#he believes in the divines well enough but he certainly doesn’t LIKE any of them

[pinazee]

There might be blood

I had to look up the title because i didnt understand the connection to the episodes subject matter. So for anyone curious, its based on the 2007 movie There Will be Blood which is about the california oil boom.

Another episode thats just okay to me imo. But it has some good moments

First, another sibling is in the mix and she just so happens to be Jane Fucking Lynch which is pretty neat. I love the instant sibling rivalry we get. Like professionalism is instantly thrown out the door.

Also, im just now realizing, Shawns the only one who doesn’t have a sibling. Now you could argue Gus is like a brother to him, but like, it would be so interesting to see Shawn have to be responsible for a little sibling, or possibly have an older sibling who doesn’t quite have the gift feel overlooked when henry started teaching Shawn. Could you imagine all the fun dynamics and drama that would’ve ensued?? Like, how would that have affected his relationship with gus too- sorry, my thoughts spiraled.

He literally usues gus like siri

Theres an ongoing theme of Lassie loving strong, opinionated, or downright bossy women and i love that for him.

It’s time to talk about Chief Karen Vick. Specifically why she hires a psychic. At the very beginning, we learn that she knew Henry, and im guessing because she didn’t know shawn its because she joined the precinct in his teen years like Lassiter (since we also know he retires shortly after). or maybe she was at the academy when he did a lecture. I don’t believe its ever discussed how well she knew him, but it was certainly enough to call him and have him vouch for Shawn. It was enough to trust his word at least, whether it was based on simply knowing Henry’s talent, or because she actually knew him as a person, or maybe just that he was a respected cop.

This is all to say, i don’t think chief vick actually believes he’s psychic or ever did. Look at how she reacts when he tries to “divine” something about her.

Which means, Chief Vick is not above skirting around the law to catch the bad guy. After all, if she knows Shawns not psychic, then shes willingly letting this loose cannon into her crime scenes. And this kind of ties in with another point i have, which is that i don’t think she was actually getting Henry to vouch for his abilities at all, I think she was asking Henry what kind of a man Shawn was. She witnessed his skill with the Mccallum murder and saw all the calls he put in that helped solve other crimes, but she also has the arrest record, and the ever changing address. She needs to know if Shawn is someone she can trust.

So, she knows hes a fake, and likely knows how he’s gathering information (i Have to wonder if there was a case she had where justice was not met because of a law she wasn’t allowed to go around, like she knew someone was the killer but didn’t have any evidence to get a warrant and they got away). But having Shawn helps bypass the red tape because he can literally point them in the direction of evidence and claim he divined it.

Chief Vick is not someone to believe in mystics, she is, in fact, a rogue, someone getting to the truth by any means necessary while also keeping her hands clean. She has to play into the facade just as much as Shawn. It makes me wonder what kind of a cop she was, especially since we see how competitive she was. (and im also realizing that i dont think we ever saw her detective skills? Shes always been boss lady)

The moment with shawn and chief vick was really sweet, though. This is why i can rewatch psych as much as i do. They take time out of the episode to have small moments of real connection where we see that these characters actually care about each other.

As for the bad guy…idk i liked the showdown and shawn talking her down because of how it speaks to his character, but they really muddled her own character. They built her up as this like calculating, intelligent, and fed-up-with-misogyny woman and then at the end she not only falls for Shawns speech but starts crying when shes caught. Like, imo, she probably would have just shot shawn, or would have avoided that whole situation to begin with by not panicking in the first place. Shawn though, clearly hates guns, so i wonder whats up with that.

P.S

Gus’s smelling bobbing

And look how much fun our young dudes are having! What a bunch of cuties :)

[ddarker-dreams]

Calcified Cage.

Yan Bucciarati x F Reader x Yan Fugo.

A glimpse into a "bad end" from Scarlet Ribbons.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, implied power imbalance. Word count: 1.5k.

Pannacotta Fugo knew on an intrinsic level that nothing good was to come from this private meeting with Bucciarati. 

For someone who prefers to make judgments on empirical merit, this odd bout of premonition felt uncharacteristic, further adding to his unease. For all intents and purposes, it shouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary. Bucciarati often consulted him in private over various Passione concerns. 

In private, yes, but never in the total seclusion of his humble home along Napoli’s outskirts. 

Fugo can count the number of times he’s been here on one hand. Normally, if Bruno needed to discuss an issue with Fugo, he’d ask him to stay behind after the gang finished eating their meal at Libeccio. The mixing of business and home life is considered taboo in this profession. Although Bucciarati is a bachelor who lives by himself, Fugo figured that he adhered to this unspoken virtue on principle alone. 

When Fugo finishes reading the letter in his grasp, it’s no longer a mystery why his leader has taken these precautions. The paper trembles like a leaf in the wind, Fugo’s grasp on it weakening. 

“You understand what this means, don’t you?”

Bucciarati’s voice sounds far away, despite his position a few feet across the table. Ringing resounds in Fugo’s ears, quiet at first, yet building in an all-consuming crescendo. The melody it weaves is melancholic at its core. A tragedy cast by the indifferent divine, thrusting him into the spotlight, where he stumbles through his lines as a lead character. 

He has to tell himself to breathe. 

Inhale. 

For if what’s written crawls into reality— 

Exhale. 

—He’ll no longer have a reason to.

Fugo downs a glass of water his host generously had the forethought to provide. His fingers grip the rim tight enough that his knuckles nearly turn as white as his complexion. 

“Are you asking for my legal counsel?” he manages to get out. There’s a rasp in his voice that he can’t hide, regardless of his best efforts. He can feel his collected mask melting from his face like wax on a candle. There won’t be any welding it back into place once it’s gone. It’ll require time to mold one in its predecessor's likeness — time he most certainly doesn’t have.

“No,” Bucciarati gives an answer he somehow already expected. “I want to hear your personal opinion.” 

“My… personal opinion? Is that really necessary?”

“It is.” 

It shouldn’t be. This is about as black and white as a dilemma can get. Trying to mix the colors on a palette to form gray would be impossible; a fool’s wish. The shades are so diametrically opposed that he’d sooner find success in combining oil and water. 

His esophagus burns like he’d just drunk hard liquor instead of water. 

“This is… good,” he fights back a wince at the wooden delivery, “For— for her, I mean.” 

Something tells him that even if he had put on the performance of a lifetime, Bucciarati still wouldn’t have believed him. 

“For her,” Bucciarati echoes dryly.

Fugo inwardly curses his clumsy word choice. There’s no point in concealing his cards, he may as well have just laid them all out for Bucciarati’s viewing pleasure. He loosens his tie. The quiet intensity radiating from Bucciarati is suffocating. He’s reminded then that while he greatly cares for and respects the man sitting across from him, Bruno Bucciarati is, at his core, a mobster. 

And there’s nothing more dangerous than a mobster who feels his family is under threat. 

You are, in essence, the heart of Bucciarati’s ragtag team. 

This letter is proposing to transplant you into another body. An objectively healthier body. 

To do without you would be to live as a dead man walking. 

