintings. Zizhen was right – they are very beautiful.”

Nie-shushu just smiles. “Thank you, Young Master Lan.”

Jin Ling lets Lan Sizhui drag them out of the pavilion and down towards the water. Lan Jingyi is urging them on, anticipation bright across his expression. By the time they reach the docks, he’s all but bouncing in place.

“Where is she?” Lan Jingyi asks, looking out at the lake, “I see no dragon.”

Jin Ling rolls his eyes and kneels so he can dip his fingers into the water. “Jiuma?”

He can feel the confusion pouring off the Lans, but between one blink and the next, Hairong is raising out of the water. Instead of towering over them, only her head breaks the surface and she grins at them.

“Nephew,” she replies, taking in his companions, “Little storyteller. And little Lans too. Have you come to visit me?”

Since Lan Jingyi’s jaw seems to be somewhere around his ankles, Jin Ling answers for him. “Jingyi is fact checking.”

That seems to amuse her. “Oh?”

“Apparently there are rumors everywhere and since Lans don’t gossip, they’re here to see with their own eyes.”

She chuckles. “And what do your eyes tell you?”

“You’re a dragon!” Lan Jingyi suddenly erupts. “Why didn’t you tell us you were a dragon?!”

Her eyes are bright and Jin Ling can hear the laughter in her voice. “I never told you I wasn’t,” she says.

That’s true – Jiuma is always frustratingly vague. Jin Ling has never cared personally, but he’s overheard many people ask Hiarong who or what she is before and always, always, her reply is non-answer. She never confirms any guesses, but she never denies them either.

“Besides,” she continues, “You never asked.”

Lan Jingyi splutters.

“I apologize on behalf of the Lan Sect, Madame Jiang,” Lan Sizhui says, going into a perfect bow – one suited to the spouse of a sect leader rather than one for a legend. Jin Ling didn’t think it was possible, but apparently he can like Lan Sizhui more than he already does.

“I do not need, nor do I want, your apologies, little star,” she says, “The wrong was committed by one and they alone hold the blame. The only apology that is appropriate is one from him. Children should not shoulder the blame for the faults of their elders.”

Lan Sizhui looks conflicted, but he nods after Lan Jingyi tugs his sleeve and Ouyang Zizhen gives him a supportive smile.

Jin Ling isn’t sure how to make Lan Sizhui not feel guilty by association, but he can at least distract him. Jumping onto Jiuma’s head and demanding a story seems to do the trick, if Lan Jingyi’s shouting is anything to go by. But Hairong just laughs fondly, indulging them as they lay back against her scales.

He falls asleep under the afternoon sun surrounded by friends and his aunt’s voice.

-

Wei Wuxian sighs as he leaves the library, rubbing a hand over his face.

Over a week and he still hasn’t found a solution. He’s almost there – he can feel it. He’s got most of it figured it out. There’s just one element he can’t decipher. The array Lan Yun used shouldn’t have done what it did; at least that’s not how it was intended to be used. Which means there’s no actual transformation element in the array and therefore nothing for Wei Wuxian to reverse. If he can get past this one hurdle, he’s certain he can create an array that will fix this entire mess.

The problem is that he has no idea who to get past this hurdle.

Lan Zhan would tell him to step back and rest, to try again in the morning, but he has too much anxious energy in his system to sleep right now. If he tried to join Lan Zhan in bed now, he’d only disturb his husband and he doesn’t want that.

He’ll take a walk to clear his head. That should help.

“What are you still doing up?”

Wei Wuxian spins around. “Jiang Cheng!” he exclaims and then winces at his own volume.

Jiang Cheng scowls at him. “It’s late. What are you still doing up?” he repeats.

“Aaaaah, well you know me, Jiang Cheng,” he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, “I get sidetracked when I work on a project! I have too many ideas to sleep!”

“Are any of them good ideas?” Jiang Cheng asks, eyes boring into him.

He feels himself deflate. “No, sorry,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I keep getting stuck on the transformation aspect of the array. That’s not written into the original function, so I have no idea where it came from which means the only ways I have of reversing it are all guesswork at best and I don’t think any of us are comfortable risking everything on a guess we aren’t sure will even work.”

Fuck, he’s babbling.

“Anyway, what are you doing up?” he attempts to redirect, though from the flat look Jiang Cheng gives him, it doesn’t work.

“Can’t sleep,” Jiang Cheng admits easily.

Ah. Right. He imagines he’d have a hard time sleeping too without Lan Zhan in his bed after his husband had been attacked.

He places a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I’ll figure it out, Jiang Cheng, I promise,” he vows with all the sincerity he can muster.

Jiang Cheng just rolls his eyes though and knocks his hand aside and Wei Wuxian tires not to flinch. “That was never in question,” he says, and oh, he hadn’t realized that, that Jiang Cheng thought like that, that Jiang Cheng would put such faith in him, and it makes him ache in his chest for an entirely different reason.

“But you’re stuck, aren’t you?” his brother continues, snagging his sleeve and tugging him along, “Why haven’t you asked Hairong?”

Wei Wuxian blinks, caught off guard and lets Jiang Cheng drag him down to the docks. “Uh. No?” he admits, “She’s not a cultivator, so I hadn’t thought to…”

Jiang Cheng is giving him a flat look and Wei Wuxian kind of agrees with him now that he’s thinking about it. Hairong may not be a cultivator and may have no interest or ability to cultivate herself, but that doesn’t mean she’s clueless.

“When was the last time you slept?” Jiang Cheng asks bluntly.

“…two nights ago,” he admits. He’s pretty sure at least. Lan Zhan would never let him neglect himself like that, even if he was neck deep in the middle of a breakthrough. “But it’s not that bad, Jiang Cheng, really! Lan Zhan brings me meals and makes me take naps and doesn’t let me get lost in my head. I’m fine, I promise.”

Jiang Cheng looks at him skeptically, and yeah, okay he deserves that. But he’s telling the truth this time!

“Someone has to look after you, I suppose,” he grumbles after a beat, “Come on.”

They walk in silence and Wei Wuxian tries not to fidget. They’ve gotten better. They’re still not – good. But they’ve talked and they been doing better. He thinks they have, at least. He knows that Lan Zhan doesn’t like Jiang Cheng and that the feeling is mutual, but Hairong is always here with a smile that’s filled with far too many teeth, ready to pounce should Lan Zhan cross over a line she has decided he has no business being near. Wei Wuxian is glad that his brother has someone like her in his corner; someone who will take his side no matter what. It’s good for Jiang Cheng to have someone like that in his life.

He knows that Lan Zhan is mostly angry on his behalf, but he wishes he wasn’t. Lan Zhan shouldn’t have to shoulder that burden and Jiang Cheng has every right to be angry with him. (He tries not to think about that time Hairong had found him drunk on the roof and he had been far, far too honest. She had looked at him blankly for a long moment and then carefully pushed back his hair and told him oh so gently that yes, Jiang Cheng had every right to be angry. But he had every right to be hurt by that anger. It was the softest she had ever been with him. He doesn’t know if he believes her.)

If Wei Wuxian is being honest with himself – and he tries to be these days – he’s been avoiding Hairong. He hasn’t gone down to the lake at all since she took up residence there. He’s seen her from a distance, lounging in the shallows with the children, arching over the lake, sunning herself on the rocks. But he hasn’t approached her directly. He’s not scared – he just. Doesn’t really know what to say to her. It’s easy when she’s just Hairong, his little brother’s wife who sometimes-passive-aggressively-sometimes-aggressively bullies him into communicating with Jiang Cheng like the two of them are real, functional adults instead of jagged, broken pieces of pain and trauma held together in the vague shape of a person through sheer, stubborn willpower.

When she’s a dragon, it’s. Well, it’s a bit different.

So he isn’t really sure what to expect when Jiang Cheng leads him down to the docks, but Hairong singing isn’t it. In hindsight, it’s a rather foolish thought – Hairong is a performer. She loves singing and dancing and storytelling. Why should that change just because her shape did?

There a different tone to it though. A different element to it that Wei Wuxian has never witnessed before.

Hairong glides through the water with the ease and grace of long practice, twisting in the air with water curling around her form as she dances over the center of the lake. Her voice echoes across the water, haunting and joyful and longing all at once. He doesn’t recognize the language, but he doesn’t feel like he’s missing anything by not being able to understand the words.

It’s beautiful.

She’s beautiful.

“You’ve never seen her do this before?” Jiang Cheng murmurs from his place beside him. Wei Wuxian had entirely forgotten he was there.

He shakes his head, unable to look away. “I’ve been mostly holed up in the library. Haven’t really had the time,” he answers softly.

Jiang Cheng makes an amused sound. “I didn’t mean recently,” he says, “This isn’t a new thing.”

As he says it, Wei Wuxian can picture it – Hairong as the woman he knows, small and lithe and so full of life, dancing across the waves, head thrown back and a grin on her face.

“Oh,” he says dumbly, “I hadn’t thought – but that makes sense.”

Jiang Cheng snorts. “She wouldn’t mind if you watched, if that’s what you’re worried about. She’s more shameless than you.”

A fact Wei Wuxian is well aware of. He hadn’t thought he’d ever meet such a person, but here they are.

“…she doesn’t like me,” he says.

“She likes you fine,” his brother immediately shoots back, “She just won’t let you avoid your own bullshit.”

Wei Wuxian makes a vague hum of acknowledgment. Hairong doesn’t let anyone avoid their own bullshit. But that doesn’t mean she likes them. Still…Jiang Cheng knows her best. “I’ll take your word for it,” he says.

“You could just ask her.”

“I could.”

He knows without looking that Jiang Cheng is rolling his eyes at him.

Hairong twists on the surface of the lake, arching up towards the sky before she falls still, her song ending, the last note fading into the night. Jiang Cheng kneels and dips a hand into the water.

“What are you – ?” he starts to ask, brow furrowed, only to be interrupted when Hairong suddenly collapses, sinking beneath the surface of the lake.

He’s left little time to wonder about if because twin spots of glowing gold appear in the water by the dock right before Hairong raises up in front of them.

“Little lotus,” she greets, “Little innovator.”

Wei Wuxian will never admit that he likes it when Hairong calls him that.

“Wei Wuxian has hit a wall,” Jiang Cheng announces like a traitor.

He twitches. “Jiang Cheng!”

Hairong just chuckles. “There are always obstacles in the road. It’s just a question of how you are going to get around them.”

She looks at him, expectant.

He groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Okay,” he says, “I’ve figured most of it out. The original array wasn’t so much meant to reveal the truth as it was to reveal hidden things. I mean, there’s an honesty compulsion to ensure that the things revealed are true, but that’s not really the purpose of the original array. Which would be simple enough to reverse on it’s own because we’d just have to switch the ‘revelation’ components to ‘hidden’ and – ”

“You’re babbling,” Jiang Cheng cuts in, “If you’ve already figured that part out, then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that there’s no transformation component in the original array,” he admits.

Jiang Cheng blinks. “What? But – ” he gestures at Hairong, expression incredulous.

“I know,” Wei Wuxian says, “But I’ve deconstructed the array at least six times and there’s nothing that should prompt this kind of reaction there!”

“You are approaching the problem from the wrong angle, I think.”

Wei Wuxian stares up at Hairong. “What do you mean?”

Hairong shifts, sinking slightly to be closer to their level. “What was the intent behind the array?”

Jiang Cheng frowns. “Lan Yun maintains that the array’s purpose is revelations of truth,” he says glancing Wei Wuxian.

“It’s really not,” Wei Wuxian confirms.

“The purpose does not matter in this instance,” Hairong says.

Now Wei Wuxian is frowning. “What do you mean?”

“Truth is…a very odd thing,” she says, “When most people think of it, they think of something that is always true no matter how it is picked and prodded. It is not something that can be changed. It is objective.”

Wei Wuxian raises a brow, interested. “But…?”

Hairong grins at him. “They aren’t wrong. But most everyday truths that people face are not objective. They are subjective.”

“How?” he asks.

“Because they depend largely on your point of view,” she answers, “Something you should be more than familiar with, Yiling Patriarch.”

“Ah,” he winces.

“You mean people manipulate the truth to suit them,” Jiang Cheng says.

She shakes her head. “No. They believe it to be true with all their hearts – but that doesn’t mean it is. For you, midday is when the sun is high in the sky. But for the owl who hunts at night while you sleep, midday is when the moon is high in the sky. So which is the truth?”

“Both of them,” Wei Wuxian says, mind working, “Lan Yun’s intent was to reveal the truth regardless of the actual purpose of the array. But he was as surprised by the results as the rest of us.”

Hairong looks pleased. “Indeed. I have many shapes, little innovator. Some human, some animal, some that are in between. All of them are still me. And yet, of all of them, this is the form that was revealed. Why?”

Wei Wuxian exchanges a look with Jiang Cheng. Hairong has a point. He knows that her relationship with the Lan has been…contentious at best and for one of them to actually act against her, in the middle of Lotus Pier no less, it would not be with the intention of revealing her to be a dragon. That would only prove her to be in the right and make the Lan lose face in the process. Which is exactly what happened. Lan Yun would not have intended for this to happen – had looked surprised when it did. So…

“Hairong,” Wei Wuxian says slowly, narrowing his eyes at her, “Are you a dragon?”

She laughs softly, an amused gleam in her eyes. “In your culture? Who’s to say? In mine?” she grins, revealing rows of razor sharp teeth. It should be terrifying and yet Wei Wuxian can see her all but radiating mischief. “The dragon has always been my brother.”

Jiang Cheng snorts. “Oh, well if you’re related to dragons,” he mutters, crossing his arms as he shoots a searching look at his wife, “Lan Yun wanted to reveal you as a monster.”

Her smile dims into something more solemn at that. “And he got one.”

There’s a pause.

Hairong is many things, but monstrous is not even remotely close to anywhere on Wei Wuxian’s list. He’s seen her with people. The juniors, the elderly, the children, civilians, cultivators, prostitutes, sect leaders. He’s seen her in all kinds of situations – he’s seen her be kind and cruel, gentle and harsh, proper to the point of pain and so shameless that even he is red in the face.

Wei Wuxian has known monsters.

Hairong is not one of them.

“I think we have different definitions of what a monster is,” he says flippantly.

She huffs at him. “Oh? And my appearance doesn’t do it for you?”

“More than half the people here are tripping over themselves just to bow to you,” Jiang Cheng says flatly.

Hairong clicks her tongue in disapproval. “Then what of the fact that I’ve killed more people than are currently alive?”

Wei Wuxian stares. “…How old are you?”

“Don’t you know to never ask a lady her age?” she asks coyly.

“Even if that’s true,” Jiang Cheng starts, his tone and expression conveying that he knows very much that it’s true, “What the fuck does that have to do with us?” he asks gesturing between them.

“I’m really not in a position to be throwing stones about that anyways,” Wei Wuxian adds softly, crossing his arms over his chest. The events of the battle at the Nightless City are more like bloody fragments of jagged glass than actual memories, but that doesn’t mean he has no clue what happened. He’s all too aware. He knows what he did. What room does he have to criticize another for the murder of thousands? And he knows that’s what it was. For Hairong, it doesn’t matter if it was in self-defense or cold blood, if there was a good reason or not. Killing is killing is killing. And he, someone who has more blood on his hands than he cares to think about, understands that very well.

Hairong hums and Wei Wuxian gets the distinct impression that she’s shrugging even though she doesn’t have the appropriate body parts for such an action.

“I am what I am,” she says, “Your feelings on that are yours and yours alone.”

“As if you don’t already know what they are,” Jiang Cheng scoffs.

Hairong giggles of all things and dips down to nuzzle her husband. Jiang Cheng leans into her, resting his forehead against her scales.

…Is this how Jiang Cheng feels when he and Lan Zhan are together? This is terrible.

“Anyway,” he says loudly and Jiang Cheng pulls back to scowl at him, “Don’t worry, Hairong, Jiang Cheng still loves you a lot.”

“He does,” Hairong agrees and Wei Wuxian watches with barely hidden glee as Jiang Cheng turns bright red, but then she turns to him. “And what of you, little tease, do you love me too?”

She even bats her eyes at him, which is all kinds of strange when she’s reptilian.

He splutters and he can feel himself flushing.

Hairong throws her head back and laughs, long and loud, the sound echoing over the water.

“We are getting off topic,” Jiang Cheng cuts in, blush still high on his cheeks. He turns to Wei Wuxian. “Did this help?”

He blinks and then mentally redirects. “Ah. Right. Well, if we don’t have to worry about a transformation component, then I suppose I’ve already reversed the array. We just need someone with the right intent to cast it.” He eyes Hairong speculatively, hand absently coming up to rubs his nose as he thinks. “If you were a cultivator, I would just give the modified array to you and have your intent cast it, but…”

“But she’s not a cultivator,” Jiang Cheng finishes.

“Lotus can cast it.”

Wei Wuxian watches Jiang Cheng whip around to face her. “What? No!”

“You know me best,” she says simply.

“That doesn’t mean I’ll do it right!” he snaps back.

Wei Wuxian watches, bewildered, as his brother argues with his wife over his ability to reverse the array correctly. Jiang Cheng could do it, he knows. He’s the best candidate for it – Hairong is right, Jiang Cheng knows her best. Wei Wuxian just can’t understand why he’s refusing.

“Don’t ask me,” Jiang Cheng grits out, “We have a difference of opinion on this. I don’t want mine to have any influence that might effect yours.”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t get it, not at first. But then Hairong goes still and her eyes go impossibly sad and soft.

Oh.

Hairong isn’t a cultivator.

Jiang Cheng is.

Hairong is going to die long before he does.

Wei Wuxian knew that, he did. But he’s never really stopped to think about it before, about what it means that Hairong doesn’t have a golden core. He knows what it means. (He knew what he was subjecting himself to when he gave his away.) Yet, it’s never before occurred to him what it meant for Hairong specifically. And considering he’s not the one married to her, but his first instinctive reaction is a violently visceral no, he can understand Jiang Cheng’s refusal.

He can’t make his brother do that. Not to his wife. Not to someone he loves.

So he needs to find a different solution. Hairong can’t cast the array, but she as the correct intent needed for it. Jiang Cheng won’t cast the array, but has the spirit energy needed to activate it in the first place. He tilts his head to the side, turning the idea over in his mind, shifting the pieces until they slot together neatly. It could work – a slight adjustment to compensate for dual casting, but with a single power source.

It should work.

“Okay,” he says loudly, clapping his hands together and pasting a bright smile onto his face as he pushes through the heavy atmosphere like it isn’t there, “Jiang Cheng’s spiritual energy will power the array, but Hairong will be the one to actually cast it.”

“…Will that work?” Jiang Cheng asks skeptically.

“I will make it work,” he says.

“Thank you, Wei Wuxian.”

Wei Wuxian stares up at Hairong with wide eyes. Something he’s long noticed about Hairong is that she doesn’t use names. Ever. This is the first time he has heard her use one and it’s his.

Her gaze is heavy and he feels it like a physical weight on his chest. He understands.

“You’re welcome,” he says.

It isn’t until he and Jiang Cheng are on the way back to their rooms that he remembers to ask the question that has been burning in the back of his mind for the entire week.

“So you married a dragon? What’s that like?”

“Wei Wuxian!”

-

Lan Qiren feels as though he has aged forty years over the course of a single week.

The last conference that had devolved so badly was the one when Wei Wuxian’s return was revealed to world after the then Madame Jin, Qin Su, had committed suicide and started a chain of events that shook the cultivation world so hard that they were still recovering. Lan Qiren thinks this one might be worse. The last one was – regrettable. But understandable once everything had come out. This though…

This time, he isn’t certain how to even begin wrapping his head around these new revelations. This time, it is the Lan that have lost face, not the Jin.

The Discussion Conference has more or less come to a standstill in the wake of Lan Yun’s actions. They still meet daily but little of what is actually discussed is actually what they are meant to be discussing. It’s mostly become nothing more than an attempt to subtly interrogate Sect Leader Jiang about his wife. Jiang Wanyin is not known for his patience, but Lan Qiren really must give the younger man credit for enduring such nonsense without snapping – that’s not to say Sect Leader Jiang is taking things lying down. He’s had no problem making his displeasure known and Zidian is almost constantly throwing off sparks.

It’s a wonder no one has been struck down by the lightning Sect Leader Jiang wields so naturally.

When Wei Wuxian comes up with a way to reverse what has been done to Madame Jiang, Lan Qiren is not surprised. As much as it galls him to admit it (and he will never do so out loud), for all the he is an undisciplined deviant, Wei Wuxian is brilliant. Which is way they’ve all gathered at the docks today; to witness his work in action and hopefully revert Madame Jiang to human form. Wei Wuxian seems confident it will work and he doubts that Jiang Wanyin would let any such array near his wife if he was not confident in the same.

Lan Qiren does not allow the general unrest in the air to affect him. The Jiang Sect are the only ones completely unsurprised by recent revelations and he has decided he will reexamine that fact at a later time – preferably in private far away from the stress that seems to follow the Jiang Sect like a shadow. The Nie and the Jin are surprised, though their Sect Leaders are noticeably not. The Lan were completely caught off guard. He has been completely caught off guard. In his defense, he’d never expected a member of his sect to have the audacity to attack a member of another sect completely unprovoked. Lan Yun has much to answer for when they return to the Cloud Recesses – and not just for his attack on Madame Jiang. His entire approach to the situation was wrong. Lan Qiren cannot take the risk that Lan Yun would not have acted in a similar fashion with someone else who disagreed with him. Contrary to what some of his contemporaries seem to think, seclusion is the least of what Lan Yun deserves. His actions will have lasting consequences, not just for him, but for the entirety of the sect.

At the very least, Madame Jiang herself doesn’t seem inclined to take action against them. He’s seen Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi sitting on the dragon’s head with Sect Leader Jin and the Ouyang Sect heir multiple times since they’ve arrived. And Sect Leader Jiang has been almost alarmingly reasonable about the entire thing – though Lan Qiren has no doubt that if he’d failed to bow his head to the younger man, that would be an entirely different story.

The gathered cultivators watch as Wei Wuxian ducks in close to explain something to Jiang Wanyin. The Sect Leader nods and Wei Wuxian retreats back to Wangji’s side.

Madame Jiang, who has been waiting silently in the water near the docks, carefully lowers her head.

The soft glow of spiritual energy shines between husband and wife as Sect Leader Jiang applies the array. He steps back and Madame Jiang sinks into the lake.

Lan Qiren can sense the energy in the air – heavy and potent and vast in a way that is honestly terrifying – building similarly to the way it had at the beginning of this entire fiasco but in a far more controlled manner.

Madame Jiang emerges from the center of the lake, shooting into the sky without displacing a single drop of water. She glides through the sky as easily as she did that first day for all she has not left the lake since she entered it. She dances through the air with a grace that would look unnatural on any other creature, coils twisting and turning, scales glowing with a golden light far brighter and purer than sunshine. That golden light builds and builds and builds until it is too bright to look at. The energy begins to compress, sinking in on itself until it becomes a single point of light.

And then it falls.

That single point of condensed energy crashes into the lake, waves rippling outwards. Golden energy bleeds out with the ripples, expanding until the entire lake shines like the sun, soft waves of light lapping at the docks.

The light slowly fades, leaving the water looking exactly as it was before and yet Lan Qiren cannot help but feel that something has changed. He blinks the spots from his vision and ignores the whispers that have risen around him as Jiang Wanyin approaches the edge of the dock.

Just as the Sect Leader reaches the end, a hand reaches up out of the water, slapping down on wood before a human body hoists itself out of the lake.

A very naked human body.

The whispers turn into loud exclamations and Lan Qiren pointedly turns his gaze away, forever lamenting the fact that his peers are apparently incapable of rational thought in the presence of improperly clad woman. Or an un-clad woman, as the case may be.

“Hairong,” Sect Leader Jiang’s voice cuts through the noise, aggrieved and resigned in equal measure.

His wife simply laughs. “Did you expect my clothes to survive that?”

Jiang Wanyin heaves a put-upon sigh. “It would have been nice,” he says, followed by a rustling sound.

“I don’t know what the fuss is about,” Madame Jiang says, “I’ve little need for clothes. My scales are fine enough.”

Lan Qiren is suddenly struck by the realization that Madame Jiang’s constant disregard for what is considered appropriate attire is because she doesn’t consider it worth her attention. After all, why should a dragon worry about how many layers is proper for what occasion?

Even though he’s been doing so all week, Lan Qiren is going to have to reevaluate every interaction with Madame Jiang.

“You don’t have scales right now,” Sect Leader Jiang replies flatly, “You have fragile human skin and you are soaking wet. If you don’t wear clothes, you’re going to get sick.”

“Fine, fine.”

“There. You’re decent.”

Carefully, Lan Qiren turns. Jiang Wanyin is adjusting the way his outer robes lays across his wife’s shoulders. It’s a hopeless endeavor – the robe is far too large for her small frame, and though Sect Leader Jiang has managed to tie it in such a way that it won’t fall right off her, the sleeves still cover her hands and the robe pools at her feet.

“I’m always decent,” she says, lightly bating his hands away and walking down the dock towards the assembled cultivators watching her attentively.

The robe drags along the ground revealing a highly improper amount of leg, but Lan Qiren does not allow his eyes to stray. He can not say the same for many of his fellows.

She stops before them in an overly large robe, legs on display, hair unbound and in complete disarray and dripping wet, completely soaking her clothes. Her expression is serene and distant, eyes half-lidded as she looks over them, still glows with residual energy, golden light shining brightly.

She looks like an empress.

“Lan Yun,” she says, golden eyes locking on where he stands bracketed by Jiang disciples, voice echoing and far too large for her small frame, more suited to the towering creature of legend Lan Qiren now knows her to be. “Are you satisfied?”

Lan Yun falls to his knees, pressing his forehead to the ground.

“A thousand apologies, Madame Jiang,” he says, “This lowly one begs your pardon. He acted foolishly in his arrogance and delivered harm upon both your person and your home. This one swears on his sect and his sword that such a thing will never happen again.”

Madame Jiang scoffs.

“What pretty words,” she says. There are glowing points of gold across Lan Yun’s shoulders where her gaze bores into him. She flicks a sleeve and the Jiang disciples haul Lan Yun to his feet so she can look him in the eye. “Are they for Hairong, the mortal woman who speaks her thoughts freely without censure? Or are they for the immortal legend you worship as if it were a god?”

Lan Yun visibly flounders. “I – they are for you – ”

Madame Jiang sneers at him. “You were willing to use spells and trickery because I did not agree with you. You could have killed me over a difference of opinion. What value do words have when they come from a mouth such as yours?”

Lan Yun cannot answer, face red with embarrassment and shame, nor can he retreat held in place as he is.

“If you ever use such methods again, no matter how mundane or mild you think the situation to be,” she continues, “I will find you. And I will rip your throat out with my teeth,” she says calmly, simply.

It is not a threat.

It is a promise.

And Lan Qiren realizes, with a cold, sinking dread, that the woman they have known for over the past decade, the woman who openly questions their ways, who sincerely and eagerly debates their philosophies, who flaunts her impropriety in their faces without shame every chance she gets, who constantly drives their sect to its wits end trying to deal with her – that all of that shameful, improper, aggravating behavior was her being polite.

And her patience is now at an end.

“Do you understand?”

Lan Yun gives a shaky nod, trembling from head to toe.

“Excellent. Get out of my sight.”

The Jiang disciples release him and Lan Yun makes a hasty retreat.

Madame Jiang casts her gaze over the assembled cultivators and Lan Qiren notes with growing unease that she seems to linger on anyone in Lan colors.

“I am a patient woman,” she says after a moment of heavy silence, “But even I have my limits. I have grown tired of dealing with spoiled children who throw temper tantrums whenever the slightest thing doesn’t go their way. As things stand, I would be within my rights to declare war over this, would I not?”

She turns towards Sect Leader Jiang, head tilted in inquiry. Jiang Wanyin raises an eyebrow in question, but nods in acknowledgment.

“An attempt on your life was made,” her husband answers, “We would be in our rights to retaliate.”

She laughs. “Oh, the Yunmeng Jiang would not be going to war,” she says, turning back to them with a smile that looks far more like a baring of teeth, “It would be me.”

Her words land amongst them like a stone, heavy and blunt and shocking. Lan Qiren feels as if he cannot breathe.

“That’s how things work amongst you lot, isn’t it?” she asks, head tilted in earnest curiosity, “You tried to kill me so I kill you back? That’s what I’d do if I was like you. Oh, but I forgot,” she muses thoughtfully, “I wouldn’t stop there, would I? The Lan are dangerous. They attack individuals for the simple act of having thoughts. Such a dangerous sect to leave unchecked. They are a threat and must be dealt with. Isn’t that what I would think, if I was like you?”

There’s a pressure in the air, pressing down on his shoulders, squeezing around his lungs. Lan Qiren’s heart is in his throat. He has not felt fear like this since the Sunshot Campaign.

“I could, you know,” she continues, “It would be easy. You’ve all done it countless times and never batted an eye. If I was like you, it would be easy. The Lan are a threat to me and mine – too dangerous to be left alive. If I was like you, I would wage war, wouldn’t I? If I was like you, I would claim each cultivator’s life in retribution. But not just yours, right? If I was like you, I would slaughter you all. The oldest, most feeble elder down to the infants in their cradles. The servants. The non-combatants. The children. That’s what I would do, if I as like you.”

Her pause is like a physical weight, her glowing gold gaze piercing straight through them. Her voice has gotten quieter, softer, as she spoke and yet it echoes across the entirety of Lotus Pier. Her next words are little more than a whisper, but they strike Lan Qiren to his core.

“Aren’t you so very glad that I am not like you?”

And then the pressure is gone.

The energy that saturated the air has vanished and Lan Qiren pulls air into his lungs as if he had been drowning just a moment before. He’s not the only one. All around him, cultivators are gasping, staggering as if released from a great weight.

The Jiang Sect’s First Disciple, Xia Lian, steps from the crowd and offers Madame Jiang her arm, completely unruffled by the scene she just witnessed.

“Come, Little Mother,” she says, “You must be tired, no need to linger. Sect Leader can deal with the guests.”

Madame Jiang huffs. “Don’t call them guests,” she says, voice once more that of a mortal woman, as she threads her arm through Xia Lian’s, “That implies that they’re wanted.”

“As you say, Little Mother,” Xia Lian replies, a smirk tugging at her lips.