Fugo feels the phantom pain as if his chest cavity was being split in half by spectral hands. No anesthetic, no scalpel. Just raw, brutish force. Your nonsensical questions he pretends to find irritating are his veins. The blueberry pancakes dutifully arranged in a smiley face on his birthday, the arterioles; how you reach for his hand in crowded areas so as not to get lost, the capillaries. 

You are snowball fights and hot cocoa in the winter, beach trips and shared gelato in the summer. 

(“I can’t ever decide which flavor I want,” you’d lament, wilting all the while. It never took long for you to blossom again. “I know! Fugo, get this flavor, and I’ll get this one. That way I can try both!” 

He’d sigh and pretend to consider it as if he hadn’t made up his mind the second you smiled at him. “Fine. I’d rather not hear you complaining if you ordered something you don’t like, so… just this once.” 

“Just this once,” you repeated. 

He’s never turned down your request in the times you’ve asked since). 

Bucciarati leans back in his seat. He crosses his legs, folds his hands onto his lap, and smiles. Fugo is so put off by this shift in demeanor, the dissonance both perplexing and unsettling him. He sets the damning paper down for the temporary reprieve straightening it out provides. It points west, toward the window behind Bucciarati, where the sun’s final rays for the day crawl through. 

“You love her,” Bucciarati says it as casually as one describing the weather. 

Fugo’s entire body goes numb. 

“... I do.” 

“Do you love her enough to make her hate you?” 

He’s been on the defensive throughout this entire interaction. He’ll allow himself one retort, one provocation. 

“Do you?” 

The softening of Bucciarati’s expression says it all. 

“We shouldn’t be having this conversation if I didn’t.” 

Right. Fugo isn’t sure if this is a conversation so much as it is an interview, his most pivotal test since joining Passione’s ranks. For once, he didn’t need to study. Passing with flying colors isn’t the issue. It’s deciphering the purposefully cryptic manner that Bucciarati has been conducting himself that poses an obstacle. 

However, when he stares into Bucciarati’s resolute eyes, he thinks he might be starting to crack the code. 

The promise he made to himself to reprise his role of an obsequious soldato is broken as easily as it was made. 

“Forgive me for being blunt, Bucciarati,” he means it too, “But what exactly are you getting at here?” 

“I won’t be able to conceal this for long.” 

Nausea swirls inside him and bile claws its way up his throat. He swallows it down, despite how dry his mouth feels. 

“The way I see it, we have two choices,” Bucciarati takes a deep breath. Pausing like this must mean he doesn’t savor the flavor of what he’ll say next. “Her happiness or ours.” 

It’s debt that brought you into Passione and debt that’ll keep you here. Fugo considered how you were taken advantage of in such a desperate position truly unfortunate. Cruel, even. The offer of a loan that’d take considerable financial strain off your family. You didn’t know to look for jargon that’d increase the interest rate to something unholy, Passione was clever like that. 

The worst mistake of your life is what led you to be the best thing in his — and so many others would attest the same.  

However…

You are bright, but even the most radiant light is destined to flicker. 

Living under the same roof as you for two years has taught Fugo much. He sees it, how you hesitate to take the phone when he tells you your parents are on the line. He hears the telling hitch in your voice when you spin another falsehood about why you can’t come home for the holidays again this year. He feels the wetness on your pillowcase when he goes into your room to retrieve a book you borrowed from him. 

Your debt is what shackles you here and this letter is offering to break the chains. 

You've successfully won over many key individuals during your tenure. The would-be benefactor who penned this letter — Signore Conti — had deep influences and even deeper pockets. His wife had taken a particular liking to you during a bodyguard assignment. She must've caught wind of your predicament somehow and beseeched her husband to intervene.

Fugo sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "There's really no other way?"

"I'm open to suggestions, Fugo."

Questioning Bucciarati's resolve is just a weak attempt to stall for time. For Fugo to still be sitting here, even entertaining the possibility of snuffing out your future for the sake of maintaining his, he must've already made up his mind. The mere implication of Bucciarati's designs would've inspired righteous anger in most — not this internal weighing of pros and cons Fugo is neatly arranging on a scale.

"... We'll need to handle this delicately," Fugo says. His stomach feels like it's turning inside out. "We can't outright reject an offer like this from such an influential figure, it'd be considered an insult. Accept it on her behalf. Then... to ensure she can't go anywhere, I'll reach out to our contact in the bank and have her account frozen."

Bucciarati steeples his fingers. "It's a start."

That night, innumerable plans are formed, with you unknowingly starring as the centerpiece.

No matter how cruel, how unfair, it is silently agreed upon that you are their lifeblood, an organ essential to their survival.

And a heart cannot remain in place without the bones that make up its cage.

[pelagaye]

hair as silver as coins

fandom: honkai star rail pairing: jing yuan x reader summary: jing yuan would be the fairest one of them all among everyone from the six flagships, if only you can tell him that is. no matter, his lazy demeanor and unbelievable appeal are two reasons to keep it to yourself. it takes one walk to change your mind. notes: this fic is inspired by snow white but it isn't an au of it. you'll def see some refs if you squint tho !! n e ways i dedicate this to my cousin who is obsessed w this man. he said he really had fun reading it so i hope that you guys do too ^^

the interrogation begins once the both of you were far enough from the populated areas of the luofu and the setting was simple. jing yuan’s back facing you, he who has coerced to follow him through the evergreens and tall grass. then there was you, who doesn’t mind if you end up collapsing from the strong warmth of the beams above any second now knowing the jing yuan would have no choice but to carry you back.

“lady fu does not take your irresponsibility lightly, general, you are aware of that, yes?” you claim, pushing away an overgrowing tree branch.

"ah, that is very spot on of you, my dear. remind me to commend the master diviner herself," he turns his head to the side catching a glance of you, "however, i do not see how it should affect our delightful stroll. do you not enjoy it yourself?"

the way how jing yuan easily dismisses your question leaves you incapable to suppress an upcoming groan. you swear he does these things on purpose. the audacity of him to call you "dear" is one of them of course, like, who even does that?

"anyone would agree that they too do not see such form of ecstacy with the overflowing papers on your desk, my general," matching up his pace, further reasoning with him. "your seven sparrows don't even make your situation lighter as they enable your procrastination."

"centuries would tell you otherwise. besides, if i were anyone else, i'd assume you were simply jealous of my feathered friends," jing yuan chuckles. "but as *i am* your general, it is alluring to me how you noted their exact numbers, this is exactly why i tell them about you."

he proceeds to tells you that you're nearing your destination but your mind is racing nonstop over the little things:

one, he noticed you referred to him as "my general" when you assumed he'd let it pass. two, he gossips you to the sparrows and although it catches you off guard because who talks to sparrows, you can only hope they're only good things.