“Except you, little hunter,” Madame Jiang flaps a sleeve in Sect Leader Nie’s direction as they pass, “You’re an angel and we’re all thrilled you’re here.”

Nie Huiasang just smiles, leisurely waving his fan. “Always a pleasure to be here, Da-jie.”

Jiang Wanyin snorts before stepping forward. “Alright, show’s over,” he says pointedly, “I’m sure we all have far more important things to do.”

Lan Qiren has never been more glad for a Discussion Conference to come to a close.

-

Jiang Cheng is not surprised when Hairong slides into his bed.

She plasters herself to his side, head resting on his chest, hand over his heart. He curls an arm around her shoulders, fingers smoothing down the soft fabric of her sleep robe. The first few times this had happened, Jiang Cheng had nearly bodily thrown Hairong from the room. Sometimes, he still doesn’t welcome it. But sometimes, times like tonight, he silently yearns it.

“Are you angry at me?” Hairong asks, tracing patterns on his chest.

A sigh explodes out of him. He should be. Her little show earlier had spun the sects into a whirlwind – half of them tripping over their own feet as they beg him to reign in his ‘wife’ and the other half demanding to know if they need to prepare for war. Lan Wangji had been visibly unnerved, but Wei Wuxian seemed to have been the only other one in the room to understand what had just happened. But with three of the Great Sects firmly in agreement that no war preparations were necessary, there was little that could be said.

Nie Huiasang pointed out that Hairong had every right to be upset about what happened and nothing she said was untrue.

Not a statement that had helped really, but it got the point across.

As it stands, Jiang Cheng isn’t feeling particularly charitable to any other sects at the moment. They only care now that Hairong’s ‘true’ form has been revealed as opposed to just last week when they would have been content to slander her name and gossip as soon as her back was turned. Now they are going to fall over themselves to flatter her, to gain her favor, when before they would have ignored her existence. They will fear her and revere her and Jiang Cheng is almost looking forward to watching her put them all in their places.

But more than all of that – more than the damages and the other sects and politics of it all – Jiang Cheng keeps seeing that moment Hairong hit the floor.

All week, every time he closes his eyes, he sees her there, sprawled out on the ground, still and limp and lifeless. He sees her, Hairong, his friend, his family, collapsed in a heap, dead, in the middle of Lotus Pier. While he stands there, helpless unable to stop it. He’d told himself, years ago, that Lotus Pier would never again be filled with the bodies of people he cared about. He’d promised.

And yet.

And yet.

“I’m not angry,” he whispers into the quiet between them.

Hairong hums. “But you are upset.”

He breathes, closes his eyes, sees her body seared into the backs of his eyelids.

Hairong is patient, hand over his heart, fingers taping out a mindless beat. She doesn’t prod or pry. She merely waits.

“You were dead,” he says after a long silence, “For that single moment, you were dead. And I could do nothing.”

The tapping over his heart stops. Hairong pushes herself up and braces herself over him, elbows on either side of his head and looks him in the eye. He meets her gaze and lets everything he won’t say, everything he doesn’t know how to say, show in his eyes.

Her face softens and she dips down to press her forehead to his.

“My death will never be your fault,” she says firmly, “Regardless of the how or why or when. Regardless of if you are standing right next to me or on the other side of the world. My death will never be your fault. Do you understand?”

“Logically,” he replies, because he does. He understands what she’s telling him. But emotions rarely follow logic and Jiang Cheng has never been particularly inclined to listen to logic when his emotions run wild.

Hairong pulls back enough that he can see the rueful smile quirking her lips. “Fair,” she says as she settles back against his side.

They breathe together for a moment and now Jiang Cheng waits. He knows what’s coming next.

“I am going to die, Jiang Cheng,” she says quietly, “And it will not be your fault.”

He pulls in a breath, holds it for a moment, and then releases it all at once. “I know,” he answers, “And part of me will hate you for it.”

“I know,” she echoes back at him, “But just because I will be leaving you in however many years does not mean I’ll never see you again. Death isn’t a goodbye. Just a see you later.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” he can’t help but grumble.

She huffs a laugh against his throat as she curls into him. “No,” she whispers to him as if imparting a secret, the weight of years in her voice, “It is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”

Jiang Cheng gives in and turns, wrapping himself around Hairong’s smaller form. “Then why do you keep doing it?”

She smiles, small and sad and fond, hand coming up to cup his cheek. “Oh, A-Cheng, nothing is forever. I would have rather loved and lost than never loved at all. You know that.”

“I do.”

And he does. They’ve had this talk numerous times over the years. It never gets any easier. He understands all too well what Hairong means when she says death is something that happens to the living. It makes him cling that much harder to the things that are his.

“You’re not allowed to die of anything other than old age,” he announces.

He can feel her smile against the hallow of his throat.

“I will do my best.”

It’s not a promise. Hairong never makes promises about things out of her control and Jiang Cheng loves her for it. She never promises impossible things. Still.

“You’re a Jiang,” he grumbles at her, closing his eyes and settling more firmly against her. “Attempt the impossible.”

A breath of laughter warms his chest.

“As you say, little love.”

[teawithkpop]

[M] - PhysCom - Pt 2

pt 1 - pt 2 - pt 3 - bc 1 - pt 4 - pt 5 - pt 6

Pairing: BTS - OT7 x Reader

Rating: Mature [18+]

Length: 9.7k words

Genre: PhysCom AU - smut with dashes of angst, and a shitload of romance and complicated feelings,, uhuhu (porn with plot??)

Warnings: swearing, anal play (male receiving), praise kink, degradation, mentions of cross dressing, brief orgasm denial, oral sex (female receiving), mentions of birth control, dirty talk, pet play, cum play (kinda?), voyeurism, group sex, anal sex, pheww I think that’s it

this one is,,, twice as long as pt 1 eye-

anyways thank you for all the love for physcom! I’ll do my best to make this series ruin everyone’s lives hehehe  the best it can be! ^^ <3

-------

“...What are you two doing?”

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, shit-

Emergency sirens are all you can hear in your brain and sheer panic floods your veins, leaving you frozen with fear. You know you shut the door, you had to have shut it, right? Why the fuck wouldn’t you have shut the door?

Surely this is the end. You’ll be exposed and all the reasons that you gave Taehyung not to do the thing you just did come flooding back to you now, echoing in your head like ghosts and mocking you in your own voice. Contract terminated… stigmatized… left with nothing... shadow of disgrace...

“What does it look like?” Taehyung answers without hesitation, drawing you back into the present moment. One of his eyebrows lifts minutely, as if he’s only mildly irritated by the witness to your transgression. If he’s nervous, you can’t tell.

Jimin’s eyes narrow suspiciously at Taehyung’s sarcasm. “It looks like you were-”

“Our lovely PhysCom was just helping me get off.” Tae interrupts him, his tone implying the obvious.

It’s then that you realize, Jimin only saw what you two were doing, not the reason behind it, or what you were feeling... this lie might actually work.

“Then why were you just kissing her? Why wasn’t she touching you, or something?” Jimin is not so easily fooled, and he peers around to confirm that neither yours nor Tae’s genitals are exposed.

Taehyung gives a shrug. "Kissing is my new kink."  His eyes sparkle with the private joke, and he sends you a wink. “See you later, jagiya.” With that, he ruffles his hair back into place and heads out of the room, leaving you alone with a skeptical Jimin.

You're a little ticked that he left you to glue all the pieces of your cover story back into place, but you turn to Jimin regardless. "Sorry about that. Master Kim has been… experimenting,” you supply, trying to fill in any holes in the story, but sounding uncertain even to your own ears.

"I don't like that he calls you that." Jimin says, a frown on his lips as he stares after the direction Tae went.

You furrow your brows. "What?"

"Jagiya.” His gaze shifts back to you. “You know what that means, right?"

It’s rare for the boys use a word or phrase in their native language that you don’t understand. You don’t speak Korean, but the chip in your brain does. It’s hooked up to an audio-translation app in your ComGear, and automatically translates what you hear, so your brain perceives it in your native tongue.

Conversely, the chip also tracks your thoughts, so as you go to speak, it overrides the synapses in your Temporal Lobe and Korean comes out of your mouth instead. Such a device is considered standard among newly licensed PhysComs.

It didn’t used to be that way, and often PhysComs that were hired from foreign countries had no way to speak to their clients except through body language and learned commands. But the industry quickly realized that full communication is key to avoiding issues with consent, not to mention it's much more convenient, and so the best PhysCom networks provide their employees with proper translation equipment. Though there are still some smaller networks that can’t afford the technology and therefore, they usually only hire trainees who speak the same language as their potential clients.

On occasion, there will still be a word which has no exact equivalent in your language, such as hyung or jagiya, so the app doesn’t attempt to translate it. But usually you can pick up the gist of it through context, and Namjoon has been very helpful in providing you with articulate definitions before. You still remember the funny look on his face when you asked him about jagiya - the term of endearment Tae calls you.

"It's used between lovers, isn't it?” You ask, recalling Namjoon’s definition to be an approximation of darling or sweetheart. “Technically, I am his lover."

Jimin’s frown creases his brow. "Yeah, but you're a lover for all of us,” he says, a pout forming on his lips. “He shouldn't get to act like you're just his."

Normally you would tease him for sounding jealous, but his concern in this case is… founded, and another pang of guilt hits your gut. You don't know if you'll even be able to eat the dinner you made at this rate.

You try to change the subject. "Anyway, how can I help you, Master Park?"

"Oh, right.” His concern seems to melt away to embarrassment, and he rubs the back of his neck. “I sent you a message this morning. I don't know if you got it… then I messaged you about ten minutes ago, asking if we could… have a quick session."

Right. You haven’t looked at your ComGear since the incident with Taehyung, and you feel even guiltier. First you were lying to your client, and now you’ve accidentally ghosted him. Thankfully Jimin doesn’t hold a grudge, especially not with you. All he needs is a little personal attention and validation, and he’ll be purring.

Time to get back to work.

"Sorry, master.” You assume your persona and saunter over to him, running your hand up his arm. “I was so excited to hear from you, I forgot to reply,” you chuckle, your fingers dancing up his neck and combing through the hair at his nape. He visibly relaxes under your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as you card through his silky locks.

“It’s okay…” he mumbles, shyly avoiding your gaze. Honestly, Jimin can be too cute for his own good. He and Taehyung are the same age, but they're like opposites in a way. They both exude the same level of charm, but one is effortlessly seductive while the other is effortlessly endearing. You have witnessed those roles reverse in them before, but no matter which way you look at it, they’re still two of the sexiest people on the planet.

“I did get your message this morning, master. Quite a scandalous outfit…" You click your tongue and raise a well groomed eyebrow at him. Jimin loves to be teased, and chastisement really puts him over the edge. “Why did a good boy like you send me such a naughty picture, hm?”

He looks away, a blush rising to his cheeks. "I was wondering if… if you could…"

You don’t try to finish his sentence for him, and lift one polished fingernail beneath his chin, coaxing him to look at you. "Yes?"

"If you could make me wear it?"

Oh. Another surprise. Jimin is a hell of a flirt on stage, and anyone would think he’s dominant in the bedroom, even just judging from how often he sticks out his tongue while dancing, or how he thrusts his hips to the encouraging screams of thousands. But that’s on the stage, when he’s in his element. By himself, in private, it’s a much different story. Jimin’s not exactly sure what he wants from you.

You had read up about all this in his file, and you’ve been working with Jimin to help him explore his sexuality in a way that’s comfortable for him. You’ve tried a myriad of things so far, and recently, he’s been enjoying more submissive pleasures. During your most recent session, he even asked you to penetrate him.

You had complied of course, but the experience seems to have inspired him to go further, to a kink you didn’t even know he had. Cross-dressing and the usual praise-filled humiliation? Oh, this will be fun.

“Chim?” Your tone is scandalized as you use the name he prefers when being submissive, and his cheeks turn scarlet. “You want to be dressed up in that outfit?”

He nods, turning his face to nuzzle his cheek into your hand. “Is... is that okay?”

Your heart melts, and you smile at him, brushing your thumb along his soft cheek. “Of course it’s okay, baby.”

He grins, his eyes turning to crescents, and you suddenly feel compelled to give him the entire world if he so desires.

You click your tongue once more and ruffle his hair affectionately. “We’ll have to order it first, okay? Then we can dress you up, Chim.”

“Okay,” he says, and you swear his smile could light up the night sky. “Until then… could you, uh… play with my butt again?”

You chuckle and nod. “Yes, I most definitely can. We still have some time before dinner.” You grab your ComGear, take his hand, and lead him out of the room, being sure to shut the door this time. “Come along, baby.”

As the two of you head off to his room, you’re almost able to forget the situation with Taehyung. That is, until you open your ComGear to pull up the picture of Jimin’s outfit and see all the missed messages from him.

I’m really sorry. My feelings got away from me. Please don’t ignore me, jagiya. I don’t want to lose you. Jagiya? I’m coming upstairs.

Shit. Feelings? A sinking feeling claws at your heart and you have to wonder just how serious Taehyung is about you. How deep do these feelings of his go?

“Everything okay?” Jimin’s voice clears your mind and you slide your ComGear back into its holster. His eyes are full of concern at your probably tense expression, and you have to push the guilt away again.

“Everything’s fine.” You aren’t sure that’s true, but maybe if you say it enough, it’ll manifest. Regardless, you don’t have time to worry about Taehyung right now. Your client needs you.

“Come on, baby boy. Let’s go make you feel good.”

-------

Jimin’s room always smells good, like fresh linen. You aren’t sure how that’s possible, when 80 percent of the time, the place is a mess. But you aren’t complaining. He keeps his bed made neatly, and that’s all that matters for your job.

"Take off your pants for me, Chim." Your voice is gentle as you start the scene and lock the door behind the both of you. Jimin wastes no time in following your orders, and strips his lower half down to his underwear. He’s about to take off his top too, but you stop him. “You should leave that on. It’s cute.”

He looks down at the oversized shirt, the long sleeves covering most of his hands, and the rest of the soft blue fabric hangs loosely around his torso. He smiles shyly and gets onto the bed, assuming position and laying on his back as he had for your previous sessions.

"What a good boy. Oh, look how hard you are already,” you purr, undoing the belt of your robe and slipping it off, leaving your body bare save for your utility belt. It feels good to put aside your worries and focus on work for a while.

Before you begin, you change a setting on your ComGear to let the other boys know you’re currently in a session. If you’re busy and they want to fuck, they have the option of joining in - if your current client allows it - scheduling you for directly after, or fucking one of the secondary PhysComs their company employs and keeps on call.

You’re their Primary Physcom. The secondaries are alternate fuck toys for when you’re unavailable, if you get sick, on your days off, while you’re sleeping, etc. For as long as you’ve worked for Bangtan, not once have they called a secondary PhysCom.

It does boost your pride a bit, but to be fair, you’re the only one who knows them so well.

Sure, they could go call another PhysCom to play with if they get super horny at three in the morning, but the secondaries are practically strangers to them. They’ve all expressed that they’d much rather wait, if it means they can get their hands on you instead of some random substitute, which is just the way you like it.

You’re their girl, and you know, better than anyone, how they like to fuck. Besides, if anything, them having to wait for you builds up the anticipation and makes them even hornier. In a way, you view their favoritism as job security. It’s only practical to stay in their good graces and develop trust and build connections with them.

You see the lust and excitement glittering in Jimin’s eyes as you climb onto the bed, facing him and sitting beside his legs. Your hand runs up along his inner thigh to tease him, and the bulge in his underwear grows a little more prominent.

“Now then. Have you been thinking about our last session, Chim?” You make your voice calm and soothing as your fingers skim up and down his thighs, giving an occasional squeeze to his soft skin. God, his thighs are thick… perfect for riding.

He nods. “Yes.”

You flick the thought away. He didn’t ask you to ride his thighs. Your fantasies are not relevant. “Good. And how do you feel about it? Did you like it when I played with your pretty little hole?” Your nails graze over his length, and he bites his lower lip. You like to do regular check-ins with your clients, in case they want to experiment, or something isn’t working for them. But with Jimin, everything so far has been an experiment, so you’ve been checking in more frequently. In a way, you’re kind of like a sexual therapist to all of them.

“Yes. I loved it,” he replies, gripping the sheets below him to avoid moving too much. “It felt so good.”

You hum in delight, happy that you two seem to have found a path to follow to pursue his pleasure. “Excellent. And if something doesn’t feel good, what do we say?”

“Calico.” Jimin murmurs, one sleeved hand coming up to cover his face. God, he’s a natural. His shyness is going to kill you. You set up safe words with all your clients, just in case. It shows your professionalism. You even have one, though you’ve never had to use it.

“Good boy. Always tell me how you’re feeling, okay?” You can feel his cock twitch at the praise, and you love being able to make him so happy.

He nods, a blush already rising to his cheeks. “Please touch me.”

How can you deny such a request? You hook your fingers in the waistband of his (no doubt very expensive) boxer briefs, peeling the fabric down his legs and off his body, to be discarded at the foot of the bed.

“Oh my…” You shift positions, spreading his legs apart and perching yourself between them. “What a pretty little cock. Look at that.” You would make a show of it even if it wasn’t pretty, but fuck, in this case, the praise is well deserved. Jimin’s cock is smooth and pink and perfect, just like his lips. Frankly, you think putting your mouth on either one would be just as pleasurable. The only fib about his cock would be the ‘little’ part - Jimin sports a fair five or six inches - but it’s all a part of the fantasy, for his benefit.

You hum to yourself as you snap on a pair of plastic gloves, as much for safety reasons as for his pleasure. Even though you all get checked frequently for any sort of sexual diseases and infections, you’re still having sex with multiple men every single day, and there are certain precautions one should take.

Hygiene is one of the many intricacies of your job and you follow your hygienic routine religiously. For anal and vaginal sex, PhysComs have various cleansers that can be inserted nightly to prevent anything nasty from taking root overnight. For Oral sex, there are specialized mouth washes that can be swallowed if needed.

But hands are a little trickier. Nails and cuticles aren’t as easily to clean thoroughly, and can trap all sorts of bacteria, so with something like fingering your clients, it’s safest to use a barrier to significantly decrease the risk of infection or contamination.

Now fully protected, your fingertips start to trace over his beautiful cock, skimming along his inner thighs, and teasing his precious little hole, building up his anticipation. He gives a small whimper, looking away as you tease him just enough to make his hips buck up into your capable hands.

Eventually, you take his length and slowly pump it in your hand, catching his gaze whenever he looks to you. “Does Chim want to be filled up? You want me to play with your ass?”

He nods emphatically, still hiding his face.

“Use your words, baby.”

“Yes! Please p-play with my ass.” His face is positively scarlet, and you smile with satisfaction.

You let go of him, and reach beneath his bed to pull out his little chest of treasures. Anal beads, plugs, vibrators, nearly everything can be found inside. You think he might have even added to the collection since last time.

You select a small ribbed plug with a jewel decorating the base and grab the lube from your belt. You spread a generous amount over his hole, gently massaging it in. As you carefully push your forefinger past his puckered rim, he moans. You slide your finger gently in and out, stroking his silken walls, and he writhes beneath your touch, already overcome with pleasure.

“Are you ready, baby?”

He nods again, then remembers to speak. “Yes. I’m ready.”

You ease the tip of the plug past his rim, and soon the whole thing is nestled comfortably inside him. He lets out a whine, his thighs clenching as you slowly work the toy in and out of his hole. “Good boy… such a pretty cock.” You pet his thigh soothingly, then start to squeeze his cock, pumping it slowly in time with the plug.

It doesn’t take long before Jimin is moaning and squirming, his length rock hard and leaking precum. His moans get whinier, his breath more shallow, and you can tell he’s on the edge.

With a kiss to his hardened dick, you ease the plug out of his ass and cease all contact. Orgasm denial is something he’d brought up last time, and now seems like the perfect opportunity to test the waters. "I think such a good boy can hold his cum in until dinner…"

"No! Please! I-I can't." He covers his face with both hands, writhing desperately for some friction to his aching cock, his pink hole puckering cutely at the sudden emptiness.

So freaking cute.

"Oh? You want to cum now?" You chuckle, teasing the toy around his rim. "But then how will you fuck me along with the others at dinner if your little cock is all sad and empty?" You trace your fingernail up along his length, barely touching him.

He whimpers in reply, his member twitching in pleasure.

"Can you cum again for me tonight, baby boy? Promise me. Otherwise this little cock is going to stay hard." You grip him by the base of his shaft, tortuously brushing your forefinger over the leaking head of his cock.

"I promise I can! I'll cum for you at dinner, I-I swear it…"

You grin. You don’t expect to hold it to him, but you know it’s the looming threat of punishment that’s what’s most effective here. "I have your word, baby boy."

Your hand pumps his length to completion while you grab the toy and fuck it back inside of him, and he cries out in ecstasy, quickly cumming in spurts all over your hand, a few drops landing on his shirt while his body trembles from his climax.

"Good boy,” you coo, milking him through his high.

-------

It doesn’t take you long to clean Jimin up, as well as cleaning the toy for next time, and then you pack everything away. He’s still breathless by the time you’re finished, laying on the bed as he recovers from his orgasm.

You’re about to get up and grab your robe from the floor when Jimin finds his voice.

"Why were you really kissing Taehyung?"

Your stomach sinks at the question. You’d been hoping he’d forgotten - as you were trying to do - about your little bend of will earlier. How the hell are you supposed to answer that? Honesty. Always go for honesty.

Well, as honest as you can be without losing your job. "He commanded me."

"Is that all it takes?" Jimin’s eyebrows shoot up and he props up eagerly onto his elbows. "Kiss me, too."

You curse the flutter in your stomach. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

You know for a fact that it's a bad idea, and out of the question, but damn if Park Jimin doesn't have the most luscious lips you've ever seen. The temptation is there, for sure...

"Just a little kiss?” He clasps his hands together, his eyes pleading. “It's only fair. You were practically making out with him."

Well, shit. Now what? Technically, not kissing clients is only a self-imposed rule on your part, plenty of PhysComs divulge in the act. You chose to restrict it for your own sanity. But, what now? Do you lie to yourself and stick to the book, even when you've already broken a cardinal rule? Or do you… see what's beyond the confines of its cover?

Fuck. You need to stop talking yourself into these things.

But to be fair, nothing bad happened last time, apart from Jimin walking in on you. You glance at the door, which is shut tight and locked, as is standard during a session. No risk of being interrupted.

Jimin’s eyes dart down to your lips as he chews on his own, waiting for your decision. Seeing his teeth tug at the plump pink skin has your heart skipping a beat despite your best effort to deny his effect on you.

Fuck it. Park Jimin is begging to kiss you.

"Okay, fine. One - very small - kiss." You pinch your fingers together to demonstrate.

“Yes!” He smiles brightly, and suddenly it doesn’t seem like such a bad idea after all. He sits up fully, scooting closer to you.

Why is your heart beating so goddamn fast? Why are you nervous about this? "But, look, you can't tell anyone, okay? I’m making an exception since this isn't really in my job description."

He nods eagerly and seems happy to agree to any stipulations. “Just this once, I promise. It’ll be our secret.”

That makes it sound even more condemning somehow, but you don’t have time to second guess it as he cups your cheek and pulls you in, pressing his lips to yours.

His kiss is like some sort of paradise, it leaves your mind feeling fuzzy... his lips… how are they so thick and soft? He’s hypnotic, sweet, addictive… like nothing you’ve ever experienced.

Before you know it, he's laying you out on the bed, moaning as he licks into your mouth, his tongue breaching through the kiss while he gropes your breast. Fuck, you shouldn’t have agreed to do this naked. But he tastes so sweet, you can’t think of a reason to object, too intoxicated by his lips. He breaks away from your mouth and starts trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your body, and pretty soon he's mouthing at your inner thighs, his fingers skimming the base of your pussy plug.

Oh, shit. Wait, no, how did this happen?

"Master Park." You start to say, but then he's twisting the plug free, and you gasp at the unexpected stretch as it pulls out. "J-Jimin!"

He stops, his eyes wide at the use of his first name as he looks up at you from his lewd position.

"What the hell are you doing?" You ask, too flustered to rely on your usual formalities.

"Saying thank you." He replies simply. Then he leans down to kiss your clit, and begins mouthing at it devotedly.

You nearly jump out of your skin at the electric contact. Fuck, no one's gone down on you in a year at least, not since your training. Your body is screaming to let him continue, but you know it’ll lead to nowhere as he laves over your sensitive and neglected bud with his tongue, and you find yourself scooting up the bed and away from his blissful mouth. "Jimin, no. Stop."

You grab the plug from him and insert it again before anything can leak out, distress making your fingers tremble.

His face scrunches with concern. "Did I do it wrong?"

Damn it, why does he have to look like a heartbroken little puppy?

"No. No, it felt really good,” You assure him distractedly, trying to contain the frustration bubbling up inside you.

"Then why can't I-"

"Because!" You don’t mean to lash out, but your temper bursts before you can help it. "God, first Taehyung and now you, why is everyone trying to fuck with me today?"

His face falls, and he looks hurt. "I wasn't fucking with you."

"No, Jimin…” This day just keeps getting better and better. “I know you weren't. I'm sorry." You extend a hand, giving his shoulder a squeeze. It’s not his fault that you can’t seem to follow your own fucking rules. "But please don’t go down on me, not ever, okay?"

"Why not?” He frowns, and you feel even worse for letting this happen. “You deserve it. You do so much for us."

You pause, wondering whether you should lie. Always going for honesty hasn’t worked out too well so far... But looking at Jimin’s eyes, full of concern and confusion, you can’t bring yourself to lie to him. "Because I can't orgasm."

His brow furrows. "Just because it’s not a part of your job, doesn’t mean-"

"No, Jimin." You draw your knees up to your chest, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable for letting your guard down so easily around him. "I literally can't. I'm incapable."

"What do you mean?"

You sigh. This is not something you expected to have to talk about. "Do you know anything about modern birth control?"

He cocks his head to the side, unsure of where you’re going with this. "There are pills, right? And condoms too, I guess."

"There are also implants,” you explain, wringing your hands in your lap.

Jimin blinks, clearly confused. His gaze slides down to your chest for about half a second.

You sigh again. "Not that kind. It's like a piece of plastic they put inside you that emits a hormone. It stops ovaries from creating eggs. They're over 99% effective at preventing pregnancy."

He still looks confused. "Yeah, but why would that make you-"

You shake your head. "That's how most of them work. There's a newer, more tailored kind of implant for PhysComs that's 100% effective." When the technology was discovered, it was a hot item for PhysCom networks. Of course, some people developed negative side effects to it, but if one’s body was compatible with this new miracle form of birth control, it boosted their advantages in the field exponentially.

You let go of your legs and look to him, resignation in your gaze. "It puts the reproductive system into a comatose state and ceases all function of the ovaries and uterus apart from lubrication."

"Oh." Jimin looks shocked, and you don’t blame him. Barely anyone outside of the sex work industry has even heard of the technology. Who else would sacrifice their own pleasure for ensuring zero chance of pregnancy?

You’ve tried to climax before on your own, god knows. But the implant leaves you in a perpetual state of mild arousal with nowhere to go, like constantly revving an engine. Clitoral stimulation feels good at first, but with no resolution, it soon becomes tortuous.

You can put up with it for short periods, like if one of the boys starts to rub you while they fuck you. They mean well. But you’ve learned to convincingly fake an orgasm before it gets to be too much. Most of the time it’s not an issue, since your pleasure doesn’t enter into the equation.

"That's how all of you can cum inside me all the time. It's how I can keep it plugged up in me without any fear of getting pregnant." You laugh humorlessly, tapping the plug at your core.

Jimin stares at the plug, as if it’s presence has taken on an entirely new meaning to him. "I never thought about that."

You actually do laugh at his naïvety. “I’m sure no man would look that gift horse in the mouth.” You realize from his puzzled expression that the idiom might not translate well. “No man would question such a privilege.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess…” A shadow crosses over his face, and you decide to draw this uncomfortable conversation about your reproductive system to a close.

"There is a way to turn it off, in case of emergency side effects. But I can't just turn it off for fun. You have to understand that.” You rest your hand on his shoulder again, hoping he now comprehends the reason for your earlier outburst. “It's a part of my job."

"I understand. Sorry,” he says, giving you a small nod. He twists his mouth to the side, chewing over the revelations. "That must really suck. Not being able to cum."

You laugh heartily this time, your spirits lifted from his sentiment. "Yeah, it does sometimes." You give his thigh a pat and get up to go find your robe. "But I get to make all of you cum for me, so doesn't that make up for it?"

He shrugs, that pout appearing once more. You feel bad for bringing his mood down. You’re supposed to be lifting him up, making him feel good.

You tie the belt of your robe and come back over to him, your finger tracing under his chin.

"Come on, baby. Let's go order that outfit for you."

His spirits seem to lift a little at the proposition and you smile to yourself. Jimin truly is one of your easiest clients to please.

-----

A while later, you stand in Seokjin’s bedroom within his walk-in closet, admiring yourself in the full length mirror. You‘re wearing a gown more expensive than a house, and jewels decorate your throat and hair, elbow-length gloves adorning your hands.

“Are you ready for dinner, darling?” Seokjin purrs in your ear as he slinks up behind you, his hands lightly gliding up your waist.

“Yes, Master Kim.” Your answer is obedient and full of gratitude. You gaze at his reflection in the mirror, letting him take in your appearance.

“My, my, my… look at how lucky I am to have such a pretty pet, hm?” He chuckles, one of his hands skimming gingerly up your ribs and settling on your breast, squeezing you through the silken dress.

“Yes, master,” you sigh, leaning into his sinful touch and playing along with his fantasy. Seokjin's pleasure seems to hinge on your luxury. The more extravagance you’re dripping in, the hornier he gets. Which he often likes to complement with your unique position in the house...

“Such a pretty pet. I bet you’d gladly have us all fuck you on the dinner table, wouldn’t you?”

You shiver. Seokjin’s dirty talk was good when you started working for them, but it’s only improved over time. "Of course, master. I love to be your little fuck toy." You smile at him in the mirror, and then turn around in his arms, placing your hands on his chest.  "Please use me tonight, any way you wish."

“That’s the plan, darling.” He chuckles, taking your hands and bringing them up to his mouth, languidly kissing each and every knuckle. His eyes burn with unbridled passion, and you wonder if tonight he’ll be in the mood to fuck you before you even make it to dinner.