—

you immediately detect the pride that surfaces on jing yuan's expression the moment he presents to you the main attraction of your walk.

in front of you stands a sturdy structure of a well. nothing too old but certainly not close to modernity. you wonder if you were just there to get a pail of water and bring it back to the luofu like a mad woman, a strange request not uncommon for the general with you.

he remains sensible, however. "finally" being the general he is supposed to be, you jest. jing yuan laughs at your retort after suggesting you look deeper into the well, promising to not push you down if you ever accuse him to.

so you do trust him, with all of your heart, because what choice do you have when he has already a hold of it way before all of this.

it takes you one peek before jing yuan follows behind you, almost making you- makes you want to believe he intentionally trapped you between the water reservoir and his body as he relaxes his head over your shoulder.

it is not explicit in any way but for safety measures, you remain motionless as you let your heart execute all the remaining movement you can muster.

"this well has become quite special to me for these past years of becoming an arbiter-general," his narrative begins. "you see, if your vision can reach the exact position where its liquid is, you can catch a clear reflection of yourself, no ripples to destroy the image you hold."

this provides you the courage to turn to him with a smirk. "is this your narcissism talking?"

"not particularly, i just like looking at it to remind how after all these years, i am still the same person i have made myself to be." he grins back. "but yes, there may be times i enjoy staring at myself, do you not do the same?"

was the question supposed mean if you enjoy staring at yourself or was it implying if you like staring at him? you will never understand. why does the general like complicating your life like this.

as you discreetly push the question aside, you ask a more important question.

"have i ever made a wish with it? what do you suppose to mean with that?" jing yuan questions.

fumbling with your pockets, you present a single gold coin to the man before you as you turned around, breaking the source of warmth you were getting from each other. "in other planets, you'd make a wish and throw this in the well as if it were some peace offering and hope it comes true!"

"ah~ i seem to understand it better now," the male exclaims. "then i must wish that lady fu does not poison me in any way~"

a laugh escapes your mouth. "and how do you suspect lady fu is to poison you, general jing yuan? she's too prideful for that sort of lousy play, how do you even expect her to execute that?"

"anything can happen, my dear! she might as well use a single apple to make things easier!" jing yuan continues the banter. "but i wouldn't fret knowing you'd be there, i'm sure you'd help break my curse! unless- you are to work alongside with that divinator then i will never get my true love's kiss!"

your heart starts doing its own thing again while your breathe hitches for a moment, unsure if you were in the right mind to respond. "how bold of you to think it's a true love that can only break such intoxication, general."

and out of the blue, jing yuan holds you close as his hands reaches for your cheeks. he stares at you with the utmost adoration that you had been denying for so long but despite it all, it's evidently there.

"that may be correct but at least," his face coming closer to your own. "even without a kiss, i am more than sure about my true love."

[katharkness]

Another interesting thing, in…I think it’s late 1 Samuel, might be early 2 Samuel, King Saul goes to visit a medium - a woman who can call up the dead for a chat. (To clarify, I don’t think there’s any textual indication that mediums were women, just the particular one Saul visited.) It’s noted in the text that Saul had previously had medium-ing banned and prosecuted/driven out the mediums, and while I don’t recall the phrasing, it’s framed as having been a righteous act. So he has to go in disguise to see this medium, and he asks to speak to the prophet Samuel, and the poor woman recognises him but goes ahead and calls up Samuel. And it works. Saul asks Samuel, why isn’t God talking to me any more? Samuel then gives Saul a right chewing out, pointing to various times when Saul specifically disobeyed God (possibly including the exact moment with the medium?) and explaining that God doesn’t favour him any more. I think he might’ve finished up with telling Saul he was about to lose his upcoming battle, but I don’t remember too well.

What can we learn from this regarding ghosts and speaking to the dead? Well for starters, we know that it is POSSIBLE, but we are forbidden from attempting it. I don’t know that this account verifies that normal human people are able to summon a spirit/ghost from Heaven without divine approval, seeing as Samuel, being a prophet, delivered God’s words in life and it certainly reads like he was delivering divine judgment in his return-from-death, so I think it’s plausible and within textual interpretation that God intervened to allow it to work. But whether it would work for you or I, we’re expressly told not to.

Another story is the parable of the rich man and Lazarus. (Not the same Lazarus who was raised from the dead, this is a fictional Lazarus.) Given this is a parable, we should think a bit more closely about what it means, but parables are meant to be real-life events framed to tell a message, so it’s reasonable to assume that even though the events of this tale didn’t happen, it’s a reasonable conclusion that the setting is accurate to reality.

The parable (my paraphrase): there’s a rich man, and he eats well every day and enjoys his riches. At his gates, there’s a poor man called Lazarus, who has sores on his body and eats the scraps from the rich man’s table. Lazarus dies, and angels take him to Heaven with Abraham. The rich man dies and goes to Hell. The rich man is in torment, and looks up towards Heaven, and sees Abraham and Lazarus. He calls to Abraham and asks him to send Lazarus to dip his finger in water and lay it on (the man’s) tongue to provide him a brief moment of relief from his torment. Abraham says no, in life you (the rich man) had good things and Lazarus bad, now it’s Lazarus’ turn to have good things, and also, there’s a chasm between Heaven and Hell none can cross. So the rich man says, well then can you send Lazarus to my five brothers to warn them of what they’re heading towards. Abraham says, your brothers have the Law and the Prophets, if they won’t believe that then they won’t believe anything, even a man returned from the dead (this is fairly certain to be foreshadowing Jesus’ resurrection).

What can we learn from this? Given how other parables work, we can assume it’s a reasonably accurate glimpse at Heaven and Hell, but what about ghosts? Abraham tells the rich man it’s impossible for Lazarus to take a day-trip to Hell, but does NOT say it’s impossible for Lazarus to go to Earth. Also, the rich man thought it was possible enough that he asked for it. This indicates that it is possible for those in Heaven to return to Earth - or perhaps to be SENT to Earth. My own speculation is that those in Hell cannot, but that’s a guess based on the rich man’s petition.

The Bible also talks about demons and demon possession multiple times in a very factual manner. There’s also a time when Jesus is accused of channeling Beelzebub to do his miracles, and Jesus responds that Beelzebub wouldn’t be expelling demons, but he does not say that humans CAN’T be empowered by demons - and in Acts there’s at least one occasion of a guy who does exactly that. So there’s demons around. There’s a documentary film by a chap called Gary Bates that makes a very good, very convincing argument that most people today who experience alien abduction are actually experiencing demonic visitation. Film’s called Alien Intrusion if you want to check it out.

There’s also a variety of factors such as carbon monoxide poisoning, mold inhalation and psychiatric conditions that could make someone THINK there’s a ghost when there’s actually nothing there.

So my conclusion is that possible ghosts fall into three categories: not a ghost but something mundane affecting perception; a demon; or very, very rarely, a messenger from God.

If ghosts don’t exist, why did the disciples think Jesus was a ghost twice without Him correcting them? (walking on water and after His resurrection) Something I’m trying to figure out

Okay, we're using two different definitions of the word ghost, I see.

The disciples thought Jesus was a spirit or apparition, which do exist. When I say "ghosts don't exist" I mean that the spirits of the deceased don't hang around on earth after death trying to scare the pants off people.