Seokjin looks gorgeous, dressed to the nines in a tailored suit, with his hair styled perfectly, not a single strand out of place. Anyone would fall to their knees if they received a look like the one he’s giving you now.

“I have a gift for you, my sweet.” A smile tugs at his lips.

You gasp in delight, your eyes wide and innocent. “I’m so lucky! What is it, master?” You know what it is. He gives you one once a week, every Friday night, when it’s his turn to call the shots.

“Close your eyes, pet.”

You obey, and feel a slim piece of leather grace your throat. In a few moments he tells you to look in the mirror again, and you see a decorative collar circling your neck.

“Oh, master…” You don’t have to pretend to be impressed. Though Jin collars you every week, he never uses the same collar more than once, and this week’s purchase is a decadent, lacy display, with tiny jewels inlaid in its surface. “It’s beautiful.”

His hands are on you again, skimming up your waist while he noses your neck. “A perfect fit for my beautiful slut,” he breathes, and you feel a flutter in the pit of your stomach. Jin is just as charming as the rest of them, and It would be easy to underestimate him, but that would be a grave mistake. He gives off a certain aura of power that’s unparalleled by any other man you’ve met.

“How many?” He asks in a husky whisper, one hand slipping down your back to ease over your ass.

You shiver. Jin gets satisfaction on his night of control by knowing how much cum you’d collected inside you over the course of the day. “Sixteen.”

His hand comes down in a hard spank, rubbing you ass afterward to calm the sting. “Fuck. So greedy…” he rumbles, his voice thick with lust. “That’s more than two rounds each… Did you beg for them to fill you up, like the little whore you are?” His voice is soothing and elegant, a stark contrast to the filth coming from his beautiful mouth.

You nod, biting your lower lip. Anything to hear his silken voice in your ear again.

“You’ll eat well tonight, my sweet…” his voice lilts as he kisses up your neck, his hands slipping up once more to your tits, squeezing them possessively.

You moan softly, leaning your head back to expose more of your throat. Jin’s presence feels secure and thrilling all at once. You know he’ll never hurt you, but the effortless brand of posh dominance he wields keeps you on your toes.

“How do you feel towards Taehyung, pet?”

Your blood runs cold. How did he find out? Did Tae tell him what happened? Fuck. You try to keep your voice even, try not to let yourself become stiff in his arms. “Why do you ask, master?”

Seokjin shrugs one shoulder, more concerned with peeling down the bodice of your dress to reveal your breasts. “He requested the first taste of you tonight. I obviously won’t grant him the privilege of touching my pet if he’s done anything at all to fall out of your good graces.”

You swallow. You don’t know why Tae requested to go first, and you’d rather not give him any more ground until you’ve had a chance to talk to him. To make sure he knows the kiss was a one-time thing. To make sure he hasn’t gotten any ideas about those feelings of his.

“I… I would rather have someone else go first, master.” You say quietly, knowing that refusing Tae’s request could be just as condemning as going through with it and whatever he’d been planning to do to you.

Jin raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t question you. You remind yourself to calm down. For all he knows Taehyung could have eaten all the breakfast cereal. He doesn’t have to know why Tae’s not in your favor right now. “Very well, pet. I’ll choose someone else.”

“Thank you, master.” You visibly relax, and let Seokjin play with your tits. He circles his thumbs over your nipples, and they quickly become erect under his touch.

“Do you know why I gave you this collar?” He murmurs, his breath hot against your skin as he licks up your neck.

You know. “Why, master?”

“Because tonight you’ll be passed around and fucked by all of us. Every member of this household.” His words are crisp, in delicious contrast with his soft hands massaging your breasts. “You’ll be our dessert course. I want them to remember that you’re mine and that I’m granting them the privilege of fucking my sweet little toy and having a taste of you.” He nips at your neck, sucking gently before pulling away. “And I want you to remember that you belong to no one else in that room but myself.” He rolls your nipples between his fingers, tugging at the sensitive buds. “You obey me, and me alone. Is that understood?”

You whimper and nod. “Yes, Master Kim.”

“What a good little slut.” He smiles serenely and gives each tit a light swat before tugging your bodice back over your chest.

There’s a moment of tender silence as he observes you in the mirror. His eyes soften, and you can tell he’s set his act aside for a brief moment. “You know, you’re really good at this.” He smiles appreciatively, giving you a warm hug around the middle and nuzzling into your neck.

You laugh at his break in character, laying your arms atop his. “It’s my job to be good at it,” you reply with a fond roll of your eyes.

He straightens his posture and adjusts his cufflinks, resuming his role seamlessly. “We’ll be starting the main course in thirty minutes. Be prepared.”

You nod obediently, and he hovers close to you once more. His tongue darts out to lick up your cheek possessively. “Be good while I’m away, pet.”

You watch as he leaves the room, the door shutting softly behind him. Well, you have half an hour of time to kill before they’re ready for you.

Pretty soon after you were hired, the boys’ company decided it would be a good idea for them to take turns living out their wildest fantasies with you. One night of the week is dedicated to each of them, and during that night, whoever’s in charge can do whatever they want with you, and the other boys have to either watch or join in. Their company said it’s good for group bonding, and for healthy sexual expression. The boys decided who would have which night through rock, paper, scissors, and Seokjin got slotted for Fridays.

Something about Seokjin’s banquet nights always give you jitters, as if you’re about to perform onstage. Well, if you count a tabletop as a stage. Regardless, you always find ways to relax before the show, so to speak.

Tonight you’ve decided to kill the time on your ComGear, with the few limited apps you’re allowed to have. You’ve become a master at solitaire and minesweeper, and as you take a seat on the chaise lounge, kicking your feet up, you select the hardest difficulty mode.

Honestly, you haven’t played a good game of solitaire in several weeks. But last banquet night you finished the novel you’d been reading and you’re now suffering from a severe hangover from the detailed and colorful universe the author had crafted. The next book in the series isn’t set to release for a few months, so until then you’re back at the games.

Easy. You beat the game in under ten minutes. There have to be some more difficulty levels. You switch to the settings menu and scroll until you find the gameplay options.

Huh. Strange. An option you don’t remember seeing before. ‘Connect and play with your friends!’ Psh, what friends? Did your network forget to disable the useless feature? Curious, you tap on the button and are greeted with a spinning circle, indicating that the game is probably trying to find your non-existent friends from your non-existent contact list. ComGears are so heavily restricted, they might as well be walkie talkies. All you’re allowed on there is messaging and scheduling between you, your clients, and your handler. Plus the games. But you’d requested those.

After several moments, you give up waiting and put the Gear away. You have more pressing issues on your mind, and solitaire isn’t enough of a distraction.

Why had Taehyung requested you first tonight? In fact, why had he disappeared right after the… kissing incident? He hasn’t messaged you since then, and the lack of closure is starting to make you antsy. You can trust him, right? Yesterday, you would have said so, undoubtedly. But you also wouldn’t have guessed that he had anything more than platonic feelings for you.

God, men are so complicated.

You groan and stand up, spending the rest of your down time doing your stretches, going through your positive affirmations, and trying not to worry about Taehyung. He’s under Jin’s control tonight, nothing bad will happen.

You hope.

-------

The dining room of the house is enormous, with high ceilings, chandeliers, and ornate paintings on the walls. Seokjin goes all out for his banquets and makes the room seem even more opulent with the addition of candlelight, a trained wait staff, and vases full of roses found on nearly every surface.  Formal dress is required, and all the other boys are dressed just as fancily as Seokjin, though not all of them can pull it off quite as elegantly. He makes sure to hire a string quartet, the most elite caterers, and he even calls in the secondary PhysComs to assist during the meal.

You see, Seokjin has a very specific type of kink he likes to experience. It has to do with food, but it’s not exactly considered foodplay. Jin loves to combine fine dining with sexual acts.

During the first course, PhysComs are beneath the table, sucking off each member while they taste their soups and salads. They’re not allowed to cum until desert, so the PhysComs are only there to get them hard and ready.

The second course marks the beginning of the voyeurism. A fish course is served while a PhysCom is strapped down to the table and teased with at least one vibrator, moans and whimpers filling the room in harmony with the string quartet. Seokjin encourages the boys to talk about their week so far for some family time, largely ignoring the sinful sounds coming from their overstimulated centerpiece.

During the third course, sex is performed on the table by any number or gender of willing PhysComs, while the boys are forced to watch while they eat the stew you made. Jin often likes to give commentary on the PhysCom’s forms, or occasionally direct them around.

Lastly is the dessert course, where you make your grand entrance. All their hungry, lust-crazed eyes are on you, horny as hell from all the buildup. A maid brings you in on a leash, attached to your collar. You walk past the cluster of secondaries, and they aim stares at you, some jealous, some of admiration. You don’t care. Your eyes are on Seokjin. Your owner for the evening.

He stands as you enter, his eyes burning with barely contained lust. “Ladies and gentlemen. I present to you, our dessert.”

The other boys rise as well, and you can sense Taehyung’s stare burning into you, but you avoid meeting his gaze. Your eyes are locked on Seokjin. He orders the maid to help you up, and soon you’re standing atop the table, all eyes upon you. She hands the leash to him. You await his orders.

“Take off your dress, dear.” Seokjin says, sitting back down, and the other boys follow suit. His voice is quiet, but the atmosphere is so charged with sexual tension, you could hear a pin drop.

You reach behind to undo your zipper, the noise simply sinful as your dress falls to the tablecloth, pooling around your feet. You hear a few inhales of breath from around the table.

“Bring the bowl.” Jin’s voice commands again, and a butler hurries over with a jewel encrusted dish, setting it at Seokjin’s right. After that, he dismisses all the other people in the room. The only ones left are you and the seven men around the table.

Jin takes the dog bowl, holding it up to the light and watching the way the crystals shimmer and gleam. “How many loads did you take today, my pet?”

“Sixteen,” you reply obediently, and you see Yoongi’s jaw clench from the corner of your eye.

Jin makes a rumble in his throat, like an affirmative. “So much cum to fit in such tight little holes.”

You nod, awaiting his instructions.

He licks his lips and places the bowl at your feet. “Empty yourself out for me, darling.”

You smile. Kneeling down over the dog bowl, you carefully remove the plug from your cunt, and moan as you feel their cum start to trickle out of you.

You can feel their eyes staring, faces flushed, lips bitten, as their combined releases drip into the dish, slowly coating the bottom.

Seokjin’s hands are tented in front of his face, hiding all but his glittering eyes from view. “Now your ass,” he murmurs huskily, and they all watch as you twist that plug out too, and even more cum joins the rest. Sixteen loads from throughout the day fill the dish, and you look to Seokjin, awaiting further instruction.

“Jimin.” He says, and the boy’s ears perk up. “Would you do the honors of fucking her first?”

Jimin scrambles up, as if unable to move fast enough. He climbs onto the table and unzips his pants, his hands shaking. Meanwhile, Jin orders you on all fours and pushes the dish closer to you. “Why don’t you enjoy your dinner, my pet? It’s been cooking all day.”

He takes such filthy pleasure in scenes like this, it makes your core clench just from the look in his eyes, the tone of his voice. “Yes, master.”

You lean down and start to lap at the bowl. You can feel Jimin’s hands on your ass, but… something’s wrong. Why isn’t he fucking you?

You crane your neck over your shoulder to look at him, a “what the fuck” look on your face for interrupting the flow of the scene, and see something unexpected. Hesitation colors Jimin’s expression, and he looks between you and Seokjin, seemingly torn.

Everyone’s eyes are on you.

Jimin leans over to speak privately, his tone lowered so only you can hear. “Do… do you want to be fucked right now?”

Your mouth hangs open in shock. Why the hell would he be concerned about that?

Seokjin realizes that something isn’t right, and he snaps his fingers. “Jimin, sit down. Hoseok, go fuck her.”

Hoseok is always a good fuck. He grins and climbs on the table, fishing his cock out of his dress slacks. “Ah, look at this ass. Pretty as always,” he chuckles and gives you a light spank before lining himself up with your entrance. He pushes into you with a heated groan, his hands groping you appreciatively. “So wet, baby…” Soon he’s snapping his hips into you at a good pace, filling you up with his length.

But you can’t focus. You stare at Jimin, sitting shamefully with his head bent. You look to Taehyung, sitting across from him, only to see a smirk on his face. What the hell is going on?

Taehyung subtly catches Jimin’s attention and mouths something to him, but of course it’s Korean, so you can’t make out the words as Hoseok pounds into you. Jimin’s eyes widen and his grip tightens on the stem of his wine glass, his knuckles white as his expression changes to one of anger. Tae merely smirks and sits back in his chair, a challenge in his eyes.

What the fuck is happening? Is this about you?

Your heart sinks through the floor. It has to be. You and your damn lips are the only common denominator in this equation.

Hoseok grabs your leash from Jin and tugs on it, the collar forcing your head back. Your neck feels like it might snap from the sudden strain of trying to keep watching their silent conversation, but it’s no use from this angle, and you give up, forced to stare at the ceiling as your legs quiver and anxiety washes over you, a sense of foreboding starting to build in your chest...

Someone jumps to their feet, their chair scraping back from the force, and something crashes to the ground with the unmistakable noise of breaking glass.

“Jimin!” Seokjin’s voice cuts through the sound of Hobi fucking you, and he halts his thrusts. You’re able to see again, pants of breath from Hoseok filling the silence as Jimin looks down, frustrated at being reprimanded. “What’s gotten into you? Sit down, now.”

Taehyung chuckles, seemingly satisfied with himself, and Jin looks to him with narrowed eyes. “That goes for both of you. Stop fucking around.”

“Yes, sir.” Taehyung merely shrugs. You can see Jungkook place a hand on Jimin’s arm, his eyes wide with concern as he helps him calm down and return to his seat. Namjoon shoots Taehyung a look, but he doesn’t acknowledge it, his eyes still fixed on Jimin.

Seokjin’s attention turns back to your display, sighing from the interruption, and he gestures for Hoseok to go harder on you. Hoseok is all too happy to comply, chuckling as he pushes down on your back, forcing your face into the bowl of cum as he pulls out of you and starts fucking into your ass instead.

Normally this is part of the proceedings. But this time you aren’t prepared, too distracted and worried by Taheyung and Jimin to focus properly, and you gasp into the bowl, choking on the pool of stickiness and sputtering on cum as you turn your face away to try and catch your breath.

Seokjin has no reason to sense anything is amiss with you, as you would sometimes struggle for show. He hums and pets your hair as you’re fucked into the table. You try to inhale, but your lungs won’t work.

You feel suffocated by the weird tension in the room, and your heart starts pounding in your ears. You know this is your fault. The other boys all look uncomfortable. Jimin’s shooting daggers at Taehyung, and Tae is glaring right back. This isn’t right.

You just need a minute to think, a minute to sort this out, to fucking talk to them and clear this up. Fuck, you want Hobi to stop. You want everything to stop. You feel overwhelmed, you can’t take it anymore, and you’re flooded with shame as tears spring to your eyes.

“Bulletproof!”

You cry out your safe word, a sob wracking your body. “Fuck! I’m sorry...”

It takes Hoseok a split second to realize what you said before he pulls out of you, his eyes wide with worry. The others all look just as shocked, and Jin jumps to his feet in an instant, helping you off the table. “What can I do, darling?” He asks with concern, grabbing a napkin and carefully wiping the cum off your face.

He doesn’t question why you broke character, he only wants to help, and that makes you want to cry harder. But you pull yourself together, inhaling deeply to keep any more tears from falling. There’s only one person who can help you clear your head, and your gaze turns to him, your voice wavering. “I need to speak privately with Kim Namjoon.”

All eyes fall on their leader, who looks just as surprised to be requested. “Uh, yeah. Sure thing.” Namjoon gets up, his high backed chair scraping against the polished wooden floor as he circles around the table to you.

Namjoon is the conduit between them and their company. An ambassador of sorts. If anyone could help you sort this out, it would be him.

As he comes over, he takes off his suit jacket, draping the garment over your shoulders to help cover your naked form. “We’ll just be a minute, guys,” he calls over his shoulder, one supportive hand on your back as he guides you into the other room, leaving behind a different sort of tension, one of fear and worry.

-------

“What’s up, sweetheart?” Namjoon says softly, shutting the door behind him. He’s taken you to one of the larger bathrooms, with a few areas to sit in addition to a toilet, soaking tub, shower stalls, and a few sinks. “Is everything okay?”

Clearly it isn’t, but him trying to bring some normalcy into the situation makes you want to cry all over again. “No, it’s not.” You sit down on a cushioned bench, covering you face with your hands. “Fuck, I’m so sorry…”

“No, no. Shh… it’s okay, honey, really.” His hand on your back is more of a comfort than you’d care to admit, and you find yourself wishing he would hold you, wishing you could cry in his arms.

But no, damn it, that’s what’s gotten you into trouble in the first place.

“Mr. Kim, I-”

“Please, call me Namjoon. I don’t mind.” He gives you a small smile, and his willingness to be informal with you adds another layer of comfort.

“Namjoon.” You start again, and he looks to you with sincerity. “I, uh… fuck, I don’t know how to explain this.” You give a rueful laugh, running a hand through your hair.

“It’s okay. Take all the time you need.” He rubs your back soothingly, offering you a tissue from a nearby box to dry your eyes.

“Thanks.” You blow your nose, and a part of you feels self-conscious, letting him see you this way. You haven’t been this out of character in front of him since you were hired. “Um… okay. So, earlier today, two of the other members kissed me. I didn’t want it to happen, but it did...” It tumbles out of you in a rush, and you glance down nervously. Damn. This the third time you’ve lowered your walls in front of them today. What the hell is happening?

He seems to chew on your statement for a moment before proceeding, his tone cautious. “It was against your will? They forced themselves on you?”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head. “No! No, they didn’t- it wasn’t like that. It was… nice.” You’re ashamed to admit that you took pleasure in breaking your own rules, but you can’t let him think they were forcing you to do it. “I enjoyed it.”

He looks more confused. “So, you did want it to happen…?”

“Not at first! I mean… ugh, I shouldn’t have let it happen at all.” You grouse, still kicking yourself for being so unprofessional. “I think at least one of them might… have developed feelings for me.”

A moment of clarity lights his eyes. “You’re worried about keeping up boundaries.”

You nod miserably. Thank god someone in this house understands your limits.

“Who was it?”

“Huh?” Your gaze snaps to him.

He repeats the question. “Who kissed you?”

Your eyes lower to the floor. You feel bad dropping names, but he probably has a good reason for asking. “Taehyung and Jimin.”

His mouth stretches into a thin line. “I see.”

“I don’t know what to do. I feel like they’re trying to breach my professional boundaries. But... I like it. But I shouldn’t!” You groan. “Fuck, I have to keep this job...” A weary sigh leaves your throat and you try to keep your tears at bay this time.

Namjoon makes a noise of understanding. He seems to ponder the problem for a moment before speaking. “Those two are young. They’re still figuring out their feelings.” He says it to comfort you, you’re sure. But you decide not to point out that he’s only a year older than them. “But I think I know how to fix this.”

You sit up straight. “You do? How?”

Namjoon smiles, his dimples poking through. “Like I said, they’re young. They want what they can’t have.” He smirks. “You made kissing off-limits, right? So they want it now.”

You’re following his logic so far. It would make sense that something off-limits is more tantalizing… that’s certainly how you felt when kissing them.

He continues. “Look, if you liked it, then that means it’ll happen again. No offense, but willpower is damned when it comes to matters of the heart.” He gives a wry chuckle.

“Remind me how we’re fixing the situation?” You ask skeptically, wrapping his jacket around yourself and nudging him with your arm.

He smiles. “It’s simple, really. I think you have to desensitize them to kissing. We need to show them it doesn’t mean anything that they kissed you. You’re still just their PhysCom.”

You blink, still at a loss. “How do we do that?”

His thumb brushes your cheek, and he has that same tender look in his eyes as he does right after you would get him off.

“I think we should go out there, and I should kiss you senseless, sweetheart.”

[felsdumpsterfire]

Pls give us those good sweet headcanons for your fave ships

WHAT- WHAT HAVE YOU DONE ANON??? YOU’VE UNLEASHED THE FLOOD GATES

more under the cut because this is going to be a looooong post :D

OK, SO, SO, WE’LL JUST GO IN ORDER BECAUSE WHY NOT???

Protag 1 x Duo

*Duo and Protag 1 would understand each others wants (being treated like a kid/their ages) so they’d totally act like it, they’d be relaxed and super playful with each other*There’s always an air of calm between them when it is just the two of them. *They’re always holding onto something of the others, be it a sleeve or their hand- they’ve been known to cling to the backs of each others shirts too.*The rest of the Protags are super supportive of this- Shuichi, not so much. He finally warms up to the idea when he sees how happy Duo is, but it also takes Protag 2 threatening to rip his balls off and shove them down his throat for him to look past his brother complex for all of 2.5 seconds. *Duo and Protag 1 tend to give each other cheek kisses.*Protag 1 also has a habit of kissing the tips of Duo’s fingers, and though he doesn’t show too much emotion, Duo gets extremely flustered by this.*He got Protag 1 back by giving him one of his coats. *He cried and hugged Duo the entire afternoon after that. *Duo was smiling all day the next day (Shuichi almost had a heart attack-)*It’s one of Portags 1 personal treasures*Protag 1 and Duo had never properly asked each other out, everyone just kinda assumed they were an item off the bat. *Suuuper soft with each other*Protag 1 was devastated at Duo’s betrayal(Protag 1 didn’t eat for three days afterward. Protag 3 had to ask Ded to talk to him because he wasn’t listening to anyone else. *He clung to Duo’s coat the entire time he locked himself in his room.*He’s still sad about it, but he’s working on doing better.*Duo is doing shit*He feels guilty af and shitty af*Protag 1 bought him a little charm of a Ranger and he stares at it for hours on end when he has free time. *Oso tried to tease him for it once and he almost lost an eye*Protag 1 will get random texts from random numbers with messages saying: ‘I’m sorry’, ‘your beautiful’, ‘please don’t leave me behind’ *Protag 1 cries over them from time to time because he knows who it is, but he wished he didn’t. Protag 1 x Robinson*kKJSL;EJLJ*S O F T*I headcanon that this ship cropped up after Duo, but even without that influence, they’d be so FUCKING. SOFT. FOR EACH OTHER. *Robinson and Protag 1 always hold hands. ALWAYS. *That or Robinson will wrap a friendly arm around Protag 1’s shoulders and keep him close*Protag 1 likes to go and spend his allowance on getting clothes for Robinson. *He swears he doesn’t need them but Protag 1 just gives him some puppy eyes and Robinson can’t say no.*Robinson is so whipped for Protag 1*He’s almost shot Sitri because he thought he was trying to put the moves on him. In actuality he was asking him how to ask Protag 2 out, or get her to like him- he just got too close for Robinson’s comfort. *Did shoot Ikitoshi though. He swears it was on accident. It was not. (Iki was teaching Protag 1 some defensive moves when Robinson just…. Shot him in the ass. Bathym couldn’t stop laughing for a week).*Robinson likes to take Protag 1 on little “dates” where they just walk around town while holding hands and talking about their days to each other.*Triton got Robinson a phone and the only person he texts is Protag 1.*Protag 1 is his background photo*Robinson getting excited over his first ever ice cream cone is Protag 1’s background photo. *Protag 1 has exactly 290 photos in his gallery and it’s filled with pictures of his friends and more than half of them are Robinson doing cute shit.*Robinson carries Protag 1 everywhere. Like- he just scoops him up with his little man baby muscle arms and n y o o m- he’s gone.*Robinson is not afraid of PDA. *It almost gave Protag 1 a heart attack the first time Robinson just marched up to him and planted a kiss right on his lips.*That was also their first kiss.*In front of all of the Summoners and Protags*Protag 4 still won’t let him live it down*Robinson will pick random flowers for Protag 1 *Protag 1 has books and books of pressed flowers; he’s saved every single one*Robinson and Protag 1 will lay together in the middle of Protag 1’s room and hold each other hand and simply exist. *Once in awhile they’ll giggle and whisper to each other what they adore about the other. *Robinson loves Protag 1’s giggle and Protag 1 loves Robinson’s eyes. *They are SOFT AND HEALTHY*AND IT THIS TAKES PLACE AFTER THE DUO INCIDENT. DUO IS A DEAD CHILD LDKJFLKJDELF ROBISNON IS OUT FOR BLOOD (AND SMOOCHES)

Protag 2 x Kengo *THESE TWO ARE THE CHAOTIC DUO OF THE DAMN CENTURY.*They love each other so much and it is sickening*Ken isn’t necessarily lovey-dovey; he actually gets super embarrassed about it, even in private*bUT PROTAG 2 HAS SO MUCH LOVE TO GIVE THAT SHE’LL JUST,,, STARE AT HIM WITH THESE EYES FULL OF LOVE AS SHE HOLDS HIS HAND AND EVERYONE AROUND THEM ARE LIKE “GET A FUCKING ROOM YOU DISGUSTING LITTLE SHITS.”*Protag 2 has slammed a man to the ground for Kengo because the dumbass thought it would be a good idea to try and steal from Ken. Either way he would’ve been fucked, but Protag 2 is merciless when it comes to loves ones*Ken likes when she compliments his muscles or when she runs her fingers over his arms*Ken actually has a possessive streak*He’ll just pick her up if she’s paying too much attention to someone and walk off (Shiro’s about killed him every time he’s done this in his presence)*Protag 2 loves it*If Oniwaka is in any vicinity near Protag 2 he knows. No one knows how, but he just gets a weird feeling in his gut.*Actually gets waaaaaaay more into PDA when Oniwaka is there. *Has shoved his tongue down Protag 2’s throat in front of everyone when Oniwaka was trying to have a genuine conversation with. She almost passed out*20/10 would do it again despite getting his ass pulverised by Shiro for public indecency*He likes to take her on sparring dates and they just train together the entire time.*Surprisingly good at bra picking, so Protag 2 will drag him to go and pick bras. *He almost flipped when she dragged him into Victoria Secrets.*She likes to tease the ever loving SHIT out of him*He has a very, very big love/hate relationship with it*The first time they did the do Kengo about had an aneurysm because, woah. You have bigger boobs than I thought you did.   *And Protag 2 almost died because she was laughing so damn hard because omg, Ken, you did not just say that out loud. *They almost got caught in the Janitors closet they were in.*And yes they did the dirty for the first time in a damn janitors closet. They’re both impulsive and chaotic bastards, of course they would*Very supportive of each other*Kengo was the first to say “I love you” to Protag 2 because he almost came too late when she was being ganged up on by a group of app users. She almost missed it because she blacked out right afterwards.*She woke up staring at Ken bewildered as he sobbed, and the first thing she asked was: “Did you say you loved me???”*He kissed the fuck out of her because Omg, I thought I was the dumbass in this relationshipOniwaka x Protag 2*Oniwaka swears he’s getting grey hairs because of her. *She straight up tried to fight someone three times her size for him and he almost screamed. *He always gets matching keychains for them, or just keychains that remind him or her.*Protag 2 has taken to buying him plushes and he saves every single one.*She was the one to ask him out and he turned so red. *Then he fainted and Protag 2 started crying because she thought she killed him. *He was the one to initiate the first kiss tho*He set it up so nicely too, peaceful time on the town and ending it with a beautiful picnic under the moonlight; and Protag 2 holds that memory so close to her heart. *Protag 2 will jump on Oniwaka’s back randomly. *At first it freaked him out*But he’s so numb to it now*Called her babe in public once and no one lets him live it down*He was so ready to kill Bathym when he started cackling*Ryota is their biggest shipper*He will go down this ship. Fuck you*So, like, reverse uno from Kengo’s headcanons because Oniwaka is just as bad with PDA when Kengo is around.*The only difference here is that Ken will throw a bitch fit with no hesitation, also Oniwaka is a little more subtle about it*He’ll wrap on arm around her waist and pull her real close, once in a while, if she’s wearing jeans, he’ll slip his hand into her back pocket*Ken just stares at him with all the contempt in the world*Oniwaka has this tendency to step in between Protag 2 and new peopleaBOUT BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF SURTUR WHEN HE SAW HIM AGAIN*“YOU’RE THE ASSWIPE WHO HURT THE LOVE OF MY LIFE YOU HUGE HAIRY BITCH.”*They would both 10/10 kill for each other.

Protag 3 x Shinya*OK, OK, OK, OK. THIS IS A CUTE AF SHIP OK??????*YOU CAN PRY THIS ONE FROM MY COLD DEAD HANDS*Shinya  and Protag 3 are so soft for each other*They hold hands, and will touch their foreheads together and just*Bask in each other’s presence*Scarily attuned to each other*They don’t even have to say anything. They just know what each other want off the bat*Shinya is a jelly baby (you can also rip this from my cold dead hands)*Shinya will get pouty if Protag 3 is paying attention to someone for too long, or if someone is trying to put the moves on them, he’ll just,,, slide up to Protag 3 and cling to his arm, bat his eyelashes at him, and whisper: “I’m tired…”*He has Protag 3 wrapped around his finger and he KNOWS IT *But he loves him so much that he would never, ever, ever take advantage of their heart or willingness*Cupid loves Protag 3 to death and Shinya has gotten jealous about it because Cupid is not afraid to ask for some smooches ok?*Shinya gets kisses too when this happens*Protag 3 doesn’t get jealous?? Like?????? Ever???????*And Shinya really wished he did because he wants to see alright?? It’d be terrifying or cute as hell ok?*Protag 3 always gets something for Shinya before they go and meet with him.*Protag 3 would D I E for Shinya*The first time they had the intercoarse, Protag 3 couldn’t stop babbling about how beautiful Shinya was and that turned into a bout of passionate love make*This seems like a good time to state that I am a firm believer that they are switches*Shinya made a special drink named after Protag 3*Every Saturday, they go over the the other’s house and watch movies all night*They have fairly moderate PDA*They’re always touching each other in some way*Cheek and hand kisses are extremely common between them *They are very much in love and very much soft with each other*I LOVE THIS SHIP SO MUCH ;-;

Protag 4 x Toji*No one knows how they got together*NO ONE*NOT EVEN TOJI*In actuality Protag 4 just kinda built up to it, got Toji where he wanted him and B O O M. They’re dating now*Toji is easily flustered and Protag 4 thrives off of this *Protag 4 is quite protective of Toji*This leads to some arguments, but they never really have big, relationship-threatening arguments.*Which is surprising*Protag 4 is prone to showering Toji is gifts*Toji treasures them all, but this is a simplistic boi and too much stuff makes his head reel*Protag 4 is terrified that Toji is going to ask where he got all that money from *Toji doesn’t because Toji is kinda dense some times*They like to talk about books together*They’re dates consist of going to the library, reading books, going to a cafe and then discussing them*Protag 4 loves to play with Toji’s hair*Sometimes they’ll just go to Protag 4’s room and listen to his playlist that he had saved from his previous life and close their eyes and maybe fall asleep*Very relaxed around each other*Toji also likes to play with Protag 4’s hair in return and will do so when Protag 4 lays his head on Toji’s lap while he’s reading a book or reports*Protag 4 and Toji don’t actually have a lot of PDA in their relationship*Sometimes Protag 4 will text Toji in the middle of the night because the feeling of wandering hand is on his skin again and he feels like he’s on the verge of a mental break down*Drags Toji to try on clothes*Toji almost choked when Protag 4 came out in a form fitting dress*They had sex while Protag 4 wore that dress.*Toji is still embarrassed to this day when he sees that dress*They love each other a lot they just don’t say it*A surprisingly relaxed relationshipProtag 4 x Ophion*Protag 4 is a PRINCESS OK?*Ophion and him will go for flies through the night sky and Protag 4 loves it*He wears every single thing that Ophion gets him*His closet is fucking full of clothes and he is L I V I N G*Him and Ophion have a shit ton of intelligent and philosophical conversations*Ophion rubs it in the other Tycoons’ faces that him and Protag 4 are together*Ophion aslo fucking PREENS when Protag 4 gets into one of his moods where he just showers him in compliments and runs his hands up and down Ophion’s waist and chest. *Protag 4 has cried in front of Ophion and Ophion held him and whispered sweet nothings to him and Protag 4 couldn’t help but whisper that he loved him and *Ophion just smiled and hugged him closer to his chest**Slams fists on table* OPHION AND PROTAG 4 ROLEPLAY. THEY ROLEPLAY A DRAGON WHO KIDNAPPED A PRINCESS AND THEY DO IT W E L L.*Ophion will buy Protag 4 anything he wants in a blink of an eye with no hesitation*Protag 4 actually feel super secure with Ophion and it genuinely scares him*But he loves him so he’s going to try*Ophion will wait a lifetime and more for Protag 4*Very soft and pompous relationship right here. They’re so fucking in love you might as well barf

Protag 5 x Zao*This is another GOOD ONE OK?*They both love hiking and the outdoors and they’re both socially awkward and they’re both in love*Fucking perfect*Zao likes to carry Protag 5 and they get super flustered about it*Protag 5 will make sure that Zao doesn’t go too far into the mountains and reminds him about school that they still go to*Zao likes to pick up pretty stones for Protag 5 and give them to them*They have a whole ass collection of them at this point*Protag 5 holds onto Zao’s hand when they get nervous*Zao would beat a whole man’s skull in if they even breathed near Protag 5*Zao and Protag 5 nerd out of different plants and animals*Protag 5 has a camera that they take with them when they go hiking*Zao is so, so, so gentle with Portag 5 when they go out on dates*Like, no matter where they go Zao is happy to be with Protag 5*Protag 5 kissed Zao’s cheek for the first time and Zao almost imploded*They both ended up on the floor covering their faces with their hands and were beet red *Protag 5 and Zao go to this little run down cafe tucked away in the corner of the street and they’ll sit there for hours just talking and laughing quietly to each other all while holding each other’s hand across the table, their palms sweaty, but do they care? NO*THEY’RE IN LOVE OF COURSE THEY DON’T CARE*Zao almost murdered a couple of punk ass thugs because they were being a dick to Protag 5 and he was not having it*They were lucky Protag 5 was there otherwise they would be dead.*Sometimes Zao stares at Protag with stars in his eyes, amazed because they’re together. He always thought that he only loved the mountains. And then Protag 5 came around and blew it out of the water*Zao was the first to tell them that he loved themIt was a quiet night, just staring up at the stars, when Zao took their hand and squeezed. He looked at them with a soft smile, “I love you so much, my mountain.”*Protagonist 5 started crying and chaos ensued *WHOLESOME SHIP, OK?????? WHOLESOME

[nelvana]

In which the dungeon of space is explored

First [ARC 1]: In which the human is transformed First [ARC 2]: In which a present is prepared Next: In which the god of space is met Previous: In which the god of time is met

    Spinning. Hurtled through an empty darkness. Falling and yet flying. Spinning, spinning. Nothing tangible anywhere close. Nothing. Spinning.

    Nelvana kept her eyes firmly shut, with the amount it felt like they were being pushed through the space in between one end of the portal to the other, she almost doubted that she could open her eyes if she wanted to.

    What she could feel though was her hand still tightly gripped with Alex’s. This was comforting, in a moment where nothing else possibly could be. Everything felt far too familiar, and yet new and strange. All she could do was hold on, hold on despite the spinning threatening to tear them apart. Don’t let go.

    He did his best to tug her closer, tugging against the spinning and spinning and the pushing and pulling, and she tugged back. Hold on. Don’t let go.

    Suddenly, they were out. Even with her eyes still closed, Nelvana could feel the difference as they were shot out of the other end of the portal, especially as they hit the ground and skidded to a long-awaited halt.

    “You made it!” Ceebee exclaimed, “there was a long enough pause that I started getting worried.”

    Alex let out a strained laugh, “come on, when have we ever not made it through somethin’?”

    Wearily, Nelvana opened her eyes back up, staring up at a dark and rocky ceiling. Sitting up slightly from laying down on her back, she could see that past the portal was just the empty expanse of space. All the floors and ground crumpled away just before the portal itself, making Nelvana’s stomach turn at the idea that they could have missed the landing and just fell into space forever. The portal itself was bright compared to everything else, looking so out of place that if one didn’t know any better it could have been assumed to be fake, or some sort of illusion. Glancing behind her, she could see that their worries about the dungeon being well hidden weren’t needed, as the mouth of a large cavern opened up not far away from where they had landed.

    “Hey,” Alex whispered, still sounding winded. “We held on.”

    Nelvana blinked, and though she could still feel her hand grasped in Alex’s, she couldn’t help but look over at it being mentioned. She smiled, feeling a sudden relief flooding through her; though she could not remember the incident herself, she knew she had ended up letting go in the time portal, which is what split them apart from the beginning. Part of her still didn’t want to let go now, though surely their death grips on each other would start hurting once the adrenaline wore off. Seeming to have the same train of thought, Alex let go as she did… only to grab her shoulders and pull her in for a hug. She could feel his heart pounding.

    “Yeah… we did,” Nelvana murmured in response, unable to think of what else to say.

    After lingering in the moment for a bit longer, there was a hum from the portal as a blur of orange and yellow feathers was shot out of it. Having not moved much after they had landed, Keahi hit Alex square in the back, knocking everyone back to the ground.

    “O-Oh, sorry!” Keahi apologized once zie had gathered zir bearings.

    Alex coughed, but then let out another chortle, “it’s fine, it’s fine…”

    Surprising herself, Nelvana couldn’t help but burst out laughing at this. She crawled out from the bottom of the pile and didn’t get up, allowing herself to continue her laughing on the ground. Her laughter was contagious, and once Alex began as well, Keahi soon joined in, rolling off the grovyle and allowing him to sit up again as they all began cracking up at such a simple thing. Ceebee couldn’t help but giggle as well, though Dusknoir watched on quietly for the moment.

    Just as they started calming down, the portal hummed again and Damien was thrown out. His landing was no better than anyone else’s, as he faceplanted onto the floor, prompting everyone to start laughing even harder.

    Nelvana began wheezing to catch her breath, unable to stop herself from laughing. It was hard to breath, especially after being winded before, and her throat was starting to hurt, but it felt good. It felt good to just laugh about something and be happy after all this stress, even just for a moment.

    Damien pulled himself back to his feet, “aw, come on, was that really that funny…?” he questioned, though his poorly hid smile betrayed that he knew that if it hadn’t been him, he would be laughing too.

    “It isn’t just that…” Ceebee chuckled, “when Keahi came in, they smacked Alex in the back and knocked him and Nelvana over. It was hilarious, and your entry only added to it,” she explained.

    Imagining that scene, Damien couldn’t help but snicker now too, “okay, yeah, I can see that.”

    As everyone slowly started to calm down again, Nelvana became aware of the fact that Dusknoir had been quietly watching them all this entire time. She hesitantly glanced back over at him, surprised to find only a curious look to his eye, and the grin on his belly almost looking soft and like a natural smile; almost as if he wanted to laugh and partake in the cheery spirits of the group. Despite nothing malicious coming off from him, she found herself quieting down soon after that.

    Not long afterwards, Tsuki came out from the portal, with Edgar clinging onto her back, his arms buried in her neck fur to ensure his grip. She stumbled as she hit the ground, but managed to not fall over and ensuring her passenger’s safety. Gasping, she shook herself off and Edgar carefully floated off from the absol.

    “Thanks Tsuki!” he told her.

    She smiled back, “no problem.”

    With the final two members of the group through, the portal closed behind them and leaving nothing to suggest its existence to begin with.

    “No turning back now,” Alex commented.

    “Do… Do you think the badges will work here?” Damien asked after a pause.

    “They barely work sometimes in other dungeons; I don’t think they’ll work too well around a dungeon in space,” Nelvana told him.

    “Can you all see the entrance, or shall I direct you there?” Giratina spoke up.

    “Oh right, you can’t see… yeah, we can find it just fine, thanks though!” Ceebee replied.

    “Hey Edgar, thanks to holding onto ‘em for so long, but do you want me to hang onto the rock for awhile now?” Alex offered, standing up and brushing himself off.

    “Hm… I think I can keep holding onto it! It’s been good for hearing them more easily!” Edgar decided, “thanks for offering though,” he added.

    “Are we all good to go then? Everyone recovered from that ride?” Keahi asked, shaking out zir feathers and hopping towards the mouth of the cave.

    “I am ready,” Tsuki responded, standing back up tall and stepping over to the torchic. “We do not wish to fall too far behind Dialga and Celebi; they have likely already gone through their portal now and may be facing Palkia at this very moment,” she continued, turning back to the rest of the party.

    “Tsuki has a good point, unless anyone needs a moment, we should be heading straight in,” Alex agreed.

    “I think we’re all good to go!” Ceebee declared, antennae twitching momentarily. “Line up, everyone!”

    “The last dungeon… here we come,” Nelvana murmured, getting up to join the others at the front of the line.

    Entering the cavern didn’t change much from what they had seen outside. It had the same dim lighting, and the same, strange, grey stone that held the cave together, with an oddly colored green rock ground. It was rock unlike others they had seen in caves, and there were even a few craters in the floor, ranging from barely noticeable dips to gaping holes in some rooms.

    “This looks like the moon!” Damien realized suddenly, “I thought this place looked strange… we’re literally in a space rock right now.”

    “Ohhh…” Keahi responded, “that makes sense! I thought these craters reminded me of something…”

    “You’ve been to the moon before?” Edgar gasped.

    Alex chuckled, “no, but you can see the craters when looking at it from home. Makes it kind of look spotted.”

    “Oh! So that’s what that was!” Edgar exclaimed, eye glittering with fascination at all of this. “I get it now.”

    “Aha! Stairs! We’ve got a good start,” Nelvana hummed suddenly, stepping into the next room to lead everyone down the stairs to the next floor.

    “Only twenty-four more to go,” Damien sighed.

    Not long into their exploration of this second floor, however, Alex frowned, signalling to slow down as he was reviewing their dungeon map.

    “Hey, this is really weird, but… that path we walked through not long ago seems to be gone,” he announced, pointing out the missing hallway on the map.

    “Has this happened before?” Dusknoir asked quietly.

    “Not from what we’ve seen… I suggest we check; it could be the map not working,” Tsuki said.

    “I’m fine with turning around,” Nelvana agreed, “it would be good to pinpoint what this is before it becomes a problem.”

    “Got it, backtracking then…” Alex responded.

    Heading back the way they came, reversing the lineup order since they had no room to rearrange themselves right away, the group traced their earlier path over to another hallway. Alex hastily had to stop himself as they walked up to where the hallway had gone missing on the map, stretching an arm to his side just in case he would need to block anyone else from passing. Just like the map reflected, the entire area ahead was gone. All there was, was an empty area leading out into space, surely stranding or killing anyone who fell in. The rocks that once made up the walls and floor of the hallway crumbled away, some even floating in the void ahead. Distantly, they could even see the room the hallway once led to.

    “It’s all gone…” Ceebee gasped, fluttering over Alex’s shoulders. “What happened?”

    “I don’t know…” he murmured in response.

    Tsuki, on the other hand, was already starting to bristle, and was trying to step back, further away from the deteriorating corridor. Damien stepped back, at first thinking she wanted more space, but she continued pushing him, and therefor, Keahi and Nelvana, so that they could move away.

    “The dungeon is held up by Palkia! It’s falling apart!” Tsuki called out, “we need to get out of here, now!”

    Just as the words began leaving the absol’s mouth, Alex had to stumble back as more of the flooring crumbled under his feet. Immediately he spun around, not hesitating to push Dusknoir to encourage him to began moving too. Dusknoir quickly made way for the grovyle, and in fact instinctively grabbed Alex’s hand to pull him further away from the edge. Were it not for the evident danger in front of them, Alex would have resisted Dusknoir’s grasp, but in this moment, he reluctantly let the larger pokemon help pull him out of the way.

    “Tsuki’s right! We need to move!” Alex yelled, scrambling to avoid falling into the empty expanse below.

    Thrown into a panicked hurry, the group bolted out of the hallway, heading back down the one they had been following since before they had been told to turn around, sprinting down the tunnel until they had arrived into another room to regroup and catch their breaths.

    “The dungeon is falling apart, you said?” Nelvana gasped once making sure to check that everyone had made it.

    Tsuki nodded, “yes! I can’t believe I didn’t notice before… We may have a limited amount of time on each floor before it completely rearranges itself on its own, or breaks apart altogether.”

    “Temporal Tower wasn’t acting like this though, even in… the other timeline,” Dusknoir pointed out, “why is this happening here?”

    “Temporal Tower did fall apart, but the dungeon ‘fixed’ itself once Primal Dialga had established themself,” Giratina responded, “here… Palkia is not focusing at all on the dungeon, and in fact, may be actively tearing it apart due to them turning primal. I don’t doubt that the fact that Dialga is likely fighting them now helps out situation much,” they explained.

    “Do you think that’s why we haven’t seen any spawn yet?” Nelvana asked, “the dungeon doesn’t have enough energy to support that?”

    “Yes and no. I could be wrong, but I doubt the dungeon will completely give up on its defenses. However, I suspect that this means a lot more monster houses, and fewer other spawn encounters otherwise,” Giratina answered, “I am not certain about traps though.”

    “I guess we’ll just have to see,” Alex sighed, adjusting his bag. “We can’t linger anywhere too long; we’re just going to have to keep moving and hope for the best here.”

    “I believe that I will be able to help direct you away from weakened dungeon areas, so they do not break when you are in them,” Giratina offered.

    “I can help with that too. I could sense when the floor back there was going to break more; it’s corrupted energy,” Tsuki added, hunched over as she sat and waited for her fur to slowly flatten again.

    “Sounds like a plan then!” Keahi chirped, “with any luck, we’ll be able to avoid any of the broken paths, and still be able to find the stairs! Not having much spawn aside from monster houses is probably good too; we won’t be slowed down by every encounter as much,” zie continued.

    Nelvana nodded, “that’s right. We can do this, we can make this work. Okay, team?”

    “Let’s do this!” Edgar cheered.

    Giratina’s predictions turned out mostly correct. They didn’t run into any spawn until they were swarmed on floor four, though it was not a monster house that activated when they entered, and almost as if all these spawns had spawned separately but had been waiting here for someone to fight.

    Between the new dungeon pokemon that many were not familiar with, there were some familiar species that showed up. A charizard and a sableye were in the first ambush, the former of which went down to Alex’s thunder punch, and the latter of which got burned aside from Keahi’s flamethrower.

    Later, they ran into a dungeon drapion and xatu, which were both slightly saddening to have to defeat, with the knowledge of the pokemon of the same species that were their friends. Those two in particular only showed up once though, and weren’t seen from any monster houses or otherwise after floor seven.

    As it turned out, though, monster houses paired with the deteriorating rooms were an extremely dangerous combination. With the high energy from the monster house paired with the low energy from the room, they cancelled each other out, leaving Giratina unable to detect that something was up. Tsuki could sense those rooms still, but between everything else pounding in her head, a couple times it was a bit too late, leaving everyone to scramble back out of the room as it fell apart, leaving the spawn to crumble with the room. Still, the idea of one of the kadabra or some other pokemon trying to drag someone into the abyss…

    “This dungeon is super creepy,” Edgar whimpered, any excitement at the prospect of a new area having long since died down. “I don’t like it here. Even when it isn’t falling apart.”

    “Kinda like Temporal Tower actually, huh buddy?” Damien responded, “is this a legendary thing? To have their dungeons be freaking creepy and strange?”

    “None of the ones we ran into before this had dungeons this bad,” Keahi told him, “this might be just ‘cause these ones are more… otherworldly.”

    Damien sighed, “yeah, probably,” he agreed quietly.

    A few minutes later, passing into another corridor, a space in the wall to the group’s left crumbled away, pieces of rubble forming together to create a new pathway.

    “That’s a new one,” Damien commented.

    “Woah, is that what dungeons look like when they reform?” Keahi gasped, shuffling back to poke zir head over to the new hallway. “Is it safe to enter?” zie asked, glancing over at Tsuki.

    “It’s new… so it should not break again any time soon,” Tsuki murmured, “however, I am not certain of if it is sturdy yet. We should come back later if we want to go down that path.”

    Nodding, Keahi hopped back up to behind Nelvana, and after exchanging some nods, they continued forward again with the rest of the group trailing behind.

    “Super weird!” Damien whispered as they walked off.

    In the end, they did not end up returning to that new pathway on that floor as they found the stairs sooner than that. However, there were a couple other floors where they would need to use fresh corridors. Sometimes the routes leading up to the stairs would all deteriorate before they could get there, as the group had worried about previously but had begun letting their guards down around the idea, thus leaving the group to impatiently and nervously wait for a new hallway to be created so that they could continue. While there was the silent consideration to have Ceebee uses telekinesis to transport everyone to the other side, the possibility for failure before even accounting for Tsuki’s dark-type was too big to risk even mentioning aloud.

    Because of the current nature of this dungeon, by the time they had arrived to the fifteenth floor, the safe floor, it no longer felt as safe as other dungeons would present special floors like these. The fear of their single room breaking apart didn’t encourage anyone to want to linger long, and thus they only spent as much time as required to check on everyone before moving on.

    “You know… it’s nice that no floor has completely broken before we’ve even gotten there!” Edgar commented, voice squeaking at first as though he worried his words may bring into life the very thing he worried about.

    “I have not quite seen a dungeon be destroyed like this before, but I have a theory on why that is the case. The dungeon only wishes to sustain itself for as long as possible, though will preserve energy where it can by giving up in certain areas. After we have passed by a floor, the dungeon has no reason to hold it up in that moment and allows it to break so that it can distribute that energy elsewhere,” Giratina explained.

    “So, you’re saying that the dungeon is trying to let us through?” Keahi questioned, glancing back up at the duskull carrying the stone.

    “Er, well, I wouldn’t know if the dungeon would be so… merciful, but as an inanimate structure made of energy, it may wish to be the one to fell us, and since it cannot perceive anything beyond itself, to it, us falling out as a result from the dungeon breaking would be a loss for it, since it would not get our energy,” they answered.

    Tsuki nodded, “that sounds like a reasonable theory.”

    Damien rubbed his forehead with the palm of one hand, “man, the more I learn about mystery dungeons, the more confused I get,” he muttered.

    “These are unusual circumstances, I wouldn’t worry too much on the logic of it all, as it will return to normal, well, as normal as these get, once the world’s balance is finally restored,” Giratina assured him.

    “Do you think this is the only dungeon like this right now?” Edgar asked, “were all the dungeons like this in the dead timeline?” he added.

    “No, not really…” Alex responded, “in fact, the dungeons weren’t too different from this time. The majority were a lot stronger, but the weirdest thing that would ever happen was that in some areas a dungeon would take much longer to ‘reset’,” he continued.

    “It’s a time versus space matter! Time and space are very closely connected, but are still different. With space being out of control, it makes sense that dungeons would break apart and reform out of control, while with time being out of control, so long as the dungeons could adjust and return to their usual rhythm, they could actually hold together fairly well!” Ceebee chimed in.

    “Also do note that our friends here from that timeline were from many years after the… Temporal Tower, er, destruction incident. The dungeons had time to adjust and reform themselves to the new situation; they’re like that,” Giratina added.

    “That makes sense!” Edgar hummed, satisfied with the answers.

    Nervously, the group eventually made their way through the remaining floors of the dungeon. Exiting the twenty-fifth floor brought everyone relief, but it was short-lived as they were quickly reminded of why they were here.

    A loud, pained roar reverberated around the walls from out into the darkness; Dialga. Another roar followed the first, this one even louder, but filled with fury and shaking with abysmal power that shook the very cavern they were all in; Palkia. The familiarity and suddenness of the first roar brought many in the group to jump from surprise, some letting out sharp gasps or tiny yelps, but the second only brought dread sinking in deep in their stomachs.

    “It came from up ahead,” Dusknoir stated, “the battle has already begun; we need to hurry.”

    With silent nods of agreement, the group continued heading forward again. No longer pressed to a single line formation now that they were outside of the dungeon, some began spreading out slightly, moving ahead and clumping up in some areas. Alex, being one of the fastest and hasty by nature, pulled up to the front of the group, assuming the leading position, though he kept his pace still slow enough to keep the group together. Ceebee fluttered up to keep pace with him, before she suddenly froze in pain and dropped, fortunately being caught in the arms of the grovyle, who paused with bewilderment and concern.

    Not long after this, before Ceebee could recover and explain what happened, there was another roar, another from Dialga, but this stood out from the ones before as not being a battle cry but a wail of agony. Their scream was a strangled cry that trailed off into faint gasping whimpers.

    “Master!” Dusknoir gasped, recognizing the sound from the time god.

    At the sound, Alex’s gaze turned sharply back to the path they had been heading down before, but he didn’t linger there for long and looked back down at Ceebee. Many of the others were gathered around now, worried about what had happened to Dialga but more concerned in the immediate moment for their friend. After seconds that felt far too drawn out, Ceebee stirred, wincing, and slowly flapped her wings to bring herself out of the grovyle’s arms and into the air.

    “We need to help Dialga,” Ceebee hissed, staring ahead with a grave determination.

    “Wait, Ceebee,” Nelvana spoke up, “Are you hurt? What happened?”

    Alex stepped over to Ceebee again, silently requesting an answer to Nelvana’s questions, but she didn’t respond. Swallowing her breath, the celebi flew further into the corridor, leaving everyone to hurriedly move to catch up with her.

First [ARC 1]: In which the human is transformed First [ARC 2]: In which a present is prepared Next: In which the god of space is met Previous: In which the god of time is met

[jacscorner]

Nic Cooper and the Solar Scouts!

Captain Nic Cooper: The Captain of the Solar Scouts. He's a hearty man who's always up for an adventure! Hot blooded, daring, but not stupid. He wouldn't put his trusted crew in any danger if he wasn't sure they could handle it or handily get out of it. He'll gladly jump straight into danger when it calls! He hails from Primus, the Capital Planet of the United Space Federation-or the USF. Primus is pretty much their version of Earth.

Navigator Natasha Nosferatu: Navigator and Co-Pilot of the Solar Scouts, Natasha is a Bat from the far off planet Tenebris, a planet that's close to the their sun, but is covered in dark clouds, keeping the planet in a perpetual state of night. She's rather flirty and loves to seek attention. She gets a lot of flak under the assumption she's a Vampire, but she's actually an Eastern Red Bat-which doesn't help to calm down anybody, sadly.

Medical Officer Gia Hills: Medical Officer of the Solar Scouts, she didn't think she'd get roped into space adventures when she got out of school. Her poor heart can't take the constant fighting, but she has a job to do and that's keeping these guys alive! Gia hails from Planet Diana, which has one super continent and a fresh water ocean. She was rather poor and only agreed to join the crew to help pay off her school debt.

1st Engineer Darwin Chuck - A low-ranking monkey from Planet Lignum-a planet that's rather primitive, overrun with forests with giant trees, and filled with savages that steal and reverse engineer technology. His white fur branded Darwin as an outcast and he only got off the planet after stowing away upon one of the ships that managed to get on and off of the planet. His days on the planet made him good at taking apart and putting back together tech, which is how he got the job as the Solar Scout's 1st Engineer.

2nd Engineer Winnie Maynard: 2nd Engineer and Demolition Expert of the Solar Scouts, Winnie originally had dreams of scholarly pursuits. But the allure of adventure drove her from her home planet, Thichi; a planet that's one giant city. Her expertise in explosives were to be used in mining expeditions, but has proven to be a tremendous help in space adventures when laser fires and slugs aren't enough. Unlike her bombs, she's cool under pressure and brings a level head when chaos begins to sink its claws in.

1st Gunner Spencer Scott: 1st Gunner and, according to him, the quickest shot this side of the Soap Bubble Galaxy. Is much cooler than you'd think given the picture, but he loves to show off when he gets the chance. Comes from planet Unda, another planet similar to Earth, but it's flooded and decorated with a number of islands. You learn to swim before you learn to walk. Spencer, along with his shooting skills, is a strong swimmer.

2nd Gunner Lou Simmons: The Solar Scout's 2nd Gunner and Heavy-Weapons Expert, Lou was a part of the Space Navy, but was dishonorably discharged for disobeying direct orders from his superiors. He doesn't like to talk about the incident and will shut down any attempts to bring it up. He was born on a distant colony of Aube, an Asteroid Colony at the edge of the USF. He's hot blooded and has a short temper. He's notorious for starting bar fights and blowing things up. 

I don’t really know if I’ll do anything with these designs, but I spent all of last week making them, one by one. So maybe I will. XD

[snapebang]

A List on Parchment

Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Relationships:

Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter

Harry Potter & Severus Snape

Characters:

Severus Snape

Harry Potter

Draco Malfoy

Minerva McGonagall

Additional Tags:

Enemies to Friends

Character Study

Severus Snape Lives

Suicidal Thoughts

Post-War

post-war politics

Accidental Voyeurism

Walking In On Someone

Suicidal Ideation

Language:English

A List on Parchment

meshkol (ashernorton), author

Spamelotte (Bevan), illustrator

Summary:

When Severus first wakes up to After, it takes him approximately fourteen minutes to decide three non-negotiable plans when moving forward in this strange, alien world, written on a simple piece of parchment. The first is removing himself from all things people, the second is finding a way to support himself while also monetarily giving reparations to the Wizarding world as a whole, and the third is finding a way to live with himself until he can finally die in peace, preferably with a painful potion once he’s finally assured that he’s done enough to atone for the horrible atrocities he’s committed in his miserable life.

Then his careful plans are upended because of idiotic lunacy and a lack of sane foresight, and he is forced to open his isolated home to first Draco, then to his imbecilic and horrid fiancé, whom Severus loathes above all else other than himself.

To his surprise, though, everything seems to change, almost so slowly that he doesn’t realise it. Suddenly, Severus finds himself falling into an easy companionship with the one person he’d never expected to, and he can’t help but ponder whether those resolute plans are as solid as he once thought they were.

Notes:

For Bevan.

Written for the Snape Bang. Thank you muchly for putting this bang on, and I greatly enjoyed the experience.

The truly magnificent art embedded into this story is done by Spam, who can be found on tumblr and on ao3. Please show some love for these lovely, remarkable, whimsical pieces!

Please enjoy this story and mind the tags, as this fic gets heavy in some places, and please do not hesitate to let me know if you believe there should be additional tags/warnings included.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

When Severus first wakes up to After, it takes him approximately fourteen minutes to decide three non-negotiable plans when moving forward in this strange, alien world.

Strange and alien because one, he hadn’t even expected to survive for there to be an After to begin with, and two, after a lifetime of being labelled as a monstrous leper in all but affliction, he is…unused to being lauded in its stead. The whole ordeal is highly uncomfortable at the least, and infuriating at its worst: a parade of Healers and unwelcome ‘visitors’ that are unendingly polite and respectful, even when he is snappish and surly; the flood of flowers and cards from ‘well-wishers’ and ‘fans’ that make the hospital room reek of pollen; Ministry officials looking for their political bump when they attempt to invade his space with reporters to document their scripted words, which drip with false niceties; Kinglsey Shacklebolt himself sweeping in with an Order of Merlin, First Class, mercifully without reporters but apparently feeling it necessary to include every Department Head in the history of the Ministry.

Harry Potter visiting his hospital bed – a few days after Severus had woken, an incident that had started awkward and stilted before quickly digressing into spitting words, scathing digs, and eventually Potter slamming the door with a roar of Fuck you Snape! ringing in Severus’s ears – is an entirely different galling event that is beyond description.

The first order of business, of course, is obviously removing himself from all things people, and once he is finally discharged (after all but spitting his demands for the requisite potions he needed to heal to the imbecilic Mediwizards and Potioneers employed by St Mungos), he puts this plan into effect immediately. The vast majority of his salary during his tenure at Hogwarts had been stored away in Gringotts – the only spending he had been doing during his years teaching was purchasing exotic potions ingredients that the school hadn’t supplied on-hand or extra clothing and robes, which hadn’t accounted for much over the years. Additionally, Severus had been patenting and developing potions and spells over the decade, which had increased the amount of coin in his vault, though research and development was notorious for not being a high-paying endeavour. Not to mention that, with the help of a specialist in these sorts of affairs, Severus sells Spinner’s End within his first week of consciousness, though he practically gives it away due to his desperate need to be free of the property as well as the atrocious location and state of it. Combined with the Galleons he’d received for the Order of Merlin, he has a nest egg; nothing too extravagant, but enough to put his plan into motion by exchanging the majority of his vault’s coin into Muggle pounds and all but fleeing the Wizarding world.