[solsolace]

Heyoo, can I please request a one shot with scaramouche where the reader is known to be kind and respected, so he feels insecure and thinks he doesn’t deserve them. (Maybe the reader is some kind of immortal being like he is?) They’ve known each other since he was called Kunikuzushi. The other harbingers are surprised to see him care for someone so much. Ty :) (also idk how the anon name thing works, but I’ve seen people use emojis, so I’ll be 🌌)

a puppet loosely strung

✧ synopsis: [ hurt/comfort ] a oneshot in which scaramouche feels as though he doesn’t deserve to be with his much sweeter s/o. it is implied to take place before the inazuman archon quest.

✧ ft. scaramouche x gn!reader (the reader is immortal, but their exact origin is left ambiguous.) (also, la signora is here)

✧ warnings: general scaramouche things (honestly, just misanthropy), spoilers for scaramouche’s real name/lore, spoilers for la signora’s lore

✧ a/n: scaramouche will be so, so soft with you, but only after you’ve spent a couple hundred years together /j. it’s nice to have you here 🌌! i hope this is alright!

»»————-　 ✦ 　————-««

The Balladeer believes he knows what humanity is like. He does not have to be human to understand that they do whatever they desire, regardless of if it’s right or wrong, if only because they fear the repercussions of not doing so- he does not have to be human to understand that they have an innate drive to be vile, cruel, pathetic- not when he has seen it first hand, over, and over, and over again.

A puppet crafted by divine hands, Scaramouche was made to follow the will of others, to perform as he’s told to. And, when he was discarded, he found new hands to carry him, only for those hands to be slain for his own sake. When he was sought out by the Fatui, surely, any person would have recognized the pattern: humanity is worthlessly stupid. But, Scaramouche was not any person at all. He was a puppet who had grown bored of having his strings pulled. Humanity is worthlessly stupid, he agrees with the pattern- but that just makes them perfect pawns. Could he really be blamed, then, for seizing the opportunity to be the puppetmaster when it arose?

Seated on the balcony of a teahouse that had just recently opened in his homeland, Scaramouche scans the streets of Inazuma as his… “diplomatic partner” muses out loud on their respective missions.

“The Shogun here does not seem to be that disagreeable,” La Signora traces the rim of her tea cup with a clawed finger, not even bothering to look and see if The Balladeer was listening- she was aware that he wasn’t. “Why, I’d even go as far to say that her vision for Inazuma falls quite nicely in line with The Tsaritsa’s plans for all of Teyvat. I wonder if she’d even put up much of a fight for her gnosis at all, given how well her decree seems to be working.”

It’s rare for Scaramouche to wish that he actually had a subordinate here to take his place. Unfortunately for his patience, they’d all been scattered across the islands to prepare for the first act of his plan to weaken the resistance. If he were to consider it, Signora was definitely one of the least troublesome Harbingers to have been paired with in Inazuma. Oh, sure, she was just as annoying as the rest of them, carrying herself with an air of superiority that she hardly deserves, but her cold and heartless personality was-if he had to praise her-respectable enough. At the very least, he wasn’t sent here with Tartaglia or Pierro. Tsaritsa forbid, he would certainly lose his shit if he had to listen to their nonsense for any extended amount of time. With Signora, though, it’s easy enough to drown her out.

And that he does, resting his chin on his palm and tapping his fingers on the table, focusing on the life beneath him. It’s strange, he thinks, how different things are from the last time he’d been here. For an archon so strict about her ideals of eternity, the Shogun's new puppet has certainly allowed much to change in little more than a few months. The thought is almost amusing to Scaramouche.

Though, it would seem that some things will forever remain the same, he realizes when he makes out a familiar form in the streets. The figure is cheerfully reading a novel to a group of children gathered at their feet, turning the cover every so often to let them see the pictures. Of course, you had always been kind- inhumanly so. Perhaps the inhuman part should be stressed, perhaps that's why you’re able to look out at the world and smile. If you were human, Scaramouche wonders if you, too, would fall into the depravity that haunts their kind.

He does not get to consider it for too long, as your gazes meet.

You’re not supposed to bother him while he’s working- for your own safety, your lover has stressed time and time again- but the two of you are quite a distance apart right now, surely it would be fine to send him a perfectly friendly and unassuming greeting, right? If only so he knows that you’re thinking of him. So, you do, lifting your arm to wave happily at him, even adding in a wide smile.

Scaramouche nearly finds himself lifting his hand to mimic the gesture instinctively, but manages to catch himself and quickly drops his palm back to the table, dipping his head away and further into his other hand.

La Signora notices, of course, having seen her fellow harbinger make the exact same face as the one he dons now several times since arriving in Inazuma. The way he casts his eyes downward as he tries to fight the shade of red threatening to color his cheeks, how his mouth flattens into a forced scowl so he doesn’t accidentally smile- a part of her is angry, resentful, even. Once, oh so many years ago, she had made such a similar expression toward her own late lover. However, Signora’s bitterness is overpowered by a feeling of pity- though, for herself or for her companion, she cannot tell- and she decides it might be good to offer some advice to the lovesick fool in front of her. That, and, well, it’s funny to tease him.

“Your little Y/N’s out reading to the town's children again?” She purrs, glancing over the balcony to where Scaramouche’s eyes once fell. “My, don’t they ever get tired? It seems for the entirety of our time here, they’ve been out and about, chattering mindlessly with anyone who passes by. It’s not surprising they’re so well-liked.”

“Don’t say their name. Don’t even look at them.” Scaramouche growls, indigo eyes glaring into her icy ones.

“Come now, Balladeer, possessiveness is hardly an endearing trait in a lover.” She sighs with a plastic smile. Remarkably, he holds her stare in spite of an embarrassed flush snaking its way across his face at her use of the word lover. Another sour pang of pity hits her stomach at the sight, and she tilts her head. Her smile drops. “No, really, Scaramouche, I can’t help but wonder what they see in you. There they are, reading stories to kids, while you have a body count in the hundreds. They spend their free time caring for the sick, and you spend yours slamming underlings faces into the floor. Tell me, do they actually know who you are? Do you really think someone like them is content with someone like you?”

Shut up. Scaramouche wants to spew. You don’t know a fucking thing about them or me. You don’t know anything at all. The venom dies in his throat. Instead, Scaramouche slams his palms down on the table and stands.

“La Signora,” He declares, not bothering to tuck his stool back beneath the table. He gives her one last glare and adds, “Don’t fuck up your end of the mission.”

And with that, he leaves. It wasn’t an unexpected response, Signora knows. Still, as she lifts her teacup to her lips, she cannot help but hope her intentions did reach the Balladeer. It’s for the best, isn’t it? People like them were never made to survive the experience of love- yes, it would always be best to cut it off as swiftly as possible before the feeling overcomes you. After all, she would know better than anyone: Heartbreak is a dangerous thing.

It’s quite late into the night when your partner returns to your shared home. That’s not unusual, of course, you’re just glad he’s home at all. You’re already in your sleepwear, awaiting his arrival by the kotatsu table with a novel in hand. The same one you were reading to the children earlier, in fact- the prose is a bit flowery, but you’re rather fond of the artstyle within it. The story, too, is rather interesting. Perhaps Kunikuzushi would like to hear about it?