He buys a Muggle house in Scotland, close to the other end of the Forbidden Forest but as far away from Hogwarts as possible. It gives him the opportunity to haunt his favourite grounds – a landscape that he knows better than even his own mind on occasion, courtesy of a lifetime of not being real in exchange for repaying a debt – for unsullied potions ingredients and solitude while also being able to explore the mountains that surround the barrier for more. The barrier itself is altered to allow him admittance to the forest, courtesy of Minerva herself, and she is the Secret Keeper of his property as well, as there is no human being left alive that Severus could feasibly entrust with that Secret and be assured that they will undoubtedly take it to their grave.

The second order of business is finding a way to support himself while also monetarily giving reparations to the Wizarding world as a whole. The purchase of the property had been done in hard currency with no names shared, and while it is not an extravagant place – three bedroom, rather run down though a step up from Spinner’s End, and an old coal cellar that he’d expanded and reinforced with a great deal of difficulty in order to brew in an optimum environment – it had taken almost all of his savings to acquire it. The rest of said savings had gone to purchasing ingredients in bulk, considering the majority of his furniture had been taken from his Hogwarts quarters and the rest had been gifted from Minerva (and, he suspects, Albus’s portrait giving instruction).

The most obvious way forward is potions. There are many unpatented recipes that he has been sitting on for over twenty years, hidden away in his brain or heavily-warded hideaways. The primary reason the potions have remained out of public consumption was because he hadn’t wanted the ‘opposing’ side – first Albus’s side, then the Dark Lord’s – to have access to superior or novel potions, which would’ve been an impediment on their war effort: improved pain relievers, nerve damage repairs, limb regrowth, et cetera. Another reason was because Severus had hoarded information as currency, first because he’d needed it to stay in the Dark Lord’s good graces and then, of course, because it had ensured that particular potions hadn’t ended up in the wrong hands, leading to reverse-brewing or retaliatory potions being developed. Naturally, another major reason had been because Severus, being a prior Death Eater despite Albus’s testimony on his behalf, had had to go through countless hoops just to get the Ministry and ICW to even look at his potions, let alone receive a patent so said potions could hit the global market.

For that last snag, waking up in this strange and alien world does admittedly help matters – his newfound ‘hero’ status, courtesy of Potter’s surprising and relentless PR campaign on his behalf After, enables him to get patents and contracts at a previously-inconceivable rate of speed, which is…rather beneficial, if Severus is honest. His nerve reparation potion, initially created for the Longbottoms but capable of being used on individuals outside of Cruciatus spell damage, hits the market five weeks after waking up After, the ICW human trials likely rushed through due to the post-War environment (though he knows that it works from personal experience). His modified Polyjuice potion – one that would change the very genetics of the drinker permanently for the betterment of almost-instantaneous limb and skin growth, enable transgender individuals to completely rewrite their genetic code to an opposing biology with concurrent potions and charms, or resetting targeted biology completely in order to reset genetic abnormalities brought about by any matter of magical or mundane afflictions to a pre-affliction state – goes through a bit slower, but four months is astronomically faster than the years he would’ve been forced to wait Before.

In any case, the patenting of a few dozen potions in very short order both increases his finances (allowing him to purchase more ingredients and donate the rest to reparations and charities, anonymously of course) and also allows him to help people as a general rule, from war injuries to general betterment of life itself.

Which leads in nicely to the third and final order of business on his plans for After: finding a way to live with himself until he can finally die in peace.

It is…not easy to do that, even with all of the potions he’s put out into the world and the money he’s been returning to the people. Every night at exactly eleven, he sits in one of the four rickety chairs at his rickety kitchen table with a piece of parchment and a quill, staring down at the meagre list of things he has to complete before he finally feels like he’s done enough to atone, wondering if there is anything else he should add to it in an effort to repay the horrible atrocities in his life. Once that list is complete, he can go to his lab, brew an incurable poison that will be unspeakably painful for him to ingest (he deserves nothing less), and then finally feel like he’s paid his pittance.

There is only one thing left on the parchment now. It’s a lofty goal, one that is time consuming and incredibly laborious, mostly because it’s a cure for lycanthropy. The Wolfsbane is a remarkable invention indeed, but a total cure is the crown jewel of the Potions Guild and the subject of a collective effort between all Potioneers. The entire Guild has been working on a cure since the inception of their order, and there’s no denying that they’re close as a community. Of course, Severus has his own personal reasons for wanting to see it done (the terror never goes away the fear of Lupin the horror of Greyback and what he did in front of Severus and to all of those children), but there is an intellectual curiosity that’s also undeniably there. The only thing that’s missing from his quest to find a cure is the old thirst for fame and fortune – and there’s no denying that whoever finally solves it will certainly be famous and rich – because, if Severus is perfectly honest, he thinks he’s attained both enough notoriety and fame to last a lifetime.

Regardless of who patents a cure first, Severus will see it happen, either by his own work or from someone else in the Guild, unless he dies first (and that is always a possibility, he supposes).

It is mid-March, six years and ten months into After, when the parchment is finally altered from its original creation and giving him another reason to suffer life for that much longer, and once again, it’s all Potter’s fault.

Typical.

The Malfoys, both surprisingly and unsurprisingly, had come out relatively intact After.

All three had predictably been taken into custody by the Aurors, according to the Prophet, but between Potter, Granger, Weasley, and a large assortment of other Order members, the trials had been quick and to-the-point. Narcissa and Draco had both gotten off with time served, a mercifully short two and six weeks respectively, but Lucius had been sentenced with a mediocre six years. Severus had been surprised by the short length but obviously hadn’t gotten involved – the last thing he needed was Draco sending him a barrage of owls in pique.

The only person he converses in-person with is Minerva, when she has the time, and therefore any information regarding Draco and Narcissa’s exploits in After are by post and report only. He doesn’t trust the tabloids as far as he can throw them, but even Skeeter has her own vein of truth like any decent reporter and therefore, with the varied confirmations when Draco writes, he does have a fairly good indication of how they’ve been conducting themselves. The Malfoy family had been so nonsensically wealthy that even the financial reparations hadn’t affected them much, and between unending charity work as well as Narcissa and Draco’s own smooth assimilations into ‘hero’ status (complete with their own Order of Merlin’s, albeit at a lower grade than Severus’s), they bounce back nicely.

He knows Narcissa spends most of her time making connections and volunteering, which is wholly unsurprising. She is a proper Pure-blood wife, and being able to make a public statement is in her blood; she has a lot of much-needed damage control to do before Lucius’s release from Azkaban, and while Severus has always been aware that Lucius is ridiculously good at twisting a narrative in his favour, the confirmation of his Death Eater status as well as his two stints in Azkaban (not to mention the breakout, which certainly hadn’t helped matters) means that his social standing has been heavily tarnished. If the Malfoys hadn’t been so wealthy and his wife hadn’t been the politically untouchable Narcissa, Severus is highly assured that he would’ve never recovered.

Draco, on the other hand, loses his ever-loving mind in the most predictable of ways, in Severus’s opinion.

Of course, the fact that Draco becomes the socialite he was raised to be isn’t surprising in the least – as intelligent and ambitious as Draco is, he’s still a Malfoy, and instead of being forced to get a job like the vast majority of people (Severus included) in order to feed themselves, he goes into political lobbying, throwing Malfoy money around for various causes. It’s smart, for sure, and increases his own social capital in exchange for Lucius’s; most people in After will look to Draco rather than Lucius as the patriarch, and for damn good reason. Draco still has his biases and prejudices, to be sure, but between the political climate of After and the fact that Lucius himself isn’t interfering in an effort to brainwash his only child with Pure-blood dogma, Draco learns to have his own opinions, for better or for worse.

Well, mostly for worse, considering he begins associating with Gryffindors and begins dating Potter.

Severus can only see Draco’s highly publicised relationship with Potter as a serious lack of sane judgement, but he can’t say it’s not predictable. The two of them have been obsessed with each other since the first moment they laid eyes on each other, Severus suspects, and his past digs into Potter’s woefully unprotected mind as well as Draco’s unceasing complaining about Potter during his school-days only reinforced that opinion. Considering that Draco’s developed a mind of his own – a proper teenaged rebellion a few years too late – and the Prophet having foolproof photographic evidence of Potter constantly being in the Malfoys’ presence – a glaringly obvious PR campaign to sway the public in the immediate aftermath of the war’s conclusion which had eventually morphed into the aforementioned romance – Severus can’t honestly say that he didn’t see it coming. He’s appalled at Draco’s lack of taste, for sure, and he absolutely loathes Potter, but even if Draco truly does enjoy Potter’s company (or even loves him, which Severus genuinely suspects, to his own horror), Severus can see the pros to such a union. If anything, it’s politically brilliant for Draco to be tied to the Golden Boy, especially in combination with his good deeds in politics and charity, and has certainly encouraged the public to embrace the Malfoy family with open arms once again.

That is, until Lucius gets out of prison, which directly correlates with the addition of another goal on his bit of parchment.

He’d read in the Prophet that Lucius had been granted early release for good behaviour last week but hadn’t thought much more of it – after all, it was only a measly two months in advance, and it wasn’t as if Severus was going to remove himself from his total isolation to go congratulate him. Severus has never cared for Lucius outside of what the Malfoy patriarch could give him, and that hasn’t changed even in After. He’d read it, replied back to Draco’s owls with his usual flat correspondence, and other than a brief moment of thought as to how Lucius would take the new status quo (and Draco’s relationship with Potter, still going strong after over five years together), he’d pushed it from his mind in exchange for his research.

Then, on the thirteenth, he gets The Letter, and his life is totally upended due to Potter once again (though he does suppose that Lucius is also to blame, but it is much more satisfying to blame Potter):

Severus,

I do hope that your final stretch of research is going well. I haven’t a doubt as to your proficiency, and considering the general chatter in the academic community, you must be fairly close to a solution. Master Delmonico says that you’ve come up with a concept that has gotten the Guild into rather a stir of excitement. He says that you are looking to begin human trials in a few months, if and when the Wizengamot allows you to conduct these trials on human subjects? I cannot see them denying you this, as there are many inmates in Azkaban (including the abominable Greyback) that are werewolves, and who better to experiment on than despicable excuses for living creatures? In any case, good luck with this, though I sure you will not need it – your brilliance is renowned for very good reason, and if anyone can develop the illusive cure, it would be you.

On a more serious and personal note, I’m sure you’ve heard that Father was released from the aforementioned Azkaban nearly a fortnight ago. We certainly expected friction in that regard, of course, but it has been rather more than we were expecting. He hasn’t much of a problem with Mother’s actions, though he is not best pleased at her more liberal expenditures nor the dismissal of the elves, so there has been minimal ire at her. As you very well know, contrary to popular belief, it was a love match between them, regardless of the arranged marriage, so it is to be expected that he would warm to her arguments post-haste regarding the good she’s done for our family name.

However, he is not nearly as magnanimous with me. Our intent was to slowly introduce him to my own political endeavours, as well as my relationship with Harry, but of course he found out all at once this morning and it has resulted in quite the predicament. Mother says that she will work to bring him around, of which I haven’t a doubt will soon be successful, but in the interim, I am in a precarious position.

As of this morning, I have been formally disowned with not a knut to my name until I bow to his demands, which are as thus: abandon all lobbying for Muggle-born equalisation, terminate all association with Muggle-born and Muggle-born supporting individuals, cease both platonic and romantic association with Harry, and enter a courtship with an approved Pure-blood woman in anticipation of marriage and children. I have, of course, told him no, not only because I believe in the causes I am supporting and have genuine friendships with Muggle-borns such as Hermione, but also because I am in love with Harry, with all of my soul. I do not know if I’ve told you, but he asked me to marry him Severus, once Kingsley formally officiated the law of marriage between all people regardless of gender, and I have accepted his hand. We have plans for children, as we are both in need of an heir (though Harry just wants children in general, and is a philistine in regards to family seats, so he hasn’t a care about formalities), so I will have a Pure-blood heir to my name. Nevertheless, Father will not have it, and I have been completely removed from my birthright.

I do not believe that it will stick for long, as there is no other heir to the Malfoy name and Mother is unbelievably fond of my fiancé, not to mention that Father will see reason when it comes to the political standing Harry gives us even outside of our engagement, but in the immediate environment, it is rather daunting. Harry has, of course, offered his home and finances to support me until Father comes to his senses, but not only is that against my own morals regarding the courtship of marriage, I refuse to be a kept man (don’t you dare laugh, you misanthropic bastard). I am not entirely sure what I’m to do at this point, as most of my friends and acquaintances are newly married or doing tertiary studies, and I haven’t the money for board as I wasn’t even given the opportunity to gather even clothing and only had what was in my purse. I naturally went to Gringotts immediately to see if I could withdraw coin before the necessary bureaucratic nonsense was finalised, but Father was quite quick in making sure that was dealt with before I could even walk Diagon Alley in full. He may not have the soundest judgement in political affairs and his beliefs, but you cannot deny that he is very proficient in all things monetary, to my everlasting annoyance.

I’m sure Mother will find a way to send me something while she’s working on bring Father to heel, but until them I am unsure what to do next. Have you any suggestions, other than sleeping on the streets (for I would rather sleep in the streets than move in with Harry before we’re married, regardless of how daft you must think me for clinging to those ‘outdated’ courtship rituals)? I am in a situation as to which I am completely unaccustomed to, and it is not as simple as when we were both at Hogwarts, when I could simply slip into your quarters for intelligent conversation and sleep when Slytherin House was too overwhelmingly toxic or dangerous to allow my guard to ease.

The fear of no money is rather paralytic, Severus, and I cannot fathom how people can live without succumbing to depression or desperation. How do you manage it? Nevertheless, it is something that, once Father returns to his senses (or, better yet, passes the estate to myself in its entirety), I will have to lobby for. Universal basic income is something Hermione has been waxing rhapsodies about for half a decade, and only now do I understand her point of view. Terribly blindsided of me, but at least I can take this as a learning point to do better in the future, as well as the fact that I should’ve had the foresight to develop financial contingencies before this occurred in the first place. Now you can laugh.

I hope it will not be but a few weeks before this all blows over, and hopefully sooner. If all else fails and I cannot find a bed, I suppose I can always hide away in the Shrieking Shack – my transfiguration ability would allow me to have a somewhat comfortable go of it until Mother finds a way to send me coin, and there is no longer a werewolf inhabiting the space once a month.

Wishing you luck on the final stages of your research and hoping you are well, Draco Malfoy

Severus spends the first thirty minutes after reading bustling about for bits of meat from the ice box so he can feed the owl while letting his mind dissect the hidden meanings behind Draco’s missive. His first thought is that Draco is a fool for falling in love, but again, the news is unsurprising, though the mention of betrothal is. The news that Draco is happy and content enough with Potter to get married – spurning his father’s wrath and upending every societal expectation within the Pure-blood community – is shocking to say the least, especially since Severus has always half-expected the two of them to finally get into a domestic that they couldn’t recover from. Pure-bloods take betrothals and marriages very seriously, and if Draco’s accepted Potter’s hand, then there is no turning back unless one of them dies. Pure-blood customs demand nothing else, and Draco is a proper Pure-blood despite his political leanings.

After he’s come to begrudging terms that Draco is marrying Harry-bleeding-Potter of all people, he begins going over the other hints within Draco’s letter, namely the request for lodging, or if nothing else, the funds to support him until Draco can pay him back.

It’s glaringly obvious that Draco’s asking, even if he hadn’t said so in blatant terms. The mentions of having no options with other lodging options nor the money for even a room at an inn is fairly clear to decipher, and then there’s the deliberate addition of it being for a short period of time (which is most likely accurate, once Lucius gets his head out of his arse and accepts reason) and the very specific remark about the Shrieking Shack, which is one of the only explicit locations that Severus consciously has nightmares about (as most of his nightmares revolve around people and events rather than the places said events took place). It’s that last bit that really hammers it home, as Draco most certainly knows that Severus despises that place, even if he might not know the reasoning as to why. Well, he likely does now that he’s dating Potter and is friends with the rest of his idiotic friends, as Gryffindors have no concept of privacy nor subtlety.

Gods, he hates Potter.

There isn’t a reason in hell he would allow Draco to live in that despicable place, even for a night, and it makes his skin crawl to even imagine the thought. Still, Severus hasn’t any money to send, as all of the proceeds to his patents go for the bare minimum of food and a surplus of potions ingredients before the remnants are sent in entirely to charities, so that’s not an option. Additionally, Severus can see where Draco’s coming from, in regards to other lodging – as with any post-war society, the vast majority of people rushed into marriage and are procreating at an alarming rate, and anyone not swept up in the urge to hurry into such things are in tertiary studies with a Master and therefore cannot live outside of student lodgings. Outside of that, as far as Severus is aware, the only adults who aren’t married or are in tertiary studies within Draco’s relative age group are people in Pure-bloods that are in betrothal contracts (which can’t be interfered with, and considering Draco’s still technically unmarried, he would be considered a problem) and the sparse few others available likely would not allow Draco to stay with them due to a lack of even passing acquaintance.

Gods, but he fucking hates Potter.

If it hadn’t been for Potter’s relationship with Draco, Lucius almost certainly would’ve spent two hours in a rage, a night in a sulk, and then the next morning listing to Narcissa patiently explain why Draco’s liberal politics was good for the family. If Draco had gone through with the original option to enter a betrothal contract with Astoria Greengrass – which had been brought up shortly after the Malfoy name had been elevated into ‘hero’ status, according to Draco himself – Lucius might’ve not done anything but brood. His son marrying Potter though, a hot-blooded man who had defeated the Dark Lord and (according to imbecilic lunatics like Lucius) was actively trying to destroy his superior way of life, was clearly the issue that had resulted in Draco’s expulsion from his inheritance and family seat, and Severus for the life of him can’t understand why Draco or Narcissa hadn’t anticipated this outcome from before the platonic relationship alone had occurred.

After Severus’s lunch, which he’d taken if only to keep himself from blowing up a cauldron due to his own distraction (fucking Potter), he writes two letters with a fair amount of anxiety and wariness that he doesn’t bother hiding in the privacy of his own home. He’s steadfast in his decision, even though he is certain that he’ll regret it, but other than two to three visits a year from Minerva, Severus has not seen another living soul that is human. The anxiety is to be expected, after almost seven years of total isolation from the outside world, and the wariness is equally anticipated, considering Draco has changed from the boy he once was and Severus himself has grown accustomed to not wearing a mask.

Still, he wore that mask since the first time he remembers his father beating his mother, since the first time he watched Lily smile at the other Potter Severus hates, and he can feel it slipping back into place seamlessly as he carefully begins to write his own missives.

The first is to Minerva:

Good day,

Without divulging too much private information, Draco is currently disowned from his birthright due to his relationship with Potter. He has no options at the moment, and I am offering my humble dwelling for him until Lucius sees reason. Naturally, as my Keeper, you will have to grant him permission to come onto the property, and due to the nature of Draco’s excommunication, time is of the essence. If you would be amendable, I would greatly appreciate if you could give him the Secret at your earliest convenience. I suppose it does not need to be said, but before revealing it, ensure that Draco’s Occlumency is solid and the nosy, bothersome portraits in your office do not interfere, even with the protections bound to a Headmistress. If you wish to verify any of this letter in person, please do not hesitate, but otherwise, send a Patronus if you are agreeable to the above. Also enclosed is the message to Draco – I am cognisant of the fact that you have the ability to deliver correspondence to Potter post-haste, and I would appreciate if you could deliver this to him, as Draco will almost certainly be with him or at least in a speedy proximity. In any case, I will be in my lab if and when you arrive with Draco.

Also, if Potter is with him when Draco arrives to see you, or Draco gives you any indication that he is looking to share the Secret with Potter, feel free to curse both of them. I would suggest something to remove their genitalia so they do not procreate, and therefore leave this world free of any offspring they would unfortunately bring into this world.

Respectfully, SS

The next is to Draco himself, and he doesn’t bother with pleasantries:

You are a dull, imbecilic dunderhead who was likely dropped on his head as an infant. Pull yourself together at once else I will refuse to entertain your increasingly ridiculous and soppy correspondence.

Minerva McGonagall will see you when you are available, and I do not care if you are betrothed to that equally dull and imbecilic dunderhead: Potter stays out of this. Do not make me regret this decision or I will rectify your continued existence myself, Boy-Who-Lived and what little remains of my sentimentality be damned.

On Draco’s letter, he spells it to be opened and read by only Draco – he does not trust Potter, the nosy and unsubtle idiot, to keep his eyes to himself, and he does not trust the Ministry in which Potter works either. When he’s sufficiently satisfied with the letter’s protections, he rolls up the scrolls and attaches them to the leg of his personal owl, sending her to fly the short distance to Hogwarts.

Minerva’s cat appears in short order but instead of a coherent or long-winded response, it’s a solid twelve seconds of her cackling (which makes Severus hate her just a little bit) before her voice says from the Patronus, “Done and done, my friend. I’ll come over for tea tomorrow as well, just to make sure you haven’t murdered the poor boy in a fit of pique.”

Severus Summons the parchment, a quill, and a stoppered vial of ink, and writes down the first addition to his third After goal: ensure Draco remains alive and well until his affairs are in order.

For the first week of Draco’s invasion of Severus’s isolation, everything goes smoothly.

He follows the basic rules – do not bother me when I am working, clean up after yourself, no talk or sight of that blasted idiot you call a fiancé or the War in general – and Severus is lulled by the vague familiarity of it all. Draco had spent a significant amount of time in Severus’s quarters, both before and after Albus’s death, just to get away from the politics and backstabbing within Slytherin House. He had, of course, been comfortable in Slytherin, but Draco had been regrettably forced into being an adult far sooner than any child had the right to be, and being around classmates that were still essentially children had taken its toll on him. Severus can empathise, considering his home life and his days courting the Dark Lord from Sixth Year and after, and they had found an easy companionship with each other even despite Draco’s much-younger age during those days.

That being said, it is clear that Draco’s recent associations have ingrained themselves into his person.

Most of the changes are things Severus understands and even supports, namely his changed views regarding anyone not ‘pure of blood’ and fully human. He is proud of Draco’s maturation, and even if some of Potter and Granger’s idealism has obviously worked its way into Draco’s person, it is reassuring to see that Draco’s pragmatism is still in control of any grand and lofty goals Draco would like to see come to fruition. The bits that Severus does not understand – not much, honestly, and only because he is unsure of how the Muggle world works anymore within the new millennium – are subject to intellectual debate over the spare few meals they share, which is rather invigorating after so long of only getting into infrequent debates with Minerva.

Generally, Draco does not spend a lot of time at Severus’s dwelling, save for the first day when they had finally laid eyes on each other for the first time in half a decade, resulting in stilted small talk until they’d both remembered how to actually exist around each other. Draco’s still out lobbying on a constant basis at the Ministry or scheming with Parkinson and Granger, who’ve become quite the fierce duo if the Prophet and Draco are to be believed. There are also the frequent visits to see Potter to account for, though Draco obligingly does not inform Severus of these outings – the only evidence of that is the fact that Draco returns to Severus’s dwelling with a smile he can’t wipe off his face and positively reeking of sex or fresh shower potions, the transparent moron.

It’s an easy, amiable coexistence with a person, until suddenly it’s not.

It starts with the owl from Lucius stating in flat terms that Draco will never be reinstated as his heir until he breaks off relations with Potter, which is followed by another owl from Granger informing that Potter’s been getting death threats from an untraceable source, which is followed by yet another owl from Narcissa saying that Potter seems to be on the verge of storming Malfoy Manor without a warrant, which is followed by a final owl from Potter himself saying that he is on the verge of storming Malfoy Manor without a warrant because he got poisoned from the first death threat and he’s damn well sure that Lucius is responsible even if he can’t prove it.

Severus may hate Potter with an undying passion but even he can admit that Lucius is probably responsible, considering the timing of it all.

Draco’s hysterical for the second week and spends almost every night with Potter, and in the spare few moments he returns to Severus’s home, he looks like he hasn’t slept in days. As he packs more clothing, he explains to Severus (who is trying to focus on his equations in the kitchen and not the familial drama) that he might have to move in with Potter after all, because he doesn’t trust Potter to be alone right now as Potter’s frothing at the mouth for retribution (predictable) and might end up opening another poisoned missive. Severus, as much as he thinks Potter is a hot-headed and impulsive brat, thinks that the latter is quite unlikely, because as rash as he is, Potter is certainly capable of both protecting himself and getting lucky enough to cheat death. Despite Potter’s many faults, it still is fact that he’s a fully-qualified Auror who’d definitively defeated the most powerful Dark wizard in history, and touching one poisoned letter isn’t indicative of a trend. After all, there are many poisons that are undetectable – some of them are of Severus’s own design even, and he’s fully aware that Malfoy Manor has stockpiles of various fatal potions that he’d brewed for the Dark Lord both before and after his first fall – that have been utilised throughout history to kill rivals. It is highly unlikely that Potter will make the same mistake twice, even at his most reckless.

Of course, Draco is a drama queen and refuses to accept this, loudly voicing the worst-case scenarios of Potter’s seemingly inevitable demise whilst making an enormous racket about the impropriety of being forced to move in with his betrothed, and by the time Severus is cursing the fact that he hasn’t any Calming Draughts brewed to force down Draco’s throat, he’s utterly done with the histrionics.

He’s not entirely sure if he offers his dwelling’s protection to Potter for Draco’s peace of mind or because he just wants Draco to shut up.

Draco calms down at the offer though, considering it with complete focus and blissfully quiet for the first time in an hour, and when he asks if Severus is serious, Severus hesitates for a split second because why in the hell had he offered it in the first place? Still, Severus is a proud man and he’s already made said offer, albeit in the heat of the moment, and he’d put Draco’s happiness and well-being on his parchment, something that he will see through to the bitter end. Besides, it’s not like anything will come of it – the entire history between Severus and Potter is filled with blood, anger, and hatred. There isn’t a chance in hell that Potter will take Severus up on it, especially considering that the last time they were breathing the same air, years upon years ago in a private hospital room at St Mungos, Potter had told him that it would be ‘a cold day in hell when I voluntarily put myself in the same room as you, you cold and miserable fuck.’

So he says that he’s indeed serious through clenched teeth, though there will be rules, and it’s almost worth it when Draco smiles.

The problem is that Potter takes him up on it, and fuck but he hates Potter.

The rules are simple, laid in unnegotiable terms in a tense silence inside Severus’s shabby sitting room.

The first two are ones that Draco is already obliging – do not bother me when I am working and clean up after yourself – but the rest are Potter specific: he’s forbidden from wasting time lounging around Severus’s public rooms (because too much Potter in Severus’s presence will certainly result in bloodshed); no word on where Potter is hiding out to his gossipy friends (Severus is tempted to require an Unbreakable Vow, but Minerva shoots this down rather vehemently when she comes over to make sure he’s actually going to allow Potter into his home); if Potter is in the dwelling, Draco must be present as well (because Severus being left alone with Potter will result in not bloodshed but cold-blooded murder); Potter must provide his own food and supplies (because Severus sure as hell isn’t going to support the pint-sized brat); no sodding funny business in Severus’s home (because if they want to paw all over each other, Potter has a perfectly good home of his own for that vulgarity); and a maximum time limit of one month before he is required to leave (Severus desperately hopes that Potter and Draco solve the problem much faster, and judging by the expression on Potter’s face, this is a mutual hope).

It’s uncomfortable to be sure, but Potter is silent except for the occasional quiet yes sir when appropriate, and it does admittedly help with that discomfort. As soon as the conversation is over, Severus flees to his potions lab and Draco hurries Potter into his bedroom to settle down as apparently Potter had needed his own for propriety’s sake, and Severus will never understand the ridiculous customs of Pure-bloods because how in the hell is it any different than Draco sleeping in a separate bedroom in Potter’s London flat?

Sometimes, Severus hates Draco almost as much as Potter himself, because it isn’t even a week before everything falls into insanity.

Severus is in his lab, finalising his notes for the first human experiment, when everything goes pear-shaped.

The first subject is Malcolm McClellan, a thirty-two-year-old male who’d been mauled by Greyback when he was seven, courtesy of his Pure-blooded parents denying the Dark Lord early during the first war. Severus has met him many times, of course, both when he was still a child and later when he’d been a Snatcher, and he’d been a violent, hateful thing with a remarkable talent for killing his subsequent victims rather than changing them. That being said, Severus is uncertain if he’s comfortable with McClellan being the first human subject considering the situation – he’d been so young when he’d been turned, and due to his high parentage, it hadn’t been a secret whatsoever, which meant that Albus hadn’t been able to grant McClellan his slot at Hogwarts like he’d been able to give to Remus Lupin (and likely other closeted werewolves over the years). Because of the denial of his schooling and the general fear regarding werewolves, not to mention the fact that the Wolfsbane hadn’t been invented yet, his parents had both despised him and been furious with the government for allowing it to happen while simultaneously doing nothing about it immediately after, leading to the complete radicalisation of the entire family. The boy had grown up with Greyback and the Dark Lord during his most impressionable years, as his parents had wanted nothing to do with him, and therefore had developed a taste for rage-fuelled brutality towards anyone and everyone who’d crossed his path.

Severus is terrified of werewolves for many reasons other than Black’s ‘prank’, but he still has some empathy for McClellan nevertheless. Like almost all werewolves, he hadn’t had a choice and furthermore had only been a child, and the Wizarding World had ostracised him to the point where he hadn’t been able to get an education, let alone assimilate himself into proper society where he could’ve had a decent life. Instead, he’d been turned away by his own family as well as the entire population, and it had made him lonely and afraid and angry, leading to his fall into the Dark Lord’s orbit because he hadn’t any other options without debasing himself. Severus can obviously sympathise with that – his own experiences within his childhood home and the relentless cruelty from other Houses (and honestly in Slytherin itself) during his Hogwarts years had widened that gaping hole of ambitious hatred in himself, leading him to the Dark Lord as well.

Still, actions do make the man, he supposes, and besides, if the Dementors hadn’t been unilaterally removed from Azkaban during the first six months of After, McClellan would’ve been Kissed anyway. If the experiment kills him – which is certainly a possibility, though Severus would anticipate the complete elimination of his magical core before he’d expect death – then it’s not too much of a problem, according to the legal branch of the ICW in charge of signing off on human experimentation. McClellan had ultimately been given a full trial by the Wizengamot and been found guilty of almost every one of his crimes (rightfully so, in Severus’s opinion, as he’d been present during some of his murders). The only reason he hadn’t been executed was because the EU Wizengamot is firmly anti-death penalty, just like the Muggle one is, and the Dementor’s Kiss has never been considered as such, just a more extreme type of lifetime incarceration for the most dangerous of criminals.