“Welcome home, my love.” You hum warmly, ever so slightly sleepily. He does not respond, instead yanking off his shoes and tossing them haphazardly by the door. Even the way he takes his hat off is rough, though he is more gentle when hanging it on the coat rack. Ah, he’s in a bad mood. Well, that’s not unusual, either. This isn’t the first time he’s come through the door grumpy, and it certainly won’t be the last.

What is unusual is the way he does not move to sit directly beside you, nor does he stomp off to your room to cool off from whatever is bothering him. Even in his worst moods, he has always been sure to inform you that he needs time alone. The only incident you can recall when this was different was when he’d returned from a failed mission a few months back, and was particularly shaken by something he’d discovered, choosing to sit in your back garden for hours into the night, just staring up at the sky. But, no, never has he sat on his knees across from you, fists clenched on the table, silently peering down.

It’s… certainly different, but, you decide, it is not the end of the world. You are patient. When Kunikuzushi is ready to talk, you trust that he will. He always has before. For the time being, you return to reading your novel- or, at least, you pretend to. You’re pretty sure if you were to continue reading on, you’d fall asleep. And you can’t have that! Not when your dear lover is upset about something.

You don’t have to wait too long, as you hear him release a sigh. “... Y/N.” Something about his voice causes worry to settle into you. It has been centuries since he’s spoken to you with such… hesitation? Much less with hesitation at the very beginning of a conversation. You gently place your book on the table and give him your full attention. Still, he does not look at you. His eyes briefly dart over to your novel before trailing back to the table in front of him. His hands… Are they trembling?

“Y/N. Why do you stay with me?”

The question alarms you. Goodness above, what happened to him today? Five hundred years and he has never asked you something so… insecure.

“Because I love you, Kunikuzushi.” You answer honestly. This causes his gaze to finally reach yours, and you feel your heart drop. His eyes were glassy, and, sure, you’ve seen him cry before, but given his previous question and current behavior, his searching stare makes your stomach twist anxiously.

“You shouldn’t.” He says lowly. “You shouldn’t, Y/N. I’m vile, and cruel, and-” he stops himself before he can finish with pathetic. Even at such a weak moment, his pride won’t let him admit that.

“-And, I love you.” You finish for him.

And. Not but, not in spite of. And you love him.

“I… hurt people. I enjoy hurting them. I could hurt you, too. Easily, too easily. Y/N, I could kill you right this instant and you wouldn’t even realize what I was doing before your head rolled on the floor.”

“And I love you.”

Kunikuzushi looks at you helplessly. He was well aware that you weren’t stupid, so why…

You reach across the kotatsu table, gently setting your hands on top of his, never looking away from him. Every part of him screams to rip away from you, disgust clenching his chest. He can’t. His hands are shaking.

“I love you,” you say once more. “I know you. I know what you are, who you are, and I love you. I trust you, with everything I have, Kunikuzushi. My heart, my body, my life- I have chosen to share myself with you, because I love you.”

You give his hands a soft squeeze before pulling away. He swallows thickly and nods, drawing his own hands to his lap and looking back down. You choose to get up from your position and move to sit closer beside him, giving him enough space to move away if he needs to… but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans into you, resting his weary head on your shoulder. Slowly, you move your arm behind him, rubbing circles comfortingly on his back. He takes your other hand in his and closes his eyes.

Tonight, he is unable to tell you that he loves you, too. He does not have to. After all, you know. You know just how you’ve wrapped his heartstrings around your finger, and he knows that your delicate hands would never cast him away. You know that he is yours, and he knows that you are his. And that is all either of you need to know, from now, until the end of time.

[theesteemedladydebourgh]

i was talking to @hogwartslivy about getting back into TFTDC-land recently, and to kick my writer’s block in the rump she suggested i do little excerpts from other time periods in that universe, which my brain latched onto rather fiercely...and ten minutes later this existed! (and then i forgot to post it on here like the forgetful woman i am 😭)

i’ve been so tired lately that anything of length has felt like a struggle, but this was such a breath of fresh air to write that i’ll probably do some more! 

if there’s any specific times/scenarios/one word prompts anyone would like to see from TFTDC jily, let me know! 🥰

25 September, 2004

“Velvette? Potter, are you insane?”

“It’s cool!” the boy insists. He has a stupid, wide grin on his face and Lily wants to hex it off. She can’t though, because Professor Morelos frowns greatly on dueling in class, and also her Divination grade depends on him.

She can’t believe they’re partners. This is by far the worst part of her fourth year. (Never mind that it’s only week three of term, she knows that it can’t get worse than this).

Lily settles for glaring at him, arms crossed. The Divination classroom is stuffy and hot, and it bothers her greatly that Potter doesn’t look the least bit inconvenienced by it all. Twit. “If you want your future children to suffer like that, be my guest.”

“They’ll think it’s cool.”

“I guarantee you they won’t.”

Potter moves his hands dramatically over the crystal ball set before them—what they were actually attempting to do, before he used his knack of segueing into a completely random subject to derail them. “They will!” he insists. He makes his voice all high and spooky. “I’ve seennn it—in the crystalllll balll!”

A short laugh escapes her, then Lily clamps her lips together. She flattens her mouth into a scowl. “Oh, fine,” she says. Potter’s been annoying her since the year began, so she doesn’t feel terribly bad for the meanness of her next comment. “Not that I’d expect any woman would be so silly as to marry you.”

Potter blinks at her. “Wow,” he says. He doesn’t seem insulted, just a little stunned.

Now she feels bad, regret pinching at her stomach—just because he spends his days purposefully aggravating me doesn’t mean I should sink to his level—but Lily tries not to let it show. She tightens her arms across her chest. “What?” she snaps.

Potter is looking at her with narrowed eyes. “You know what?” he announces after a second. He props his elbow on the table. His specs are crooked and his hair is too long by his ears and he bothers her. “I think I’ve finally figured you out, Lily Evans.”

With all the maturity of a fourteen year old, Lily scoffs. “Please,” she says. “What could you have possibly figured out?”

Potter’s grinning, but his eyes are a little bit sharp behind those crooked specs. “You’re nothing like everyone else thinks you are,” he says. “Everyone says you’re so smart and composed and perfect—I think you’re stubborn, and well, smart is true enough, I guess. And you’re opinionated, and just a little bit mean.”

Lily stares at him, flummoxed. “That’s—“

“True?” Potter offers. He grins and leans back in his chair. “And I think you secretly like the name Velvette.”

“I most certainly do not,” Lily says with as much dignity as she can muster. She adamantly won’t let Potter see that he’s unnerved her with his rather spot-on deduction of her character. She’s not used to sharing her emotions or private thoughts with other people, and she’s absolutely not going to let James Potter be the first to get her to confess.

Potter laughs, tilting his head back. Oh, Merlin, but this boy bothers her. “Keep telling yourself that, Evans.”