Severus has always personally believed that was rubbish, but he’s not a politician and hasn’t ever voted in the Wizarding elections, so he’s of the opinion that he’s negated his freedom to complain about that particular moral argument, not that it matters anymore with the Dementors’ removal.

In any case, his formula is sound, and he’s confident that it will, at the very least, negate the need for Wolfsbane, if it doesn’t completely remove the lycanthropy infection from the magical core. Or if it doesn’t remove the entirety of the magical core itself. It’s certainly a delicate balance, as lycanthropy infests the core on a genetic level and is tied to magic itself, and trying to destroy the infection could hypothetically result in the destruction of the magical apparatus within the human body. Of course, that’s the point of human trials on individuals who lost their rights to perform magic regardless – it’s not like they can experiment on animals first, since lycanthropy is a purely Wizarding disease contrary to Muggle belief, and it is unacceptable to do human trials on witches and wizards who would be, at the very least, completely unable to do magic if their core was destroyed, or at worst, actually die from the elimination of a crucial part of their biology. The only other cases of a core being destroyed – usually through illegal curses or potions – has occasionally resulted in the death of the Magical individual, after all, and they cannot afford to perform these much-needed experiments on individuals who’ve done nothing wrong legally even if they volunteered for it in a fit of desperation. No, it is much too dangerous, politically and otherwise, to do such a thing, and so life-sentence prisoners infected with lycanthropy it is.

He’s finishing up the letter to Lincoln Heaversham, the lead Healer who’ll be supervising the administration at Azkaban, when his magic responds to the wards, letting him know that someone has Apparated on his property. He huffs out a sound of irritation, hoping that the two idiots will keep it down considering the late hour, and then continues methodically until he hears a loud crash and a blistering explosion of vulgarity, which results in Severus upending his inkwell onto the nearly-finished missive and letting out his own incensed swears as he sweeps his way up the narrow staircase to rip both of them to shreds.

Not that he has the opportunity, because he stops dead at the entryway of his lab, taking in the tangled bodies and the blood smeared on the white floor of his kitchen from what appears to be Potter, who’s liberally coated with red.

Draco looks as if he’s having a coronary as he shrieks with an edge of hysteria, hands shaking and face blotched with pink, “What is wrong with you?! Are you out of your ever-loving mind?! You should be at hospital, you fucking moron!”

“Stop yelling,” Potter groans, trying to push himself up from the floor and failing miserably even despite Draco trying to help him get to his feet. Severus can’t tell immediately what the problem is, but it’s obvious that Potter’s hurt, his brown skin ashen and green eyes glazed with pain. “You’re going to bother Snape and he’s going to give us a right good bollocksing for mucking up rule one.”

“Too late for that,” Severus drawls, his voice carefully modulated to hide any of the thoughts and emotions currently swirling in his head. He’s not sure what’s the most confusing: the fact that Potter of all people is scolding Draco to respect the rules, that Potter’s not rising up to Draco’s hysterical barbs with anger, or that Severus feels concerned by the frankly alarming amount of blood on the idiot.

“Severus! Do something!” Draco cries at the same time Potter mumbles under his breath, “Well shit.”

That’s more familiar, and Severus almost wants to smile.

“I haven’t an idea what you expect me to do when I am unsure as to what happened in the first place,” Severus says calmly, advancing with a raised wand. He flicks it methodically over his sitting room and kitchen, setting rights to his chairs and cleaning the blood on his floors, and then crosses his arms when he reaches the two imbeciles still on his floor, looming over them. “What in the devil happened, Potter?”

Draco opens his mouth to speak but swallows his words when Severus glares at him; Severus doesn’t care to listen to Draco’s dramatic histrionics, and while he doesn’t necessarily expect Potter to tell him the whole truth, he’s likely to get a better idea of what happened without adding onto the terrible headache he can feel starting in his temples.

Potter’s face twists through various emotions before he shifts, grimaces, and then manages to sit himself upright, fingers tentatively touching the back of his head. Clearly a head wound then, judging by the cringe, and Severus lets his eyes take in the rest of his hunched form for further injuries as Potter explains flatly, “Raid. I’ll be fine with some rest.”

Draco looks apoplectic, teeth visibly grinding and eyes bright with panicked rage, but Severus ignores him. “Have you been to medical?” he asks, though he’s already sure of the answer, and Potter doesn’t disappoint.

“No,” he mutters mulishly. “Got looked over by an on-sight medic but she suggested St Mungos, and if I go there, I’ll be stuck in a bed for ages because everyone seems to lose their ability to do their jobs when I walk into a room. Contrary to what you might believe about me, I’d much rather sleep instead of getting prodded by Healers desperate for a photograph as they wax the usual spiel about thanks and gratitude and all that rubbish.”

Severus eyes him for a long moment, Potter glaring defiantly at him while Draco seethes, and then Severus says blandly, “Well, it seems like the Healers are just as imbecilic as you are.” Potter flushes, a rather distasteful combination with the pallor of his cheeks, but Severus doesn’t wait for the inevitable parry, instead levitating Potter entirely until he’s laid out on the couch. He flicks his wand in well-practised movements, wandlessly doing diagnostic charms that are practically instinctive after years of teaching students, and then says once he’s done, “Well, luckily for Draco and your numerous fans, you’re not dying. Pity, that. Stay put, else I’ll hit you with a full-body bind and Stupefy, which would be unrecommended due to the concussion and head wound. Do get him out of his robes before I return with topicals, Draco, and for Circe’s sake, don’t perform any magic on the idiot as it may interfere with my potions.”

He turns on his heel and makes his way to his lab, where he has the usual potions in case of injuries. He’s torn between irritable that Potter’s such a haphazard idiot who denied himself medical care just because he didn’t want to cater to mindless kow-towing and…oddly sympathetic, to his eternal annoyance. Still, Severus remembers waking up in St Mungos himself, in the bizarre and alien world of After, and he’d been ready to hex the lot of them himself because of the ridiculous fawning. Merlin knows it is likely worse for Potter, even six years after the War. It’s decidedly strange to be in a position where he can empathise with Potter of all people but it’s no less true, and in a way, he doesn’t necessarily blame Potter for trying to escape the histrionics. He’s always been bull-headed and stubborn, and Severus can certainly understand why he’d want to suffer in silence while taking care of himself the Muggle way rather than put up with it all.

Furthermore, Severus also remembers that St Mungos has truly atrocious brewers employed, and Severus’s stores are much more effective for the standard injuries. He’ll have to brew some Skele-Gro for the shattered bones in his right arm and shoulder, but that’s only an afternoon if he uses the standard method (which tastes vile and has to be paired with tissue regenerators and pain relievers because it tends to scorch the oesophagus and stomach lining going down) or an afternoon and late evening if he uses his own improved method (vastly superior, obviously, and tastes like grass). He’s done with the first test batch of the lycanthropy cure, and until he receives the results from Heaversham, he’s essentially sitting on his hands except theoretical, ultimately irrelevant improvements on paper.

Besides, he’d made an oath to Lily and Albus to keep the boy – man – safe until his last dying breath, not to mention that it would destroy Draco if Potter died from something as stupid as intracranial bleeding.

He gathers up a large assortment of potions within his expanding case, nearly depleting some of his stock, and then makes his way back up with a monumental effort to keep himself physically impassive. It wouldn’t do to show something akin to sympathy or concern, not because he has an image to maintain anymore but because he truly still does despise the idiot, and he pauses before leaving the stairs so he can look in the mirror across the corridor, taking in his ageing appearance with a critical eye. He’s not quite out of practise after years upon years of not being forced to put on a role, as his act had been such an integral part of his entire soul for most of his life and therefore is like putting on a well-worn and comfortable robe. However, he has admittedly grown somewhat relaxed since he hasn’t needed to make an effort to react ‘appropriately’ when there’s an audience, and he can’t risk Potter seeing any sort of compassion or empathy. The last thing he needs is Potter growing comfortable here and starting to bend the rules in response, as he’s wont to do when he isn’t being watched for any misstep (and Severus has been watching).

Satisfied that he gives the appearance of mild irritation underneath smooth emotionless, he steps into the corridor and then out into the sitting room. Draco’s seemingly expanded the couch length-wise, but Severus can’t sense any other residue of magic use; he’s fairly good about detecting it, especially within his own wards, and he’s vaguely relieved that Draco hasn’t taken complete leave of his senses, other than his current betrothal to Potter.

“You are not to make this a habit, Potter,” Severus drones irritably as he begins pulling out potions from his case, handing them to Draco one-by-one slowly so he can unstopper them and hand them to Potter for ingestion. “If you cannot deal with your adoring public with any sense of propriety, then take appropriate measures. You’ve enough money to hire a private Mediwizard for your personal use if signing autographs is too tedious for your delicate sensibilities, and I for one will not tolerate you causing undue grief and hysteria in Draco, nor will I be your fucking nursemaid.”

Potter snorts loudly, then groans in pain when it jostles his shoulder and arm. Severus scoffs in annoyance and snaps, “Act like an adult, you insufferable brat. Four more potions to go, and then I will set your arm and shoulder. I expect to be reimbursed for the exuberant amount of potions you’re forcing me to give you, as well as my time for brewing a Skele-Gro, which I may remind you is actually illegal considering it’s under closed patent.”

Potter reaches for another potion, downs it in one go, and then says with heavy sarcasm, “What d’you want, my firstborn?”

Severus rolls his eyes and hands over the last potion – a pain reliever, which he’d saved for last in a fit of undeniably childish pettiness – to Draco. With his own sarcastic bite, he drawls, “If this world is so lucky, you will never sire any little Potters to demonise this world. I do hope you’re sterile for the sake of us all.”

“Severus,” Draco says imploringly, and then looks back at Potter incredulously, who’d huffed a visibly careful laugh before downing the last potion.

“What?” Potter says around a sigh, relaxing into the worn, but comfortable couch as the pain reliever kicks in. Severus rolls his eyes again and does a few diagnostic spells as Potter continues, “I thought it was funny.”

“There is nothing amusing about the idea of you procreating,” Severus mutters while he flicks his wand at Potter’s shoulder, setting it into a localised binding to keep the idiot from moving it accidentally and then immediately following with another to his arm and wrist.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, if we have any kids, they’re going to be biologically Draco’s,” Potter says, grimacing as his arm and shoulder is stiffened into proper placement.

“You have no idea how comforting that is,” Severus drolls.

He ends up taking the standard route with the Skele-Gro, if only for Draco’s peace of mind.

By that point, Potter’s healed up enough to move into his bedroom, and Severus thrusts the vial into Draco’s hands without entering said room with strict instructions to make Potter drink all of it. He discreetly hovers outside in the living corridors, listening to Potter choke down the potion just to be sure he doesn’t sick it up, and then disappears into his lab to redo his letter to Heaversham and send it with the lycanthropy potions to Minerva. He loses himself in brewing replacements for all of the potions Potter had taken, and works through the night on a few additional recipes as well, mostly potions for tendons, muscles, and ligaments. Merlin only knows the amount of damage Potter’s done to the surrounding tissues of his shoulder and arm after fleeing a crime scene, and Draco will be pleased at least (and Lily, wherever she is). It’s something to do, in any case, if only to keep his mind off the lycanthropy trials that will be taking place in a week and the fact that once it’s successful, he’ll be able to finally die without guilt.

Almost there, he supposes, and his chest feels lighter at the thought.

He surfaces at about seven in the morning, exhausted and sore from stirring repetitions, with an odd ache in his stomach that is probably from the lack of food. He hasn’t an appetite though – he’s never had much of an appetite, not even since his Hogwarts days – so he settles for a pot of tea, setting it up with methodical patience even if he’s sure he’d do better with sleep instead.

He’s glad for his choice when he’s halfway through his first cup, the newly-arrived Prophet open to the Potioneers’ section in his other hand, for Draco comes through in fine robes, hair slicked and a briefcase in his hand.

“No,” Severus says instantly.

Draco sighs and takes a seat, posture impeccably straight and looking apologetic, as well as equally exhausted. The smudges under his eyes are a clear picture of a night spent worrying over Potter, as Skele-Gro is quite painful to endure. He gestures to the pot of tea, pouring himself a cup once Severus stiffly nods, and says tiredly, “I haven’t a choice. The Auror Department needs to be updated on Harry’s condition before they send out an armada and I need to make sure MW Olivier brings this bill to motion today rather than tomorrow.”

“Send an owl. Or a Howler.”

“You know I can’t do that. In any case, rest assured that you won’t be bothered – Harry’s liable to sleep until noon considering the night he had, and he knows the rules.” He swallows down the entirety of his tea in one long series of swallows then flicks his wand at the teacup to clean it and send it flying towards its proper cupboard, standing up with another sigh. “I’ll be back in a few hours, no longer. Please don’t asphyxiate or otherwise maim my fiancé, Severus.”

He sweeps out of the home without another word, a distant pop of Apparition mixing with the internal awareness of Severus’s wards letting him leave, and Severus rubs his temples with stained fingertips in irritation.

He finishes his tea and pours another, ears straining for any sounds of movement just in case he needs to flee at a moment’s notice. He’s almost tempted to flee regardless, but he won’t be spooked within his own home whilst the brat isn’t even in the same room – that would be rather pathetic, and Severus is too proud to be such. Besides, Draco’s probably right – Severus bedroom and lab are both additionally warded, with supplemental Muffaito charms entwined for his own sanity, but even though he hadn’t been able to hear anything, he’s fully aware how painful it is when Skele-Gro works, especially since the standard recipe patented by Reubens Wilkius’ estate negates all sleep potions and minimises the effectiveness of pain relievers.

Severus should’ve just brewed his improved recipe, honestly. If he had, he could’ve added a vial of Dreamless Sleep to the exorbitant amount of potions Potter had been dosed with and wouldn’t have to worry about Potter surfacing until later this evening.

Hindsight, indeed.

He half-heartedly finishes reading the Prophet – the drivel they report has only gotten worse in After, somewhat surprisingly considering the political climate, and he can’t help but be concerned with the right-leaning slant to its articles, hidden inside gossip pieces and seemingly innocent human interest editorials – and steadily works his way through the rest of his teapot. He hasn’t the energy to do much but sit there in silence, tense for any movement in the house other than his own, but the lull of his bed isn’t strong enough to entice him to move. He doesn’t trust himself to brew further or look over his lycanthropy notes, either, as his exhaustion is bone-deep, and he hasn’t any work in his herb garden that needs to be done.

So he simply lets his mind wander to different poisons and spells he can use to take his own life, his preferred way of relaxing. Perhaps it’s not the most standard means comforting himself, fantasising about the most brutal and painful ways to extinguish his existence from this world, but Severus is so tired, of living with his guilt and being alive when so many better people weren’t allowed to, and he just wants to rest, even if a part of him wonders if his continued existence is penance for his evil. Severus is not a religious man, but he wonders if there is a hell after this life that he’ll be subjected to like some Muggles believe, and he can’t help but hope so, because an eternity of suffering is all he deserves after the horror he’s enabled.

There’s something very comforting about that possibility, and he can’t ignore that there’s something even more calming about the idea of Lily being allowed to exist in a peaceful afterlife, surrounded by her loved ones and a beautiful utopia of harmony. It’s a lovely thought, of her laughing whilst surrounded by fields of lush grass, her red hair glowing in the bright sunshine, in the arms of her pseudo-family, and he almost smiles. He’s only ever wanted her to be happy, even if he personally hadn’t approved of her husband, but that hadn’t been his choice and he’d never deluded himself into believing that it was – Severus may be proud, but James Potter had been much better for her anyway, as much as he hates to admit it, because they would’ve had a beautiful life together if Severus hadn’t been born for the sole purpose of destroying it. He hates himself most of all, because he’s the reason they’re dead, the reason they hadn’t been around to watch their child grow, the reason that so many lives had been extinguished before they’d had the chance to be. He desperately hopes there is something after this world, if only so she can watch her son grow old whilst being surrounded by love.

He supposes he’s not surprised when Potter does surface, silent as a ghost from his stealth training and years of fighting the Dark Lord, but he is surprised when Potter stills in the kitchen doorway, looking at him for a long moment with a strangely unreadable expression before he asks quietly, “Can I join you?”

Severus stares back, at those bright green eyes that haunt him with every moment of his continued existence, and hears himself murmur, “Do whatever you will.”

Potter shuffles around, almost eerily silent even as he brews his own pot of tea from his own stores. Severus tries not to watch him, staring into the dregs of his cuppa whilst trying to shake off the memories of Potter’s mother and his own self-hatred, but it’s hard not to – he’s only seen Potter a sparse few times since that first sit-down regarding rules, and this is the first time Severus has seen him without his full Auror robes on, making him look younger and far less guarded. Like he’d noticed the previous evening, he’s still rather short for his age – especially in comparison to his biological father, Lucifer torture his soul – but the skinny child has been replaced by a man with broad shoulders and strong musculature, a vast difference from his school-days. He certainly looks healthier despite his current stiffness, more settled in his skin in a way, and it’s a far cry from that last meeting they’d had in St Mungos, when Potter had been almost deathly thin and gaunt with a haunted shadow in his eyes.

After has been good for him, in a way that it hasn’t been for Severus himself. Then again, Severus has been holed up and completely cut off from the outside world except Minerva’s irregular visits for tea, and has been slowly preparing to die, so he’s not particularly surprised by that fact.

Potter finally sits at the farthest end of the table from Severus, pouring a cup of tea and sipping at it silently, eyes on the rough surface of the table. It’s too quiet and charged, and Severus knows that there’s something being held back, something on the tip of Potter’s tongue that’s audible even through the silence, and finally Severus sighs, almost too exhausted to be irritable. He’s not at all ready for this conversation – a conversation that they’d tried to have nearly seven years ago in St Mungos, which hadn’t gone well by any stretch of the imagination – but it’s probably the perfect time to get it out of the way, with Draco in London and both of them too fatigued to let their tempers get away from them.

Probably.

With a heavy frown, Severus says tiredly as he pours himself a cup of tea from the last of his pot, “We’re only having this conversation once, so use your time wisely – the second Draco walks through that door, it’s finished.” Potter huffs with what sounds like amusement, which is vaguely frustrating, but he grits his teeth, trying to keep himself from getting riled up. As soon as Potter says his piece, he’s gone.

Potter’s quiet for a long moment, thumbs brushing along the lip of his chipped mug, and then he says, “About a year after the War ended, right after I started officially dating Draco rather than simply falling into bed with him, I remember sitting in Grimmauld Place, wondering what it would’ve been like if I’d been Sorted into your House.”

That’s…not what Severus had been expecting in the slightest, and he looks up from his own cup so he can eye Potter, trying to figure out what point is being made here.

Potter continues quietly, a small and almost sardonic quirk to his lips, “I almost was, in case you didn’t see that during those disastrous Occlumency lessons. The Hat told me I’d do well in both, and I was damn near a hatstall when I argued for Gryffindor. The only thing I’d heard about the Houses was that there wasn’t anyone in Slytherin who wasn’t bad, and I’d been told my entire life that I was bad, that there was something fundamentally wrong with me. I was terrified and overwhelmed and so young, and all I wanted was to not be bad anymore, to be accepted for the first time in my life. It didn’t help that the first magical person I really butted heads with was Draco, who insulted the first person who hadn’t treated me like a leper for the simple crime of being poor and acted like he was superior because of his name, and the Hat didn’t even touch his head before it was yelling Slytherin. If anything, it just reinforced that I didn’t want anything to do with your House, and we all know how that turned out.”

Potter sighs, takes a sip of his tea, and then abandons it entirely, putting it on the table and leaning back, finally looking up to catch Severus’s gaze as he wraps his arms around his chest, like he’s trying to protect himself. “It’s funny, isn’t it? An eleven-year-old child being Sorted and being ostracised for it, from the other three Houses to the damn staff themselves. Trust me, I’m fully aware of how it works with age and hindsight on my side, Snape, because I’m not nearly naïve as people like to think I am.”

Severus hasn’t an idea what to say to that, especially as he’s unsure what Potter’s trying to get at. He has the fleeting thought to attempt Legilimency but there isn’t a point to that, as Potter goes on, “But I was sitting in Grimmauld Place, surrounded by the remnants of blood supremacy and still in shock because of the War, reeling from all of the laws and motions that were being brought up in government because we defeated Vol—sorry, You-Know-Who, that Pure-blooded families were starting to assimilate within the modern fold because of the fact that we won, and all I could think about was that almost all of the Pure-bloods from conservative families never even had a fucking chance, especially if they’d Sorted green. They’d been indoctrinated into Pure-blood dogma from infancy by their indoctrinated parents, who’d been indoctrinated by their indoctrinated parents, and none of them had ever been given the chance to assimilate because the entire world was against them, ostracising them and belittling them and not giving these children a chance to form their own opinions about what was right. Slytherin in particular was completely cut off from any sort of modern thought because of the direct actions of students and staff, never able to forge friendships and relationships with anyone from other Houses because of the sheer prejudice, prejudice that I myself participated in rather violently, as I’m sure you recall.

“So I sat there, in that dank and dark townhouse in Islington a year after the War, and it just really hit me that I was dating a Slytherin, the very Slytherin that made me beg the Hat to Sort me red in the first place, and that half of my friends were Slytherins even by that point, including Pansy, a Slytherin who actively tried to convince the rest of Hogwarts to hand me over. It hit me that all of them were people I cared for, people I loved, and that every single one of them was conservative in some ways but open in all ways, willing to explore and learn and change their minds once they were exposed to the clear and irrefutable fact that Muggle-borns weren’t evil, and reform wasn’t against their interests, and that the world is a lot bigger than pleasing parents who don’t and never had their best interests at heart. Not just that, but we learned something from them too – that there is pride in tradition, that blindly assuming someone’s worth based of a talking hat at eleven-years-old is idiotic, that human beings are multifaceted and complex, that compromise is imperative to freedom, and that we as non-Slytherins don’t have the monopoly on being the good guys.”

Potter laughs, a humourless bark of sound, and then says slowly, “And all I could think of was me, and what would’ve happened if I’d been Sorted green like the Hat wanted me to, because we both know how that would’ve gone. Sure, I was the Boy-Who-Lived, but Slytherin was bad, and it wouldn’t have mattered if I was the Chosen One, even more so when it came out that I was a Parselmouth – my Fourth and Fifth Years are definitive proof of that alone. Chosen One or not, Dumbledore’s favourite or not, I would’ve been locked inside of a bubble that I never would’ve been able to get out of, and the only people who would’ve accepted me were other children inside of that same prejudiced bubble. I never would’ve gotten to know Hermione or other Muggle-borns, never would’ve been given the opportunity to learn that all magic is equal no matter who the hell has the wand, never would’ve been able to be exposed to a different point of view because the rest of the world would never have allowed me to. Slytherin Pure-blood dogma would’ve been indoctrinated into me just like it did all of those children in Slytherin, because I had been so desperate for companionship and love, especially since the only Muggles I really knew had emotionally, mentally, and physically abused me from the day Albus Dumbledore placed me on their fucking doorstep.”

Severus has the sudden recollection of Potter’s Occlumency lessons, of Petunia yelling and a small, too-skinny child trying to escape a rabid dog, of Potter sitting in the dark as laughter drifted from outside a small doorway, and something familiar aches in Severus’s chest. He has to break eye contact for a moment, glancing at his untouched, cooling tea to gather his bearings, but he forces himself to look back up, at the hard surety in Potter’s eerily familiar eyes.

“I think that’s a large reason as to why we nark each other off so much,” Potter says, a twisted mimicry of a grin on his face even though his tone is flat and emotionless. “Yeah, there’s a lot of guilt on your side, I’m sure, and you’re a certified bastard whereas I’m a stubborn fool, I’ll fully admit to that. But at the end of the day, we’re very similar, you know. I so easily could’ve been just like you, and the only sodding difference between us is that I was Sorted Gryffindor and you were Sorted Slytherin. I was given a chance, and you weren’t afforded that same opportunity because of pointless prejudice and cruelty.”

Potter reaches for his tea, taking a long swallow, and then he admits so quietly that Severus has to strain to hear him, “I’ve never told anyone this, not even Ron and Hermione, but I used to fantasise about killing Vernon. Hell, I still fantasise about killing him sometimes, when I’m really low. I’ve made some peace with Dudley, and in other ways Petunia, but Vernon is a different matter entirely. There’s only so much belittling and starvation and beatings a kid can take before he snaps, and in Slytherin, in the political climate that Hogwarts was in during those pre-War days? I wanted love and acceptance and camaraderie, which I would’ve gotten because snakes stick together against the collective prejudice of literally everyone else, and I also wanted Vernon dead, which would’ve been lauded in that same House because he’s a Muggle. It would’ve been easier than breathing to accept the dogma, and I wonder sometimes if I would’ve even accepted him, even despite him murdering my parents, when everyone I cared about and loved also accepted him. God knows that there’s enough anger in me, enough hate, and I am self-aware enough to know that I would’ve been so easy to manipulate. Dumbledore’s almost effortless manipulation of me is proof enough of that. I would’ve walked straight into his arms, Snape, I know I would’ve.”

“I never would’ve allowed that to happen,” Severus hears himself say, throat tight. His mouth is dry as bone, but his stomach is so twisted that he’s afraid that even a sip of tea would cause it to revolt, bringing up nothing but bile. He very suddenly wants this conversation to stop, wants to not hear what comes next, but he can’t get himself to rise up and flee, to escape this torment that’s sure to break him even more than he already is.

A ghost of a smile pops up on Potter’s mouth. “Maybe,” Potter says. “Maybe you would’ve taken me in like all your snakes if I’d been Sorted green. Maybe being a Slytherin would’ve forced you to look at me like my own unique, irritating person rather than a carbon copy of a man I don’t even remember. Maybe I would’ve been so indoctrinated that there would’ve been nothing you could say or do that could’ve made me turn my back on dogma, or maybe I would’ve been exactly the same person I was in Gryffindor and would’ve introduced that alternative point of view to the Slytherins a full decade earlier, resulting in an inter-House uprising. Who knows, maybe I would’ve died my first year for fuck’s sake. There’s no way to know and ultimately it doesn’t matter, because I’m here, and you’re there, and everything keeps on spinning like the world’s biggest cosmic joke. All we can do is work with what we’ve been given, and try not to make the same mistakes our parents made before us, and I think we’re doing that, y’know? I think we’re actually succeeding in making a difference for the better, bridging gaps and compromising where it truly matters, because yeah, maybe some people like You-Know-Who are born the way they are, but the vast majority of our demons are made, and it’s crucial that we don’t forget that.”

It’s quiet for a long moment, a stretch of weighty stillness that seems to be never-ending, and then Potter sighs, looking down at his empty cup with half-lidded eyes. “I don’t hate you, you know. I did once, undoubtedly, but then again, I’ve never really known you. I don’t think anyone really has, maybe not even yourself. Now, I obviously don’t agree with a lot of the things you did or said during my school years, or some of the choices you’ve made, but I get it. I really, really do. You had a role to play, and you played it perfectly, even if it damn near killed you to do it. You may not believe me, but you more than anyone decided the outcome of this war, and that is a debt that I, nor anyone else, will never be able to repay. My—” He trails off, swallows thickly judging by the strain on his throat, and then continues with a very soft, earnest finality, “My mother would be so proud of you, Severus Snape, and don’t you ever doubt that.”

A flare of bright, overwhelming pain sears through his chest like fire, and Severus bites down on his tongue hard enough to taste blood, eyes tightly shut as he tries desperately to control himself (and control what, he doesn’t even know). He distantly hears Potter get out of his chair and start to clean up, even Severus’s mess, the mug flying out of his nerveless fingers, and then there’s a murmur of something that he can’t understand through the deafening pound of his heart in his ears before there’s nothing but silence.

He doesn’t – can’t – move until he hears Draco pop into the front garden, and he flees into his bedroom blindly so Draco can’t see his face.

And suddenly everything changes, which results in amusing, strange, and disastrous situations.

Mostly it’s because the rules go to rot, slowly but surely, and admittedly Severus himself is just as responsible for that as Potter is. Of course, they avoid each other for the three days Potter’s on sick leave, ensured by Draco from Potter’s bosses, but then everything goes back into the previous routine with some minute changes that grow into general insanity.

Severus is starting to think that Potter’s never going to leave at this point, even though it’s only been a near month, and he finds it strange that it’s only a mildly irritating thought.

For starters, Severus likes to cook.

He’s a fucking Potions Master, and of course that translates to cooking. Despite the many years at Hogwarts, where all of his meals had been supplied by the elves, he’s still a product of poor, Muggle upbringing and had helped his mother in the kitchen despite the gender roles of his decade not requiring him to do so. Furthermore, he’d not resided in the castle during the off-season within his adult years, and his paltry pay packet for teaching and the sparse few patents he’d managed to get hadn’t resulted in liberal amounts of coin, which meant that takeout hadn’t been a financially sound decision to make when he’d had to acquire his own potions ingredients and books, not to mention the dosh he’d been required to fork over to the Muggle government so he could maintain his drab childhood home. There’s something comforting about brewing and cooking both, considering they run along the same vein, and he’s always found some modicum of peace when he’s experimenting in either avenue.

Ultimately, it’s not a hardship to go back into the kitchen to feed both himself and his persistent houseguests – not only is it an interesting challenge to triple his usual recipes and create more staples that abide by allergy restrictions, but he’s honestly getting tired of the quick, unimaginative meals he’s been preparing for himself since Draco and his fiancé invaded his home. He hadn’t wanted to spend too much time in common areas, after all, especially if they all decided they were hungry at the same time and ended up fighting for space, so he’s been eating hasty, fast meals that hadn’t been very nutritious or fulfilling.

There’s also the fact that cooking for other people at set times ensures that Severus himself doesn’t forget to eat for days at a time, and he needs to keep up his strength for the next round of lycanthropy trials (as the first round does indeed strip McClellan of his infliction and magical core, though it surprisingly doesn’t kill him entirely).

He doesn’t invite Draco and Potter to dinner, exactly, but he doesn’t dissuade them of it either. It starts with him cooking more than his usual and leaving it on the table, flicking his wands at their doors before he flees with his portion to his lab or bedroom. Then he eats in the kitchen – usually standing – before he flicks his wand at their doors and flees to his lab or bedroom. Then they both start tentatively wandering out once they begin smelling food, and Severus ends up fleeing with his portion to his lab or bedroom while the paramours eat at the dining table. Then he stays at the shabby breakfast table in the kitchen proper while they eat in the dining room and flees immediately afterwards.

They never share a table, though. That’s too much socialisation with his two invaders than he’s comfortable with.

Surprisingly enough, Potter cleans up the detritus every time once this begins, usually arguing with Draco until he’s bullied into assisting (rather badly at first, the spoilt brat), and it doesn’t take him long before he’s hesitantly asking if Severus needs help cooking as well. Severus, who is greatly familiar with the travesty of Harry Potter in a potions’ classroom, vehemently declines for the sake of his sanity and taste buds, not to mention the integrity of his kitchen itself – the last thing he needs is Potter burning down the house and leaving him homeless.

So Potter simply starts cooking himself when he has time after work before Severus has a chance to leave his lab.

To Severus’s eternal shock, Potter is wickedly inventive in the kitchen. Occasionally there are meals that are nothing to write home about, an experiment that doesn’t go as well as can hoped and has to be saved by a quick and bland meal on-the-go, but ultimately it’s quite fascinating to consume the things that Potter cooks, dissecting the ingredients he’s eating and utterly confused that Potter of all fucking people is capable of edible (and dare he say delicious) creativity in the kitchen.

“I usually cooked for the Dursleys,” Potter had said one day, when Severus had come in for a cup of tea after working in the garden and hovered as he waited for it to steep, only somewhat uncomfortable due to the fact that he’d been focussed on Potter’s easy movements around his kitchen rather than anything further. He’d been making some sort of dish that Severus’s had vaguely recalled from a Guild conference in Marrakesh, and it had smelled divine. “When Petunia helped, it was one of the only times where I wasn’t being berated all the time, so it was actually kind of…nice. And now that I’m living on my own – well, kind of, since Luna, Ginny, and Dennis all live at Grimmauld Place too – I get to play around. I’ve never been too fond of takeout, myself, and I think Molly’s pleased that one of her kids is somewhat decent in a kitchen.”

Naturally, after a good two weeks of it all, it leads to biting and incredulous discussions about Potter’s abysmal potions education whist Severus and Potter bustle around for the Sunday roast.

“Severus has a point,” Draco says as he takes sips of his Firewhisky, languidly sitting at the little breakfast table like some sort of king at court. “If you’re instinctive and confident in a kitchen, there isn’t a reason as to why you would’ve been horrid at potions, at least before we went into theory after OWLs. Then again, you probably could’ve brewed consistently perfect potions and Severus still would’ve berated you. Not much confidence building, there. Still, I distinctly remember you being horrible at pretty much everything you did in the classroom, which doesn’t make much sense.”

“I never would’ve brewed consistently perfect potions anyway, considering you kept putting shit in my cauldrons in front of everyone and their grandmothers and not getting in trouble from this arsehole over here,” Potter says with amusement, gesturing towards Severus with a ladle and a grin.

Severus rolls his eyes, and whilst he doesn’t want to inject his opinion on the matter in the slightest, he hears himself say anyway, “Potions is instinctive rather than memorisation and theory, and had you an accommodating teacher and an environment that didn’t want you dead, you likely would’ve been able to claim potions as one of your best subjects, possibly even one that you loved.”

Potter snorts, but Draco says, “You’ve always been an instinctive wizard, Harry, so it’s a valid point. You did really well during the potions’ modules during Auror training, and you were a prodigy during Sixth Year.”

“Yeah, by cheating,” Potter grumbles.

There’s a shadow of irritation here at the reminder of his heavily modified text in the hands of Potter, but he lets it go because it’s irrelevant now. “I wouldn’t consider using greatly superior instructions cheating, Potter,” he says. “Perhaps you could’ve shared it with your classmates, but I highly doubt that most would’ve obliged you anyhow, and it’s certainly Slughorn’s error for using such outdated texts in his classroom as most of my adjustments to the potions were commonplace by the time you took his class. That text was old when I myself was a student. Considering your near-dreadful potions scores from prior years and the amount of stress you were under, you were warranted to utilise any leg up that you could get. Besides, if Horace wanted all of his students to be on an equal level, he would have done his duty per the school’s rules and made sure that all the second-hand texts given to students were unmarred, but he did not, so in all fairness, he’s the one that should be blamed for cheating, not you. If anything, consider it a classic Slytherin move on your part, Potter, and that is something to be celebrated.”

Potter gives him a strange look while Draco nods once in agreement, taking another languid sip of his whisky with a smirk.

Next, it’s the time limit of one month he’d imposed, which is disregarded most alarmingly.

Lucius doesn’t budge on his ultimatum, continuing his underhanded methods to enforce his demands (specifically keeping Draco penniless and disinherited), and while the poison missives cease, other odd things happen at Grimmauld Place: cursed objects, Howlers with masked voices, touch-activated Portkeys, and various other things that either get flown in by anonymously-owned owls or activate in the ancestral Black home themselves. There’s an Auror contingent that’s tracking it all, but Lucius is nothing if not resourceful and creative, as all Slytherins are, and there’s no way to tie the Malfoy patriarch to it.

Oddly enough, Severus enjoys his houseguests more often than he would ever admit out loud, though he supposes that they can guess well enough due to the fact that he hasn’t thrown the two of them out by their ears yet. It’s…not exactly nice, but he does find some semblance of ease at the sounds of people rather than just his morbid, dark thoughts and potions bubbling in a cauldron. It’s strange that despite his constant pleas and demands for peace and quiet over the years from students and adults alike over his wretched life, he’s actually grown so accustomed to human noise. Even outside of regular conversation, it’s somehow soothing to hear footsteps in the corridors and the clatter of things in the kitchen and muffled laughter or arguments in the sitting room.

So he doesn’t throw them out once the time limit expires, and not only because the situation with Draco isn’t solved – he enjoys not being alone all the time, the sounds of life in his rundown little cottage, and if he’s perfectly honest, he’s growing reluctantly fond of Potter too.

Perhaps he has gone mad in his solitude for that thought alone.

Lastly and most alarmingly, it’s the blatant disregard of personal space, both towards himself and…otherwise.

They’re a well-organised operation in the kitchen now and that comes with its own measure of closeness – brushing against each other whilst moving about, handing each other ingredients or instruments, a sparse few times that result in a grasps of limbs when someone is about do something foolish or detrimental to the final product (surprisingly, they both do that, not just Severus) – but it slowly bleeds into everything else, not just dinner together at the rickety dining table.

Occasionally Draco is asleep by the time Potter gets home (and isn’t that an odd turn) from the Ministry, so Severus and Potter will sit in front of the fireplace together, usually silent as they do their own paperwork or read but sometimes in quiet conversation. It’s obvious that Potter’s grown up, not completely but in the ways that make his company palpable to someone like Severus, and they get into long-winded discussions (and arguments, to be honest) about mutually engaging topics like the Dark Arts, politics, ethics, and Gilderoy Lockhart being utterly useless, amongst other things.

Then Severus starts allowing Draco into his lab to brew, which soon enough culminates in Potter joining them on his days off, studiously relearning the basics of the most crucial potions from his fiancé with the infrequent comment from Severus himself. Potter’s a quick learner, Severus will give him that, and he seems to thrive under patient but strict teaching, so it’s obvious that Severus mostly keeps his mouth shut and only gets involved if he absolutely has to. He’s inquisitive and curious, and he makes many mistakes when he gets comfortable with the staples of his profession – Blood Replenisher, Hangover Cure, Pain Relievers, Pepper-Up, and Stimulant Draughts – which results in amusing and infuriating concoctions when he tries to alter the existing recipes for taste. He’s not nearly to the level of Severus, nor will he ever be without a good ten years of education, and his theory-based knowledge will always be rubbish, but he’s certainly capable of brewing more than decent potions.

Sometimes Potter just watches Severus brew without Draco even being around, which is certainly odd in and of itself. Severus is no stranger to having an audience – after years of study for his Mastery, giving practical instruction to students when teaching a technique, and then brewing in front of the Dark Lord and the Order, he’s an old hat at being watched – but it’s different and strange. Severus isn’t sure if it’s because it’s been so long since he’s had an audience, if it’s the highly secretive lycanthropy potion he’s usually working on, or if it’s because it’s Potter himself, but it takes every iota of his focus to stay on task. In Potter’s defence, he’s quiet and polite, working on his own things or just watching, but it’s heavily distracting.

When asked, Potter had just said, “It’s soothing – makes everything else go quiet.”

Severus hadn’t known how to respond to that, so he simply went back to work.

The ease of their company, not just Severus and Potter but Draco too, leads to overt physical contact becoming the norm as well. In the beginning, Potter and Draco had been careful to keep separation between them, as if even touching each other in passing would lead to clothes flying, but slowly they begin rotating around each other with a learnt familiarity full of ease and affection – they press against each other’s sides at dinner and during leisure time in the common areas, touch each other liberally but appropriately, and brush hair back from foreheads and behind ears with small smiles.

The relaxed intimacy of it is alien to Severus. He’s used to teenagers pawing at each other no matter the time or place, their hormones almost always at odds to the casual intimacy experienced by adults, and from any adult couples themselves, he’s spent more time in the company of highly formal Pure-bloods and older British persons, all of which consider public intimacy to be distance and looks rather than easy touch. He wonders if it’s this generation who are liberal with their physical affections or if it’s always been there, and he just hasn’t had the opportunity outside of the Dark Lord’s formal circle and unmarried professors at Hogwarts to see it first-hand. Merlin knows that Severus has never been in a relationship before, no matter the social status of his partner, and has never really desired one either outside of perhaps Lily (and that relationship itself is still so complicated even in his head that he can’t be certain exactly what he’d wanted), so he hasn’t any personal experience in these matters.

He doesn’t say anything to make them cease their actions, though – there is something deeply comforting about seeing these two men being so uncommonly soft and familiar with each other, when he’s still used to them being separate entities with vastly different expectations upon their young shoulders, stretched thin and so weary as they try and try and try to survive in a cruel, unfair world. He’s honestly and genuinely pleased to see them so easy with each other, because even though Potter’s still Potter – stubborn and rash, expecting the world to bend even though reality doesn’t quite work that way regardless of what one might hope – he’s confident that they’ll be happy with one another. He has no doubts about that, even when they inevitably fight and snark and complain about and to each other, sometimes loud enough to shake the walls no matter the strength of Severus’s silencing charms.

And then there’s the matter of their sexual relationship. As Severus had predicted, the growing comfort between them all in Severus’s humble abode results in Draco and Potter starting to bend the rules in response, and quite frankly, it’s both mortifying and intellectually fascinating.

To be fair, the beginning of their cohabitation had been strict to the rules, and when the two of them were home – or when one of them got an ‘urgent’ owl from the other – and in a mood, they’d always vacated the property post-haste. Severus had considered that a mercy, because after catching teenagers in flagrante delicto for fourteen years, he has absolutely no desire to see or hear Draco and Potter in the thralls of coitus no matter how abstractly intriguing it is to watch their casual, non-sexual intimacy.

Severus has never had sex, and he’s never really had the urge to do so – not even his affections for Lily had ever brought about any sexual desire for her, and the whole idea of it is distasteful at best and alarming at worst. He sees how people get when they’re falling into bed with each other, reckless and hasty and completely incapable of making logical decisions, and considering the fact that he’d nearly killed himself just trying to save and then honour Lily’s memory outside of a sexual connection, he can’t imagine how people function when they do have said connection. Severus is too controlled that the idea of losing his mind with passion is horrifying.

He doesn’t know how much of that mentality is because of his self-preservation instincts or because he’d been forced to be a play a cruel role for most of his life and therefore never allowed himself to even contemplate being vulnerable with another person.

Nevertheless, lines start being crossed – first with chaste kisses shared in complete disregard of any possible company, then very much not chaste kisses, and now this.

Doing rounds within the castle and breaking up hormonal teenagers was both hard and easy in hindsight. No adult with a sane mind or morals enjoyed seeing such flagrant displays of impropriety between children, so it was both disgusting and horrifying to happen upon them in alcoves or unused classrooms whilst in various stages of undress. Still, a biting remark and vicious belittling of their indecorous behaviour was more than enough to get them so mortified that they’d scramble to separate and fix their dishevelled clothing, accepting detentions with red faces as Severus berated them. On rare occasion, they were so loud that they’d forgotten prowling teachers and seeing such depraved activities with his own eyes could be avoided altogether, which was quite merciful in Severus’s opinion. And considering the wards on the castle as well as the portraits and ghosts monitoring, it hadn’t been like the students had been able to get very far in their rule-breaking activities regardless – patrolling teaches had been able to intercept before anything too untoward could happen between the hormonal idiots.

Also in Severus’s opinion, all students should have been mandated to ingest lust-dampening potions with their morning breakfast under threat of detention with himself or Filch, but he’d been wholly overruled by staff every time he’d brought it up at meetings.

This, however, is not as simple.

To begin with, while he’s not personally familiar with sexual aspects of love, he is fully aware that it seems to be something not easily controlled between two adults in a consensual relationship, especially not within the comfort of one’s home. And there is no doubt that despite their initial displeasure all-around with the situation, Severus’s humble abode is now…well, their home as well.

Secondly, he isn’t sure what the etiquette is with breaking up two adults in the throes of pleasure is. Of course there are rules to be followed here, same as at Hogwarts, and rule seven explicitly states no sexual activity under Severus’s roof (even though he’s vaguely aware that with the bending of the rules, they’ve almost certainly been breaking said rule in the privacy of their own rooms, but since it’s indeed private, he hasn’t bothered to mentioned it). Still, he can’t exactly sweep in with tightly-clenched eyes, berating them mercilessly while assigning detentions and taking points, as this is not the castle but their home and they’re both of age. He supposes that he could threaten to kick either Potter or both of them out and force them to cohabitate at Grimmauld Place with the rest of Potter’s unmarried cohorts, which would terrify Draco to celibacy most likely from the horror of impropriety, but if Severus is being entirely truthful to himself, he doesn’t really want either of them to leave until they’re safe and secure enough to do so. He…actually enjoys their company, even Potter’s, even if he’ll go to the grave denying it.

Thirdly, he’s never actually seen anything with his own two eyes that has elevated to this level of depravity, as he’s never had sexual relations and hasn’t had the interest to search out pornography in the slightest. Again, the students in the castle had been intercepted before anything too improper took place, so the most damning thing he’s ever witnessed is shirts being unbuttoned or hands down trousers. He’s certainly never interrupted anything that’s to this level of undress, let alone action.

Lastly, it’s blatantly obvious that it’s Draco’s fault, rather than Potter’s, and he’s always been soft for Draco.

Severus stands in the doorway of the kitchen silently, staring in a mixture of horror and disbelief as Draco holds Potter down forcibly, a wicked grin on his face as he uses his fingers on—dear Merlin, but that does look positively bizarre and uncomfortable, doesn’t it? Severus isn’t sure how Potter could enjoy being penetrated like that while being bent at such an unpleasant angle over the kitchen table, the edge obviously digging into the skin of his back, and if it wasn’t for the fact that Potter’s obviously aroused by it judging by the wet rigidness of his prick and the movement of his hips, he’d think Draco was hurting him just by the expression on Potter’s face.

He supposes he’s always known in abstract what men do during coitus, but it’s another thing entirely to see it being done in practise.

What’s even stranger about the scene in front of him is that Draco’s fully clothed whilst Potter is as naked as the day he was born, a stark power imbalance that is only reinforced by the language Draco’s using. He’s positively degrading Potter, crude and utterly improper for polite company, and Potter is clearly more than receptive to it, his fist flying over his erection and moaning in the back of his throat as he makes a valiant attempt to stay as quiet as he can.

Severus blinks, shakes himself, absently wonders if he’s finally lost his bloody mind, and drawls irritably, “What in the absolute fuck are you doing?”

And to Severus’s absolute horror, Potter sobs out “Oh my God” and arches sharply, ejaculate pulsing out of his prick onto his own chest and Draco’s pristine robes.

Severus is torn between spitting vitriol at them, cursing their genitals off, hexing them off his property, or simply fleeing for his own sanity, and there are so many contrasting thoughts rolling around in his brain that he ends up just standing there, completely unable to do anything but gape at the two of them in a rare show of visible emotion because what in the absolute hell has just happened in front of his very eyes?

At least to Draco’s credit, he yelps and pulls his fingers out of Potter’s body, scrambling for the robes carelessly tossed over the back of a nearby chair, but the damage is already done – Potter’s too out of his mind with it that he just rides his release out, hips jerking and thrashing wildly enough that the table creaks warningly from the rough treatment, and not even Draco hastily-thrown robes over Potter’s convulsing body can erase the sight of Potter in orgasm. It’s probably been permanently branded into Severus’s brain now, and he’s half tempted to excuse himself so he can make an attempt to drown himself in the nearby lake.

That is far more Potter (of any generation) than he’s ever wanted to see with his own eyes, and he is mentally scarred for life.

By the time Potter’s capable of speech, Draco’s already babbled himself into a frenzy, apologising profusely for the blatant rule breaking, and Potter interrupts the shrill rambling with a remarkably calm but breathless, “I am so sorry, sir. That will never happen again, and I’ll personally replace the table with something appropriate to your tastes.”

“I hate both of you,” Severus tells them both flatly before he spins on his heel and heads to his lab, mind already working on potential potions that he could take to erase that memory post-haste.

The new table is indeed acceptable to his tastes.

What is not is the fact that all of his perfectly serviceable sitting room furniture is replaced as well, and he has a sneaking, horrifying suspicion that he’d been sitting on a sofa that’s been defiled; he has to take an hour-long shower once said suspicion had entered his mind before he feels clean again.

Mercifully, Potter puts him out of his misery the next time Severus sees him, cutting off Severus’s biting remarks about rule-breaking: “We didn’t—er, we didn’t do anything there, if that’s why you’re glaring at the armchair. They were just shoddy sofas, the springs always stabbing me in the back, and I was already at the shop so I made a few impulse buys. I can return them if you want, though I’m fairly certain Draco Incendio’d all your old stuff in the back garden.”

The new set is comfortable and tasteful though, so he just huffs irritably and goes to make lunch for the three of them, eyes determinedly avoiding the new kitchen table lest he have a coronary.

By the time the two of them have been living with Severus for three months, he’s actively interrupting.

He’s gleefully cheerful underneath his annoyed façade because it’s…actually, it’s honestly rather good fun to ruin the mood with perfectly executed plans, and as a man who hasn’t had ‘fun’ since he was still friends with Lily, he’s enjoying it the sparsely-experienced levity immensely. The nudity and compromising positions don’t even phase him any longer on the occasions he’s exposed to it – it’s mostly because Draco and Potter aren’t children, which does wonders for his mental health in that regard, but there’s also the fact that he sees it so often that he’s immune to it. There are only so many times one can see the same naked bodies before the shock wears off, after all, and as far as Severus is concerned, they’re the ones still trying to climb each other in the common areas despite having been caught on multiple occasions, so Severus is completely unsympathetic.

He charms tables they’re laid on to dance, hexes the wall they’re pressed against to make them break out in boils (easily treatable, of course), and sets their bed on fire (non-damaging and non-harmful, naturally) when they accidentally leave one of their bedroom doors open. Non-magical means are utilised too: he sprays them with the sink hose when they’re on the kitchen table again, throws dirt at them while he’s out in the garden and they haven’t even managed to make it into the house to fondle each other like teenagers, and slams books closed when they don’t realise he’s in the sitting room reading. It’s a great amusement and has the added bonus of keeping Severus on his toes, forcing him to think quickly on his feet when he walks in on them.

Of course, to Potter’s defence, he always seems to try and get to a private location first, as Severus sees and overhears on multiple occasions, but Draco seems to have a one-tracked mind once he’s in a mood, and Potter’s too indulgent (and hormonal, apparently) to argue very much.

As immune to their naked forays as Severus is however, Draco and Potter decidedly do not become impervious to Severus’s wand-happy interruptions. It’s always highly amusing to see them shriek or scramble for cover, and on a few occasions, he even laughs out loud, earning a furious glare from Draco and an embarrassed cringe from Potter. Severus is entirely unapologetic though, and generally tells them that “if you want to stop being interrupted by your gracious host, follow rule seven you blithering idiots”. It’s not his fault that they don’t stop, and if they continue breaking the rules, then Severus will be forced to expand his formidable creativity as it would be poor form to repeat the same interrupting action twice.

Severus even gets some defensive practise in because Potter’s a very capable duellist, wand or not. He’s missed duelling, honestly, and regrettably his own skills had grown dull with his time in isolation, so he does initially get subjected to quite a few Bat-Bogey Hexes and various Stunners or Binds until he re-establishes his own lightning-quick reflexes. Still, Potter is wicked fast and dangerously creative himself, so he occasionally does get caught in one of Potter’s knee-jerk spells he flares out when they’re interrupted. After every quick back-and-forth between them, Severus always has the thought to ask Potter if he’d like to have a bit of a duel in the front garden just to see how far Potter’s come through his Auror training and profession, as Severus’s baseline for him had been during his school-days and even then he’d been capable of matching Severus’s own not-inconsiderable abilities with a wand. He therefore can’t help but be intellectually curious as both a Dark Arts and Defence practitioner and as a…well. Severus and Potter have a hell of a history, yes, but despite his initial intentions, he’s gone past ‘growing fond’ and is just simply fond of Potter in entirety. He would even go as far to say that Potter is a friend, one of the three living friends he has, Draco and Minerva being the others.

Somewhere in his distant and not-too-distant past, he’s lighting himself on fire for the sentiment.

It’s not all walking in on them and sabotaging Draco and Potter’s sex life though. All of them work, but Draco begins helping him brew commissions and surplus when he’s not lobbying so Severus can focus on the lycanthropy cure, which is in its final stages based off the most recent testing – Severus is so close he can almost taste it – and requires a significant amount of concentration. If his most recent calculations are correct, he thinks they might only be a test or two away from a solution, and it’s a heady feeling, knowing that they’re so undeniably close to a cure in his own lifetime, especially since Severus is the one who’s brewed it.

Potter comes home in a right snit one evening, ranting and raving about idiot bureaucrats (so standard day really), blasted paperwork (certainly atrocious as Severus has seen the mountain of parchment brought home every evening), and Lucius Malfoy (Severus sympathises most ardently with that particular complaint). He’s irritable and snappish, eventually saying something carelessly cruel in his anger that makes Draco jerk back in a surprised hurt, and Severus ends up grabbing Potter’s arm with a scowl, yanking him to the front garden in the middle of dinner. Draco’s puttering behind them, begging Severus to be reasonable and not throw his fiancé out, but luckily for him, Severus is not at all contemplating that particular action. Instead, he pushes Potter away and then draws his wand, shooting an Impedimenta at his face quicker than Potter can even open his mouth to shoot vitriol back.

It works astonishingly well, Severus and Potter really going at it until they’re both drooping and sore, and the fight seems to bleed out of Potter now that all of the rage and excess energy has been released. He apologises to Draco, smiles at Severus, and Severus ends up spending a good two hours out of the house, as this time Potter’s the one who can’t hold back his impulses until they’re absconded into a bedroom. For once, Severus doesn’t interrupt, repairing the front garden and then fussing about with his planting until he’s certain they must be done.

To Severus’s enjoyment, for lack of a better term, Severus and Potter take to duelling fairly regularly after that, and it’s both physically and mentally engaging. Potter is significantly more practised and experienced now, and they relish the opportunity to curse and hex the living hell out of each other when they both have time to unwind. Severus learns quite a bit, and he’s free with his own instruction as well – now that they are friendly, with mutual respect and easy familiarity seeping into their once-violent relationship, they both gleefully and smugly share tips and tricks freely, certainly making each other more deadly and formidable in a duel.

Severus supposes that that’s when Potter becomes Harry, both in verbal communication and in his own thoughts, and in return, his own familiar name is used as well.

It’s actually surprising how normal it feels.

At the four-month mark, Lucius finally folds.

It’s a mixture of many different things that Severus believes begrudgingly changed his mind: Draco being completely functional and even flourishing without his vast inheritance being needed, which undoubtedly Lucius had been expecting; Harry completely ignoring Lucius’s threats and bribes in order to make Lucius look like the unhinged one whilst also heading a relentless public relations’ campaign that ensured his relationship with Draco was always on the front page of every paper; Narcissa both constantly imploring Lucius to see reason and giving her husband the cold shoulder (and, without a doubt, probably refusing to have another child, if Severus knows Lucius as well as he imagines); the overwhelming positivity in the press and Ministry regarding Draco and Harry’s relationship as well as the date of their wedding being officially set; and Lucius’s complete isolation from associates and business partners because it was political suicide to go against Harry, not to mention that the entire Wizarding world was benefiting from laws being passed by the Ministry (spearheaded by Draco, Harry, and Granger), which made it financially unwise to back Lucius.

Also, Severus had sent the man a letter himself – the first person outside of Minerva, Draco, and Harry who’s heard from him directly, either in writing or otherwise – and said letter had practically been dripping in red ink, Severus’s irritation and viciousness clear in every single stroke of his quill.

It’s not that he particularly wants them gone, though at the same time he does in a way. He enjoys their company, more than he would’ve ever expected before allowing them (particularly Harry) into his secluded life, but he’s hit the point where not only are his social reserves near-depleted, but he’s simply tired of not watching them move on in their life. He’s fully aware that Lovegood has spontaneously married Rolf Scamander, Creevey has taken a position in Peru for research, and Weasley is finally on tour with the Harpies, so Grimmauld Place is empty of all inhabitants for Harry’s solitary use, a first since After. With Lucius capitulating, Draco is free to return to his family seat until his wedding in November, and Harry is able to start preparations to make Grimmauld Place their home once they’re married.

So Lucius waves the white flag first and asks for a family meeting, Harry surprisingly included.

They come back together and there’s an air of relieved excitement about them (so at least Lucius hadn’t used the capitulation as a lure to murder Harry once at the Manor, not that such a thing would’ve gone well for Lucius), but there is certainly a hint of melancholy as well, and Severus echoes this sentiment. He’s grown used to inventive meals and duelling in the front garden and fascinating conversation and having fun, as odd as that is to think about, and he’s unsure as to…how he’ll be able to return back to his prior isolation when he’s grown so comfortable with his houseguests.

He does suppose that there are some advantages to this development, if he’s being perfectly honest. The next trial is ongoing, and he’s confident that they’ll have the complete success to make it a final trial. Of course, if it is successful and a second test of the same solution is also successful, the batch will have to be brewed in significant quantity and shipped in-bulk to the ICW for international testing on various genders, races, magical levels, and such, but the various genetic compositions of any werewolves in voluntary trials are astronomically unlikely to interfere with the brew’s potency. They do have to mass-test for obvious reasons but considering it’s an actual cure instead of a potion to manage symptoms, Severus fully expect a quick turnaround for mass human trials, no more than three to five months and likely even less. By the end of the human trials and the beginning of mass production under open patent, Draco will be comfortable and in order, readying himself for marriage with planning and getting Grimmauld Place to a place where he’ll be caught dead living in it.

Severus’s parchment will finally complete.

There’s something very calming about that, that the end is almost here, but at the same time, for the first time since he walked into a half-destroyed cottage and held his childhood friend’s body in his arms, a small voice in the back of his head asks why. That makes him strangely nervous, after so long just waiting to die once his pittance was paid in a numb haze of self-hatred and depression, but it’s ultimately irrelevant. His friendship with Draco and Harry is a brief chapter of surprising brightness in his miserable life, and they are both off to have beautiful experiences with each other. Soon, they will be swept up into wedding preparation, considering they only have a little over five months until the ceremony, and will begin the next chapter of their lives, with politics and tabloid fascination and domestic bliss and, eventually, children. Severus has no place in that, his existence only a ghost on the periphery of their remarkable lives, and perhaps it would’ve been kinder for all of them if Severus and Harry hadn’t stumbled into their unlikely friendship, because Draco is pragmatic enough to move on in time but Harry is not. Harry feels everything so keenly, and those feelings do not fade with time, each memory just as harsh and painful as if it’d never healed.

Severus has been in his mind too many times to not know that intimately.

As Draco heads to their rooms to begin collecting their trunks and any remaining items wandering about, Harry stays back, approaching Severus as he bustles about for tea after a sweeping wave of his wand (Muffaito, perhaps a repellent jinx, and Severus should be alarmed but he’s somehow not). Severus easily moves around him in a practised ease, both of them collecting the service, as Harry murmurs, “It’s going to be strange, being alone.”

There are many ways to take that, Severus supposes, but he understands Harry’s point, that both of them will soon be alone in their own homes. “Yes,” he says simply, tone nonchalant as he heats the kettle.

“I think…perhaps I wasn’t supposed to see, but I couldn’t help but notice anyway. Hazard of my job and being moulded into a child soldier, I suppose,” Harry says slowly, and Severus glances over to see a strange, almost pained expression on Harry’s face. Those eerily-familiar green eyes stare at him without blinking as he continues quietly, “Would you much mind if I suggested something for your list?”

Severus carefully does not react, going to pour the hot water in the pot for a steep, and he doesn’t bother to ponder what Harry’s assessment of said list is. Severus hadn’t been so childish as to name it something needlessly dramatic, like List of Things to Accomplish Before I Kill Myself, but contrary to his own beliefs in the past, Harry’s not stupid, and they are rather alike in a way, as Harry had claimed at the beginning of their cohabitation. It is not exactly hard to make a reasonable deduction if he’d seen Severus staring at the old parchment every night precisely at eleven, stone-faced and numb and yet yearning for some semblance of peace, and Harry’s always been observant. It’s one of his most endearing and frustrating qualities.

He debates saying no, then wonders if it would be so terrible to say yes, and ultimately asks smoothly, “What are you suggesting?”

They both sit, and despite the dark topic they’re talking around, Severus feels comfortable enough to meet Harry’s eyes. It’s such a strange thing, to be comfortable around this man, and Severus muse as to what Lily would say, what James Potter would say, if they could see Severus with their grown son like this, calm and easy and familiar.

Harry says, “Short-term? You very well might balk, but we want you at our wedding.”

“Surrounded by happy attendees that will gawk and pester me with imbecilic questions and cheerful accolades that mean nothing to me, you mean,” Severus says evenly.

A ghost of a smile creeps up on Harry’s face. “Well, you’ll get a personal view of what my life’s like, I reckon, though I have a feeling most people will still be too scared of you to approach.”