[lumosandnoxwriting]

Good Girl - George Weasley

Title: Good Girl Pairing: George x female!slytherin!Reader Summary: George has been the reader’s enemy since their first year at Hogwarts together and now, in their final year the universe keeps throwing them together in ways that make the reader question why she ever hated George in the first place. Warnings: NSFW!! Slight Dom!george, begging, slight orgasm denial, thigh riding, oral (Male and female receiving), throat fucking, fingering, masturbation, unprotected sex A/N: The summary is shit but it’s an enemies to lovers slow burn. Seriously this is 22k words I lost control. This is for @those-born-to-fight​ who wanted some enemies to lovers with a Slytherin reader! There’s two different ~spicy~ scenes and the tiniest touch of angst towards the end. Feedback is always welcome, and requests are open!

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

“God, do they ever just shut up?” Y/N grumbles, getting up to slam the door to her compartment closed. Adrian and Marcus laugh at her, but immediately stop when she glares at them, not wanting to face the consequences of annoying Y/N further.

There are very few things that Y/N outright hates. The list of things that mildly annoy her is quite long, but she reserves the word hate for only those special things that make her want to rip her hair out at the mere mention of them. Fred and George Weasley happen to be at the top of that list.

Like most students, Y/N had been enamored by the twins and their antics at first. Despite the fact that many of their practical jokes were aimed at members of her house and Snape, she found them quite funny. She had even thought about befriending the twins, the rivalry between their houses be damned. But after finding herself on the receiving end of a few too many Weasley practical jokes, she had begun to loathe them.

“I don’t know why you let them get under your skin,” Daphne comments, her tone dry and dull. Despite the fact that her eyes haven’t left the copy of Witch Weekly she’s flipping through, Y/N knows she’s been watching her fidget as the Weasley twins got rowdier and rowdier from their compartment down the hall.

“Because they’re, they’re,” Y/N pauses, trying to find the words to describe just how vile the Weasley Twins make her feel. “There isn’t even a word in the English dictionary that perfectly describes how insufferable they are.” She flips Adrian and Marcus off as they laugh at her frustration.

Daphne rolls her eyes and finally puts her magazine down. “You’re so dramatic, Y/N. Just drown them out like everyone else does. Take me, for example. I haven’t heard a thing either of them has said since third year.”

“That’s because they leave you alone, Daph,” Marcus drawls, coming to Y/N’s defense. This isn’t the first time the four of them have had this conversation and it surely will not be the last. “It’s kind of hard to ignore them when they send bludgers at you hard enough to knock your head off of your shoulders.”

“It’s pretty easy to knock someone’s head off of their shoulders when there isn’t anything in it, Marcus,” Daphne teases, pushing his shoulder lightly.

Adrian pretends to throw up at their behavior, causing Marcus to hit him over the head while Y/N laughs. Adrian ends up hitting Marcus back, and the boys hit at each other for a few moments while Daphne rolls her eyes and Y/N eggs them on.

“The contents of Marcus’s head aside,” Adrian says as he plops down next to Y/N, his breathing heavy from wresting Marcus to the ground. “He’s got a point, Daph. You’ve never actually been the victim of a Weasley prank. So, frankly your opinion doesn’t matter.”

Daphne flips Adrian off and picks her magazine up again. “I’m just saying. There are better things for Y/N to focus her attention on than those stupid Weasleys.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’d like to see you ignore them after they charm your shampoo to turn your hair neon yellow. It didn’t go back to normal for weeks!” Adrian laughs at the memory, and Y/N punches him in the thigh. “Watch yourself, Pucey or I’m gonna put yellow dye in your shampoo.”

“Trying to get in the shower with me, are you?” Adrian teases, throwing his arm over Y/N’s shoulder.

“In your dreams,” Y/N responds, picking up the book she had discarded after a particularly loud shout came from one of the Weasley twins.

She can feel Adrian chuckle as she leans into his side. “I’ll see you there.”

-

Y/N had almost forgotten about the Weasley twins entirely until she feels something hit her in the back of the head during dinner. She picks a piece of mashed potato out of her hair as she turns around, her eyes like daggers as she searches for the culprit. Of course, Fred and George are laughing to themselves, each of them waving at her as they make eye contact.

“Nice to see your hair back to normal, Y/N!” One of them, Fred she thinks, shouts at her.

“Yeah, I reckon if your hair had been yellow any longer you’d have to join Hufflepuff,” the other teases, causing the Gryffindors around them to laugh.

Y/N goes to stand up so she can knock the grins off of their faces, but Adrian puts his hands on her shoulders and forces her to sit back down. “It’s not worth it,” he hisses into her ear. “Not in front of all of the professors. Be smart about your revenge.”

Y/N glares at Adrian, but she relaxes, nonetheless. As much as she hates to admit it, Adrian is right. It’s only the first day back, she doesn’t need to go and get detention and lose Slytherin a bunch of points. Not yet at least.

“Hey Marcus, do me a favor and knock them off their brooms first chance you get.”

-

“You’re awfully cheery this morning,” Y/N comments to Daphne as they head up the stairs towards the Great Hall.

“What isn’t there to be cheery about? It’s the first day of the school year. Our last school year,” Daphne responds dreamily.

Y/N snorts in laughter, rolling her eyes at her best friend. “Ah yes. The hardest year of school yet, that certainly is something to be happy about.”

“Oh NEWTS? Who cares about those,” Daphne says casually as they enter the Great Hall and head towards the Slytherin table. “You don’t need good grades in school to be a good wife and mother.”

Y/N scoffs, choosing not to say anything. Unlike Daphne and most of the other girls in her house, she plans on actually having a career of her own. It is common for pureblood families to marry off their daughters to the sons of other pureblood families and often times the mark of a good pureblood girl wasn’t her brain, but her ability to stay silent, look pretty and boss around a house elf.

Thankfully, Y/N’s parents hadn’t raised her with the same values. They didn’t believe in the same archaic things most pureblood families did, and they had raised Y/N to have loftier ambitions than to be someone’s wife and a mother. Y/N’s father always joked that she had inherited her mother’s smart mouth, so it would be impossible for them to marry her off anyway.

“Just because you don’t care about your grades doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t. Right, guys?” Y/N asks as they sit down, looking for both Marcus and Adrian to back her up.

“Are you guys on this again?” Adrian asks, rolling his eyes. Much like Y/N’s hatred of the Weasley twins, Daphne failing to take school seriously was a frequent topic of conversation in their friend group.

“No need to get your panties in a twist, Pucey,” Y/N teases as she grabs some toast. “Daph is free to sit back and spend her last year of school doing nothing, but I on the other hand plan on actually doing good on my NEWTS. So, feel free to slack off with her, or study with me, I don’t really care.”

Marcus chuckles at Y/N’s attitude. “Damn, Y/N tell us how you really feel.”

Y/N chucks a piece of toast at Marcus’s head before she reaches for her bag. “Oh, I almost forgot, I’ve got all of your schedules.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a small stack of papers, handing their designated paper to each friend.

“Wow, slacking on your Head Girl duties already and it’s only the first day of term,” Adrian teases with an easy smile.

Y/N flicks his ear. “You’re just jealous that you didn’t make Head Boy.”

Adrian rolls his eyes as he scans over the piece of paper. “Me? An administrative stick in the mud? I don’t think so.”

“Nah mate, you just were looking forward to spending hours alone with Y/N,” Marcus teases, causing both Y/N and Adrian to throw pieces of muffin at him.

“Moving on,” Daphne drawls, clearly tired of their antics. “What’s everyone got first lesson? I’ve got divination.”

When both Marcus and Adrian announce they have Arithmancy, Y/N frowns. “Guess I’ll be heading to Potions alone then.”

-

As Y/N heads down to Potions after breakfast she can feel her mood sinking. Potions is one of her favorite classes, and not just because Snape tends to favor Slytherins. She finds the art of Potions fascinating, and each lesson always tests the bounds of her knowledge. But class is always more enjoyable with her friends around.

Her mood only worsens as the Weasley Twins fall into step beside her, one on each side.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here, Georgie?” the twin on the left, who is obviously Fred, says playfully.

“Looks like little Y/N is heading to potions, Freddie,” George responds, lightly knocking into her shoulder.

Y/N stumbles on the step despite the light touch. Both Fred and George have a good six inches on her, and their time as beaters on the Gryffindor team has obviously left them both toned and muscular.

“And without her little gang of friends, what a shock,” Fred adds with a laugh as Y/N finds her balance.

“Friends? What friends?,” George teases.

When they reach the bottom of the stairs, Y/N glares at each of them. “You two dimwits are in NEWT level potions? Snape must have lowered his standards.”

“Oh Y/N how you wound us,” George gasps, clutching his chest.

Y/N rolls her eyes as they enter the Potions classroom, determined not to let the twins bother her. Daphne did have a point on the train yesterday, there were other things she needed to focus on besides the twins and their stupid games.

She takes her usual seat at the front of the classroom, expecting the twins to slink to the back of the class, far away from Snape’s prying eyes. Her fist automatically clenches when they slide into the seats directly behind her, her nostrils flaring.

This year certainly is going to be the hardest yet, and not just because of the rigorous coursework, Y/N thinks to herself as Snape begins class.

-

“You look, how do I put this nicely.” Marcus pauses. “Flustered.”

Y/N glares at him as she flops down next to Daphne. Potions had been an absolute disaster. She could hardly focus on her Memory Potion, too busy picking out the Jobberknoll Feathers the Weasley Twins kept putting in her hair. She had managed to make something barely acceptable, and Snape’s disappointment was evident.  

“Screw off, Marcus. I just spent an hour dealing with Dimwit 1 and Dimwit 2 standing behind me doing everything in their power to piss me off. So, unless you wanna end up with your head in one of those pots and dragon dung fertilizer up to your ears, shut your mouth.”

Daphne laughs at Y/N’s outburst. “I told you just to ignore them, Y/N. Although dragon dung fertilizer up to the ears does sound like the perfect revenge plan. Not that I’m condoning letting someone, or someones, get under your skin so badly that you need revenge,” she pauses, winking at Y/N. “But if I were I think that would be the way to go.”

Before Y/N can get too lost in the thought of burying Fred and George in Dragon Dung Professor Sprout is entering the Greenhouse and starting class. But she definitely pushes the idea to the back of her mind for future consideration.

-

“I’m going to fling myself off the top of the astronomy tower,” Y/N announces as she collapses next to Daphne in the common room. After her short break from the Weasley Twins in Herbology, Y/N had to suffer through a double transfiguration and a charms lesson with them both sitting too close for comfort.

“Could you at least wait until it’s closer to the end of term? We could probably get an extra week off at the Christmas holiday,” Adrian says, not even bothering to look up from the Quidditch playbook in his lap.

Y/N groans, putting her head in her hands. “I need better friends, none of you are sympathetic of my suffering.”

“If you need sympathy go hang out with some Hufflepuffs,” Daphne tells her, throwing her arm around Y/N’s shoulder. “What did the twins do this time?”

Instead of answering Y/N reaches for her bag and pulls out her charms book, handing it over to Daphne. “Go ahead. Try and open it.”

Daphne gives her a look as she cautiously takes it from her hands. She shares a look with Marcus and Adrian, who were finally intrigued enough to pay attention, before she slowly opens it. As soon as it falls open there’s a whizzing noise followed by loud pops as a mini firework show starts to go off. Daphne squeals and quickly shuts the book, her eyes wide.

“What in the hell was that?” she asks, tossing it back to Y/N.

“Whatever it was it was kinda cool. Open it again,” Marcus says with a laugh.

Y/N glares at him and shoves the book back in her bag. “Fred and George did something to it, obviously. It scared the shit out of me when I opened it in class. Flitwick took 30 points! 20 for the interruption it caused and 10 for the curse word I yelled.”

Adrian and Marcus erupt in a fit of hysterics as they imagine the scene it must have caused, and Y/N gets up so she can beat both of them with a pillow. They both pick up their own pillows to retaliate, and the three of them spend the next several minutes hitting each other. It only ends when a spare pillow ends up flying over and smacking Pansy Parkinson in the back of the head, causing all four of them to collapse in fits of laughter.

Y/N is the first to calm down, wiping a few stray tears from her eyes. “Oh, that was absolutely incredible. Just what I needed.” As the rest of her friends pull themselves together Y/N grabs her bag. “Come on, let’s go to dinner. I wanna catch Dimwit 1 and Dimwit 2 so I can make them fix my stupid book.”

-

When the four of them arrive at the Great Hall Daphne, Marcus and Adrian head towards the Slytherin table, while Y/N makes a beeline towards the Gryffindor table. “Oi! Weasley!” When three red heads whip around to look at Y/N she sighs. Only one of the twins is sitting at the table, and it’s a 50/50 chance she gets it right, so she decides to just take a guess at which one it is. “George!”

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” George asks as Y/N reaches the table.

She smiles to herself, proud that she had gotten it right. Y/N had never taken the time to learn the differences between the two, but now that she’s examining George she can tell that his eyes are softer, like there’s some reservation behind them. She takes out her charms textbook and places it on the table in front of him.

“Fix it,” she demands.

“Fix what?” he asks coyly, a mischievous smile on his face.

Y/N clenches her fist and takes a deep breath, trying to keep her composure. “Don’t play stupid, Weasley. Just fix my book.”

George laughs. “Who said I’m playing stupid? You’re the one that called me a dimwit earlier, and you’re right. I am a dimwit.”

Their exchange has caught the attention of the Gryffindors sitting around them, and they’re all watching Y/N intently, smiles playing at the corners of their mouths.

“Look, your stupid little prank has already served its purpose. It scared me and I lost Slytherin some points. Just fix the damn thing, will you?” Y/N is starting to get desperate, but she doesn’t let it show. She keeps her expression blank, not wanting George to know how truly bothered she is.

“I don’t know. Maybe I would be more inclined to fix it if you asked me nicely, Y/N,” his tone is teasing, so much so it almost sounds condescending. The students sitting around them laugh lightly, waiting to see what Y/N does next.

Y/N grits her teeth, weighing her options in her head. She could stand here and nicely ask George to fix her book, or she could walk away and send an owl home to have her parents send her a new one. And even though she is tempted to just take the easy way out, she’ll be damned if she lets a Weasley twin get one over on her.