Severus huffs, though there isn’t any heat in it.  He thinks about it, Harry patiently waiting as he checks the tea and pours them both a cuppa when he’s satisfied by the colour and scent, and is strangely torn. He hasn’t any desire to be surrounded by his old students and their parents, especially after so long in solitude, but he does have an inkling of curiosity for it, and he can’t help but ponder if it would be nice, if he could watch these two extraordinary men marry under the old rites, the same way Lily married Harry’s father. He supposes an argument could even be made regarding the list he has now – he’d written ‘ensure Draco remains alive and well until his affairs are in order’, and seeing through to the wedding would certainly ensure that Draco’s affairs would indeed be in order, regardless of whether or not he’d attend the actual ceremony.

He also can’t help but wonder if he’s making excuses out of fear of his inevitable death, despite longing for it since the day he’d signed Lily’s death warrant.

There’s no reason to talk in vague circles, so Severus says bluntly, “I can hold off on any permanent plans until you are married, but I shall think about your invitation.”

A flash of pain in Harry’s eyes at the frank and casual mention of his impending suicide (he wishes Harry didn’t care about him, this would be so much easier), but Harry smiles a bit wider nevertheless. “That’s nice. We wouldn’t make you part of the party—”

“I should hope not,” Severus mutters, appalled at the thought.

“—but it would be nice if you were there, skulking in a corner in all black. It’s not like we’re inviting the entire Royal Family and gentry either, contrary to what Narcissa wants.”

“I’ll think about it, for Circe’s sake.”

Harry mercifully stops mentioning their impending wedding and Severus’s attendance, but the alternative is somehow worse because it’s so calm despite the subject matter: “Draco doesn’t know what you’re planning to do, you know.”

Severus takes a moment to digest that – he’s unsurprised, if he’s honest, because Draco has never been observant in the ways Harry is, but he also finds it strange that Harry (notorious for over-sharing with the people he loves and trusts) knows and yet Draco doesn’t – and he can’t help but ask, “Have you not told him?”

Harry exhales with what could’ve been laughter if he dared to be louder, risking Draco overhearing their conversation even with his magical deterrents. After all, Draco could still come down and read their lips, though he’s always been horrid at such things, even if he’s much more likely to throw a strop if he knows he’s being left out of a serious conversation between Severus and his fiancé. Quietly, Harry says, “Of course not. We’re all entitled to secrets, and as much as I love him, there are things that I will never tell him, things that are better left buried.”

Severus doesn’t have to ask what they are – horcruxes, Severus’s memories, Harry’s secret desire to murder his uncle, Severus’s impending death, so many more, all for the Greater Good, Merlin but they’ve taught him well – and instead says, “Ensure that remains so.”

“Naturally,” Harry murmurs. He takes a sip of his tea and says, “The reasoning behind my assumption as to Draco’s ignorance is that long-term, Draco wants you to be our child’s godfather.”

Severus freezes with surprise and no small amount of shock, and Harry grins for a second, sharp and lacking any genuine amusement, before he says lightly, “I wouldn’t be averse to it in the slightest and of course Ron’ll be sharing those duties too, so it’s not like we’re creating a single point of failure if something were to happen to us, as unlikely as that is if I’m being perfectly honest and slightly arrogant.”

“How predictable,” Severus manages to drawl through the overwhelming flow of disbelief and vague horror.

“Shut up,” Harry says, and Severus can hear the amusement. Then he continues, “Look, I’m not going to lie and say that I want you to top yourself off if that’s what you really want, because obviously I don’t want that. Like it or not, you’re family now, and I’d like to see if you discover any other crazy cures in the future and watch you be all, well, you with my child. But it’s not my choice, and as much as I hate the idea of it, you have to do what you think is best for you, what you think you can live with. Just…maybe stick around for a bit, at least until November, and think about it in the meantime? If it helps, I think the Guild will probably move to curing vampirism once your lycanthropy cure hits the market, so that might be an interesting puzzle.”

“It is the second most pressing affliction,” Severus admits, though he’s never done much research on it – there hadn’t been a personal stake in the matter, the vampires mostly staying out of the two wars despite being courted by both sides of it, and Severus has never been around them much, nor has he been attacked by one. The vampiric community has always been voluntarily isolated in communes, and they’re generally lazy and unmotivated to do anything but lounge around drinking the blood subsidised by the ICW and sleeping their undead lives away. Unless that funded blood supply is lost (supremely unlikely), the vampire community will continue to whittle about their days in a lethargic haze rather than attacking living people during the night.

That being said, he knows that the Guild will look into the matter of a cure like Harry postulates, and it is undeniably an interesting problem. The affliction comes from a pathogen infects the magical population, same as lycanthropy, and mutates genetic code through magical means, but rather than a virus, the affliction comes from a parasitic—

Severus’s thoughts snap to attention when his distracted brain registers the hopeful, but almost smug glint in Harry’s eyes, and he says flatly, “I’m onto you, Harry Potter.”

Harry laughs. “I learnt a lot from Albus Dumbledore, Severus, and underhanded means to an end is one of those lessons. I’m certainly not going apologise for it, if it means keeping you in our lives for that much longer.” His eyes flick to the side and his face instantly brightens like the sunrise, the way it always does when he sees Draco, and Severus sees the minute movement of his right arm that signals the removal of spells.

Draco walks in with a suspicious frown. “What are you two being all secretive about?”

“Nothing of importance,” Harry says airily, grinning widely as he stands, pressing a kiss against Draco’s temple on his way to rinse out his teacup.

Of course, Draco doesn’t buy it in the slightest, but Harry has grown remarkably adept at spinning narratives to his advantage, and judging by the knowing eyebrow he raises, Draco probably assumes that Harry’s planning something regarding the wedding based off Harry’s carefully cheerful lie. Severus has no inclination to convince him otherwise, though, so he remains silent, playing his part by allowing his lips to curve into a smirk that he very deliberately tries to hide, and Draco harrumphs with displeasure, though Severus can see the delight he can’t mask.

“Fine, keep your dreadful secrets, you insufferable bastards,” Draco intones tetchily, turning his pointed nose up at both of them. Then he says, “We’ve a meeting with the event planner in an hour, Harry, so do hurry up, if you please. I would very much despise having to reschedule, as it was a marvel we were able to acquire the slot in the first place. Daniella Patil does not often have cancellations in her diary, and I assure you we won’t see another and will be forced to wait three months for another appointment if we’re late for this one.”

“I still say you should take your mother and Pans,” Harry says, winking at Severus as he puts away his clean cup and spoon.

Before Draco can open his mouth for the predictable histrionics, Severus adds dryly, “Be gone with both of you, so I can finish my tea without having to be subjugated to your depraved fornication all over my furniture.”

Harry laughs brightly whilst Draco splutters in mortification.

He walks them out, humming noncommittedly as Draco pesters him to visit Grimmauld Place at his earliest convenience – “We’ve managed to mostly erase all traces of Dark Magic in the common areas, but there are some very tricky remnants in the upper levels, which I think you would rather enjoy to untangle now that the property is free of red-headed weasels,” he says pointedly, cleanly dodging Harry’s shove – and ignores Harry’s hopeful looks. Gods, but it’s not like Harry couldn’t deal with it himself, considering how well-versed he is in Curse Breaking not to mention his association with the eldest Weasley spawn, but he supposes he could take a look during the wait for the lycanthropy cure test results, as long as there are no prior students or other Weasleys lurking.

He wonders if Harry ever managed to remove old Walburga’s portrait and if so, how he’d managed to remove the charm.

He stops at the edge of his anti-Apparition wards at the overgrown gate, allowing them to walk past and turn towards him. Draco says his droll goodbyes, already making plans for a dinner together within the fortnight, and Harry looks at Severus evenly, familiar green eyes over-bright in the overcast light.

“Think about it,” he says simply.

Severus stares back for a long moment and finally says, “I shall.”

Harry smiles.

A week later, full from his evening at Grimmauld Place, Severus pulls out his parchment and begins to write.

[shysupernaturalfangirl]

Different - Dean Winchester x Reader - Part Six

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing(s): Dean x Reader

World: Reverse French Mistake AU

Word Count: No longer doing word count

Warning(s): Cussing,

Summary: It’s every fan-girl’s dream to either, end up in the world of their fantasies, their fandom, or to wind up with on of the actors or characters. There is a couple thousand fanfictions with such circumstances. She never thought in her wildest dreams, that she’d actually end up in a fanfiction situation.

Taglist: @sillydecoy @blackeyedangel9805​ @heythereamigodude​ @gaveherhearttotheliontattoo @seppys-return-to-madness @jaylarkson

A/N: Please let me know throw my INBOX if you want to be tagged. Too many are commenting on the stories, it's making it hard to keep up!

Sitting on the table in the kitchen, Dean is stirring gravy on the stove while I strip the corn in the cob, the radio on the corner countertop is playing Sweet Home Alabama as Dean dances across the kitchen. Bobbing my head along to the beat of the music, Dean smirks at me as he turns the volume up a bit as I drop the shucked corn in the pot beside me. Dean grabs my hand, pulling me off the table, before twirling me around as I let out a loud laugh, the two of us dancing with the music, not a single care that it doesn't match the music playing. It seems our laughter draws an audience, because just as Dean dips me, the song turning off, Sam and Castiel are in the doorway of the kitchen, clapping.

"Oh, uh..." Dean lifts me back up, twirling me out of his arms so fast that I have to grasp the table I was previously occupying, the room spinning a bit. "Hey guys." I greet within my best ability.

"Food's gonna be a while." Dean states as he turns the music back down, and takes the pot of salted water and corn cobs, placing it on the stove.

"Oh, we were just checking out the commotion." Sam replies, causing me to blush as Dean nods, though in response to Sam, or to the beat of the new song, I'm not entirely sure.

"Indeed." Castiel states. "Carry on." I have to hid my wince at the way he says it, it sounds rehearsed, almost like being blind-read from a script before him. "Sam and I are going to do a beverage run. What would you like, Emily?" He asks.

"Oh, uh... Grape Crush, or Green Apple Fanta. I'm not large on alcohol, nor caffeine." I reply with little to no thought, a pure answer from the top of my head. The two of them smirk, before nodding as they disappear, and I turn back to the task at hand in the quiet of the kitchen, which is only punctured by the sound of the music. Grabbing a cutting board, I start cutting the tomatoes for the salad, humming along to the music under my breath. "Dean," I finally place the knife down, turning to his broad back as he turns halfway to me, keeping an eye on the pork chops at the same time as acknowledging me. "you have yet to ask. About... anything you saw that day." I cross my arms over my chest as he turns the occupied burners down for safety, and then turns to lean on the counter next to it, eyes roaming over me, studying me.

"Well, I don't make it a habit of digging into the past, when it's obviously something that you want to forget." He replies, causing me to smirk, and he narrows his eyes at me. "Alright Sweetheart, you want me to ask, I'll ask. The douchebag who was throwing and beating on you, what was his deal." If he notices how quickly I stiffens, turning back to my task as if he hadn't spoke at all is sure to worry him, the slight shaking in my arms and shoulders is the only giveaway of the event. "Hey hey hey, Emily, are you alright?" He asks softly, causing me to set the quivering knife down as I slowly turn back to him, and he smiles softly as I force myself to smile at him. "You don't gotta force yourself to say anything." He says softly, reaching up to caress my cheek, looking into my eyes as I bite my bottom lip, before looking away.

"He was my... Ex-fiance." I notice that he stiffens at my reply. "Daniel was manipulative, and accusing and he made me lose all of my friends, isolated me from my family, and made it so I was dependant on him. I didn't notice the signs of abuse, until he started to abuse me, and by then, it was too late. Nobody wanted to help me, or nobody believed me." My explanation causes Dean to look a bit distraught. "I managed to get a restraint order, and moved to a whole new town, new state, to get away. That was a couple weeks before I woke up here." My voice dies weakly, looking up at him sadly.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry." He apologizes as I tearfully shake my head.

"F-Forget it." I rub my eyes, wiping away all trace of tears as I smile up at him. "What do you say, we get this done? I'm nervous enough about meeting Jodie for the first time." He chuckles at that.

"Don't worry so much. She's like a big cuddly teddybear. Gruff and surly on the outside, but gentle and loving in the inside." Dean explains, causing me to giggle, shaking my head at him as he turns to the doorway, as if checking that she's not behind us when he's speaking. "Just, uh... Don't tell her I told you that, huh?"

"Hmm... I think I can be persuaded to keeping that secret." I tease, setting the knife down as I turn back to look at Dean as he scoffs and chuckles, looking at me.

"You are diabolical." He taunts, turning back to me, before leaning on the counter as he crosses his arms over his chest. "Alright, what can I bribe you with?"

"I wanna drive Baby!" I burst out with, causing his mouth to drop, surprise on his face as I bounce on the balls of my feet.

"You wanna drive-"

"You let Sam before! Come on, Dean! Please!" I beg, tugging at his arm, and giving my best puppy dog eyes to him. "I'll bake you some pie!" I offer in a sing-song type voice as he looks down at me, quirking his lips as I giggle, and lean up on my tip-toes. "Any. Kind. You. Like." He groans, rubbing the palms of his hands on his jeans.

"Sweetheart, you don't fight fair." He pouts, leaning towards me as he strokes my cheek, causing my face to flush as I step back, and drop my face away. "One time. You can drive Baby, once."

"Really?!" I gasp, looking up at him with wide eyes. "Oh, thank you Dean! Thank you!" I throw my arms around him, hugging him as he chuckles, his hands falling to my waist in return, and I smile up at him. Suddenly, it's like electrical currents are running through my skin from his from where we touch, my heart is pounding as we look into each other's eyes. His thumbs start to stroke my love handles under my shirt, first in circles and occasionally up in down, causing my skin to hum as I struggle to breath, his fanfiction green eyes are on my own, it's like a magnetic pull, drawing the two of us closer until we're just a hair's breath away from each other.

"Hey Dean, I'm here- oh!" We both jump, Dean pushes me back, like we're two teens just caught doing something they're not supposed to be doing. "I-I'm so sorry! I-" Jodi turns to me with an apologetic smile. "Hi, I'm Jodi." She clears her throat, holding out her hand, which I shake as embarrassment floods and stings my cheeks. "You must be Emily."

"Y-Yes." She looks at Dean with a motherly reproachful look, before smiling at me once more as she shakes my hand. After she drops it, my face enflames even more as she looks between Dean and I with curiosity in her eyes. "I-I'll just let you two talk." I stammer out, scurrying towards the door.

"Hey," Dean calls after me, and turning to look at him, our eyes meet, and my breath hitches as we stand there, lost in each other's eyes.

"Dean! Emily! We're back!" Sam's shout draws my attention, and I dash out if the kitchen to help the other two with the drinks they bought. Shortly after the incident, Dean and I are converting the Map Table into a dinner table, placing piles of food on it, before moving chairs around, and everyone is sitting as I go around, pouring drinks for them.

"Em, sit down." Dean urges as he looks up at me, causing me to drop my head with a blush, shaking my head as I pour the last of the drinks, before I dash back into the kitchen as the over timer goes off. After checking the two pies and chocolate cake that are in the oven, I switch it off while leaving them in the oven to cool, before walking back out with the rest of the food in one arm, and the plates tucked in the other.

"Oh, sweetie, do you need help?" Jodie asks as she scoots the chair back to stand.

"No no, we've got it." Dean says and both he and Sam stand, coming over to relieve me of my burden, placing them on the table, and Dean scoots out a chair for me to sit in, before helping me scoot in. Jodie is watching this all with a delighted gleam in her eyes, looking rather impressed as she smiles in approval at me.

"So, Emily," Jodie starts as everyone starts to load uo their plates. "you seemed to have whipped these boys into shape. Look, they're even eating instead of gulping it down like it's going to run away!" She laughs as I let a soft giggle, stabbing a piece of chicken to put on my plate, before adding mashed potatoes and gravy.

"They just didn't get a lot of home-cooked meals in the past, being on the road 24/7. I mostly stay behind while they're on the hunts, and I always leave them both a plate in the fridge for when they get back." She smiles as I add some broccoli and cheese sauce to my plate, along with a scoop of stuffing.

"Yeah, Emily takes good care of us. Doesn't she, Dean?" Sam inquires, causing me to furrow my brow. "Doesn't she, Dean?" Sam says with a little more emphasis, causing me to discreetly look over at the older man, only to find him staring at me as a blush floods my cheeks. Suddenly something brushes my leg as Dean hollers in pain, jumping before he clears his throat.

"Yeah yeah. Em's the best." Dean mutters as he drops his gaze to his plate, shoveling his food into his mouth.

"So, Emily, how exactly did you meet the boys?" Jodie asks in a friendly tone, causing the boys to stiffen as Emily freezes.

"It's uh... A bit of a long story, and we're still not a hundred percent on the details." I explain slowly, before launching into detail about the way I met the boys abd Castiel, and by the time I'm done, she's gawping at me as I slowly start to blush, shoveling food into my mouth to I don't have to speak. Jodie continues to eat as she takes a long moment to process the information that I told her, long enough for me to worry that she might think I'm lying. I turn to Dean with frantic eyes, but he simply holds out a hand as he shakes his head, smirking at me as he looks towards Jodie, who stabs a piece of lettuce and tomato from her salad, before looking up at me.

"I suppose you're lucky to have woken up near the boys, huh? No telling who or what would be after you for the information you possess." She says, causing a cold sweat to break out on my forehead and neck, both of the boys and Castiel all freeze as well, as if the idea just hit them.

"And we've been letting you go on hunts with us." Sam groans as he faceplants into his hand, while Dean's grip tightens on his fork.

"The dangers just tripled on the playing field." Dean states as Jodie snorts.

"She's survived so far. Give her some credit boys." She scolds, causing them to actually look a bit sheepish. "You can handle yourself, right?"

"I would never put the boys, nor anyone else in danger. I would rather bite my tongue off and bleed to death, than hurt you guys." I reply, causing Dean to swallow thickly, within an audible gulp, his hands turning bone white around his silverware. Sam's frown deepens as he shakes his head in immense displeasure at the thought. Castiel shifts nervously in his chair as Jodie looks around at us, before I press my chair away from the table. "Well, I think I'll set the pies and cake out to cool." I state as I disappear into the kitchen as fast as I can.

~3rd POV~

The moment that Emily is out of sight and earshot, Jodie starts to saw into her chicken, watching Sam and Dean exchange looks, almost like they're having a silent conversation with each other. "Dean," His head snaps up at her voice as she points her fork towards the kitchen, a piece of tender chicken dangling from the end. "you look after that girl. Don't let her go."

"Don't let her go? What do you mean?" He asks, causing Jodie to shot Sam a look, as if to say 'is he serious?' to which Sam nods with an exhausted and forelorn look upon his face.

"Dean, even a blind man can see the attraction and tension between you two." Jodie says, scraping her food off her fork with a sharp clink noise.

"Dean, she's right." Sam chimes in. "You laugh and smile with Emily, like I have yet to see you do. You look at the pictures of Jess and I, and you can see the same look I have her, on your face when you look at Emily." Sam says as he takes a bite of his corn on the cob.

"Wait, what?" Dean snorts. "You saying that I'm in love with Emily?" He shakes his head. "No. No way am I in love with that outsider. She doesn't even understand our world, as much as she claims she might. She will never understand, because she is different than us. I will not drag her into a life where she'd be nothing but useless!" Dean's brow furrows at Sam's wide-eyed, grim expression.

"Well," Dean jumps, turning around to see Emily standing there with teary eyes. She slams the pie, dish and all, in her hands, on the table as she throws her oven mitts in her chair. "let me be the last to know where I'm not wanted." She states with a tight voice, before she walks out of the room.

"Way to go, Dean." Sam snaps as Jodie stands, looking at Dean as she shakes her head.

"That was the most cruel way to handle that, Dean." She scolds, hurrying out of the room after Emily.

Well, Dean screwed up. Again. It'd be too easy for them if I didn't throw in a little twist or two! You'll just have to stick around to see what happens next!

Also, sorry for the lack of content. I moved. Again. And I got a severe bout of insomnia, and depression. Things just were crazy and hectic. Anyway! Please enjoy, and I will try to have the next chapter written and up soon. Love you all, my fabulous readers! Remember, my inbox is always open.

[elizagailofhousestark-blog]

A complete theory on the history and intentions of the lake entity in It Lives Beneath

(This information has been updated as of Chapter 10. The first part of this theory involves the history of The Power and the Cult in Westchester)

TL;DR: The ghost in the lake is MC’s grandmother

Beginnings of Pine Springs

In the year 1970, the AMC Gremlin car was produced and popularized. This was the vehicle which the journal author drove upon moving to a cabin in the woods near the river, which we can safely assume to be located in present-day Pine Springs. At that time, The Power was a “curious and playful” entity that encompassed the woods and waters in the neighboring towns of Westchester and Pine Springs. Within months after arrival, the journal author unintentionally established a connection with The Power, was compelled towards the house ruins in Westchester, saw Redfield, and met Cora.

Also in 1970, exactly fifty years prior to the Lake Day celebration in ILB, the town of Pine Springs was founded. According to Astrid, The Society– which is a cult that claims to be protectors of The Power in Pine Springs– was formed shortly after. Meanwhile, a development company attempted to buy the land which the journal author occupied. The author refused, and made a decision to protect The Power absolutely.

Eventually, the development company succeeded. Pine Springs became urbanized. A dam was built for water storage, irrigation, power generation, flood control, and other industrial uses. The flow of the river near the journal author’s home was restricted to create the dam– also known as a reservoir or an artificial lake. Later on, the water level in the lake was drained to make way for more mansions in the Lakefront Neighborhood.

Negative environmental impacts of dams

Now to make it clear, dams are highly beneficial to human civilizations. Dams do not pollute the water or air, and they are efficient substitutes to the more destructive fossil fuel consumption. However, constructing dams can also harm nature in numerous ways.

Dams take up a huge area of land for them to work. Entire forests need to be cut down.

The rivers which provide the water source for the dams need to have their flows obstructed, or reversed on opposite ends of the dam. Hydroelectric power plants also change the temperature of the water. These changes may disrupt the balance of ecological systems in the river and the surrounding land.

Migratory fish species are affected. In the Columbia River along the border of Oregon, salmon must swim upstream to their spawning grounds to reproduce but the series of dams gets in their way. Fish and other organisms can also be injured or killed by the turbine blades.

Due to sedimentation, reservoirs will have higher amounts of nutrients which cultivate an excess of algae and other weeds. These weeds consume large amounts of oxygen as they decompose, creating oxygen-starved dead zones incapable of supporting river life of any kind.

If too much water is stored in dams, downstream rivers can dry up.

Methane and carbon dioxide, strong greenhouse gasses, may also form in some reservoirs and be emitted to the atmosphere.

The town founders and the first members of The Society

At this point, it is clear why The Power would have been against the dam’s construction. However, Astrid, who is the current leader of The Society that claims to be protectors of The Power, is also a real estate company owner. Her husband Vincent, another cultist, is a corporate lawyer– a profession that protects capitalism and industrialization. In Chapter 10, Chief Kelley, also a cultist, confirmed that the town founders were the ones who dammed the river and cut down the forests. He also mentions that they would have been proud of him now for his services to the town.

Therefore, it is my theory that the cultists today are heirs of the town founders, who were also the first members of The Society. Those same people exploited The Power against its own interest of preserving nature. They harnessed power to gain wealth and influence, and to put themselves on top of the economic pyramid.

What happened to the first cultists?

Chief Kelley angrily asserted that the founders had to make a huge sacrifice for the town. What could have been this sacrifice?

In ILITW, the MC discovers that there were “two mass murders in Westchester, in the same woods, within 100 years of one another.” The first one happened on October 31, 1871. The fourteen members of The Arcane Society of Westchester communed to perform a ritual but Redfield attempted to hog The Power for himself, got consumed, and was turned into the monster in the woods. The second instance happened on August 22, 1976.

It is highly probable that the victims of that incident were the cultists/ town founders. As of writing, we have no way of confirming if it was indeed a massacre or a mass suicide– if they were murdered by The Power or if they sacrificed themselves. However, we do know two other instances of group deaths. One was in 1871 when Redfield became the monster. The ritual went wrong when Redfield hogged The Power. The cultists were massacred, then Cora and the few other survivors worked to bind Redfield later on. The second was in September of 2017 if you did not gain enough nerve points for your friends in ILITW. In that instance, Jane murdered the “cult members” in order to free herself. Both of those massacres resulted in someone becoming a new monster who is fused with The Power.

I theorize that the author of the journal, after getting the idea from Cora’s story about Redfield, desperately resorted to joining The Society. She also attempted to hog The Power for herself so she can stop her fellow cultists from using it for the wrong reasons. In the process, she became the ghost entity in the lake. But who is she?

The identity of the ghost in the lake

At first, we are led to believe that the journal author is male, because he was able to fix the house all by himself. Some popular theories claim that Grandpa Arthur is the journal author after all and the house he lives in is the same cabin in the woods. But if this is the case, then why would the journal entries present themselves to MC in the form of ghostly bottles? If Grandpa intended for MC to know about his history, he could have just told MC directly. Furthermore, Grandpa mentioned that he has been paying mortgage in the last 30 years, but the journal author owned the cabin and had no landlord.

Another hint that the journal author could have been female is when she wrote: “That development group has found a cunning new tactic: they sent a handsome man in a little bowtie to knock on my door. He had a nice smile and he was quick with the witty chit-chat.” (Of course, this could also be an evidence to the author being a male homosexual, but how could the development company have known that?)

If you pay close attention, you will notice that there are many significant parallels in the plot and timeframe of the events in ILITW and the ones in ILB. Because of this pattern, it would make sense that the journal author ended up becoming the female lake entity, just as Redfield– the letter writer– ended up becoming the monster in the woods.

Finally, the most compelling evidence I have that the journal author is the same person as the female lake entity is this: Noah/ILITW MC (the monster) knew that the way to communicate with the lake entity is written in a book found in Cora’s house. Since Cora is also a cultist who met the journal author, she would have known how to talk her.

Having established that, I will now leap into my theory that the lake entity is MC’s grandmother. (By the way, the ghost can’t possibly be MC’s mom because she died only 2 weeks before MC came to Pine Springs and her body can’t possibly be reduced to bones already. Plus MC and Elliot obviously would have buried their parents.)

The following are the evidences for my claim:

The lake entity had been drowning people in the lake for 20 years [acc. to Ned], and yet in Chapter 9, she somehow recognized MC who has only been in Pine Springs for a week. The only possible explanation for this recognition is if they share the same blood, or if the ghost can see a resemblance of her own daughter (MC’s mom) in MC.

It is the only plausible explanation of why Grandpa would choose to be associated to the cult. Perhaps he is looking for a way to free his wife or avenge her by infiltrating the cult. Note that he is the only one among them who is poor. As to his speech that he wanted to harness The Power to live longer, it seems hard to believe that an old man who has no family or riches would want to live longer in this world.

It has been repeatedly emphasized that the lake entity is angry about something that had hurt her. The ghost of the grandmother behaves similarly to MC and Elliot in this way:

MC is at least 18 years old because he/she is of legal age and is in college. When MC was seven years old, his/her biological father left his/her mom who ended up with Todd and gave birth to Elliot. Therefore, MC is at least seven years older than Elliot and Elliot is a pubescent teenager who is likely between ages 13-16. This puts MC’s age closer to 20 years or above. Now remember MC mentioned that they never met Grandpa Arthur. This means that their mom left Pine Springs at least 20 years ago. Perhaps she left Pine Springs to protect her unborn baby from the danger of knowing about the cult.

Now, I have no evidence for this, but I also think that a cult member needs an heir to pass his/her rank onto (or maybe to sacrifice later on). Astrid and Vincent Wescott have Imogen. Richard Sutcliffe has Robbie. Grandpa had MC’s mom. Perhaps Chief Kelley adopted Parker so he can be his heir. If this is true, it can explain why MC’s mom left Pine Springs: because she did not want her child to eventually be associated with the cult.

So why did the cult kill MC’s mother? Why did they save MC and Elliot from the lake entity? If the lake entity is their grandmother, why did she attempt to drown MC and Elliot?

Why the lake entity is drowning people

The ghost in the lake has been drowning people by luring them towards the water. According to Ned, his wife was the third victim that year, Kyle was the second this month, and it has been happening more frequently of late.

“The Power’s true strength comes from its connection with its followers. [Cora]” The more cult members there are and the more frequently they interact with The Power, the stronger both parties get. By trapping Dan in the clearing, Jane lured the ILITW gang into the woods so she can establish a connection with them and become stronger. When Goddard asked a member of The Arcane Society of Westchester if he could join them, the member was delighted and immediately agreed. Similarly, the cult in Pine Springs has been benefiting from recruiting more members, which is exactly how a pyramid scheme works.

In ILITW, a doctor took note of the pattern of an epidemic in Westchester which is characterized by an influx of coma patients, closely followed by the death of one or more people, and then a period of quiet. Cora revealed that when The Power grows too strong just as Jane did, it tends to feed on the life force of human beings who could fall into a coma or eventually die.

Perhaps The Power needs to feed on more people just as the The Society recruits more members. However, It does not make sense why the cult would want to put the ghost to rest because then, it would sever their connection and consequentially, their powers too.

What the ghost in the lake wants

It could be merely coincidental, but the drownings began 20 years ago, at the same time that MC’s mom left Pine Springs. This is a bold leap of intuition, but I think that the key to putting the soul of the grandmother to rest lies in her own blood or DNA. (Grandpa Arthur said this kind of power requires blood and sacrifice, and Imogen had to offer a drop of blood during the initiation.)

The only three people with whom the lake entity shares her blood are MC, Elliot, and their mother. When Vincent drove MC and Elliot home, he made sure to check if they have any other relatives, and MC confirmed that they do not.

Perhaps the cultists who betrayed the rest of The Society killed MC’s mom so that her blood could no longer be used to put the ghost to rest.

I do not have an explanation as to why Astrid saved MC and Elliot from the ghost and what the cult intends to do with them, but it is worth noting that the ghost tried to get her hands on MC five separate times, and on Elliot two separate times. Perhaps she recognizes them as her kin and perhaps she understands that their blood is the key to freeing her soul. Nevertheless, I strongly believe that she hasn’t killed Elliot yet.

Finally, we know that the lake entity and the cultists hate each other because of the massacre that happened in 1976, and when she repeatedly says “Kill them all”, she could be telling MC to kill all the cultists.

As the story progresses, we will see which cultists have good and bad intentions.

(Further theory: Proof that Vincent and Kelley are lying)