She takes a deep breath and plasters a sickeningly sweet, fake smile on her face. “George, would you please fix my Charms book?”

A look of surprise quickly crosses George’s face, before he replaces it with an easy smile. “Of course, Y/N. Thank you so much for being a good girl and asking nicely.” The Gryffindor table is basically in full on hysterics by now, and Y/N can feel her cheeks heating up. As soon as George has pressed his wand to her book and muttered the countercharm she snatches it off the table.

“Thanks so much, George,” she forces out, before she turns to head over to the Slytherin table. “Fucking prick.”

She sits down between Adrian and Draco Malfoy with a huff, already trying to figure out what her revenge will be. The conversation she’d had with Marcus and Daphne in Herbology pops back into her head and a wicked smile forms on her face.

-

“Why couldn’t you get Daphne to do this? It’s freezing out here,” Adrian whispers as he shivers.

Y/N rolls her eyes as they tiptoe through the greenhouse. “And you lot call me dramatic.” They both freeze in place when they hear a creek, but when no other noise comes they continue on. “Daphne Greengrass, awake past 10 pm? Ms. Beauty sleep is a nightmare if she doesn’t get a full 8 hours, you know that.”

When they reach the container Professor Sprout keeps the Dragon Dung fertilizer in she turns to Adrian, giving him a mischievous grin. “Besides, you know you’d regret it if you didn’t come with me. Now quick, hand me the bags.”

After they get the required materials from the Greenhouse, she and Adrian quietly sneak back in the castle and head up towards the Owlery. It takes them longer than anticipated, since they have to keep ducking behind statues and into classrooms to avoid Filch and Mrs. Norris, but eventually they make it. They both sigh in relief when they return to the common room 30 minutes later, the final part of Y/N’s plan in place for the morning.

“You kind of amaze me, you know that?” Adrian says with a laugh as they both head towards the staircases that lead to their dorms.

Y/N chuckles and shakes her head. “You’re only nice to me so you don’t end up on the end of one of my revenge plans.”

-

The next morning Y/N is up bright and early, her body practically vibrating with excitement. Despite the fact that the Weasley Twins have been pulling pranks on her since first year, this is the first time she’s decided to retaliate.

She could deal with most of their antics. Locking her in the toilets, charming her shampoo, hitting her with snowballs and every other little trick or joke they pulled, Y/N could just grin and bear it. But having to stand in the middle of the Great Hall and practically beg George to fix her book was her tipping point. She can practically still hear him calling her a good girl and it causes a shiver to run down her spine. After today Fred and George will certain think twice about messing with her.

“Hurry up!” she urges her friends as she races to the top of the stairs. The owl post will be arriving in a few minutes, and there is no way she’s missing the big show. Adrian picks up his pace to meet her, but Daphne and Marcus continue up the stairs slowly, caught up in conversation. “You lot are hopeless.”

Y/N practically skips into the Great Hall and after sitting down where she knows she’ll have the perfect view of what’s about to happen she rubs her hands together. Daphne and Marcus give her a confused look as they sit down across from her and Adrian, who thankfully shares her excitement.

“What has gotten into you, Y/N, you look like you’re about to jump out of your skin,” Daphne comments, sounding slightly concerned that her friend may have gone mad.

As the first few owls start to fly in, Y/N grins and gestures towards the Gryffindor table. “Shush, shush. Just look over there and you’ll find out.”

Y/N holds her breath as two familiar owls fly in, each of them holding a package. They soar towards the Gryffindor table, and instead of gracefully dropping their parcels in front of their recipients they drop them a few moments early. The brown paper bags explode as they hit Fred and George at the same time, Dragon Dung Fertilizer pouring down their heads and onto their shoulders and laps.

The entire Great Hall is silent for a moment, before nearly every student bursts into laughter. The most noise comes from the Slytherin table, and Y/N’s chest swells with pride. Adrian pats her on the back as Daphne and Marcus turn back to congratulate her on a prank well done.

Y/N can’t stop looking at the Twins, and her breath catches in her throat when they return her gaze. She sends them both a wink and a wave, giggles still falling from her lips.

-

“You think you’re hilarious, don’t you?” George asks Y/N as he and his brother slide into the seats behind her and Daphne in Defense Against the Dark Arts that afternoon. She hasn’t seen either of them since they left the Great Hall to get cleaned up, but at lunch Astoria informed her that Ginny Weasley had told her that both boys were quite annoyed.

Y/N laughs but doesn’t turn around to look at either of them. “Nice to see you boys managed to clean up.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Y/N,” Fred says, leaning forward in his seat to ensure Y/N hears him.

She rolls her eyes, but still doesn’t look back at them. “What? You can’t take what you dish out? I thought you two were tougher than that.” Daphne nudges Y/N, gesturing to the front of the classroom where Professor Umbridge is now standing, clearly telling her to knock it off with the twins.

“Oh, it’s on. You have no idea what you’ve started,” George whispers at her. She imagines that he’s trying to sound threatening, but she can hear the smile in his voice.

As Professor Umbridge starts rambling on about her expectations, Y/N turns to face the twins. “Bring it on, bitch.”

-

“No magic? No practical lessons? She was joking, right?” Y/N rambles as they head towards the Great Hall for dinner. They’ve all just come from a dreadful Defense Against the Dark Arts class, where Professor Umbridge had made it very clear that they’d be spending the year doing nothing but reading from their textbooks.

Daphne rolls her eyes. “Frankly I don’t see what the big deal is. She’s not wrong, our Defense Against the Dark Arts classes have been all over the place. I think it’s a good thing that we’re finally going to have some structure and unity.”

Y/N groans, looking to Adrian and Marcus for support. She frowns when they both refuse to meet her gaze. “That’s because you don’t care about doing good on your NEWTS. You don’t need an O on your exams to marry Marcus or whoever your parents have picked out for you to be with after graduation,” she spits.

Before Daphne has the chance to pick her jaw up off of the ground and respond, Y/N is turning around and heading away from her friends, needing to be alone.

-

“Are you alright?”

Y/N picks her head up from where she had buried it in her arms, surprised to see Ginny Weasley standing in front of her. She nods as she uncurls her body, stretching it out slightly. She had taken refuge on a random bench in one of the corridors and after sitting on the stone for a few hours her body has begun to ache. She moves down the bench a little and gestures for Ginny to take a seat.

While the Weasley Twins are Y/N’s least favorite people in the world, she actually doesn’t mind their siblings. She had gotten to know Percy quite well, since they had been Prefects together for a year before he had become Head Boy, and he had helped her out on quite a few transfiguration assignments during her OWL year. All she knows about Ron are the things Draco has said, but she doubts that anything that comes from his mouth is true. She’s never had a conversation with Ginny, but Daphne’s younger sister Astoria is quite friendly with her, so if she’s willing to befriend a Slytherin she’s alright in Y/N’s book.

“You seemed pretty angry earlier, before dinner. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Y/N fidgets with her school robes as her cheeks flush, she had been hoping that no one had witnessed her outburst. She had heard too often that Slytherins were mean and evil, so she always did her best to contain her emotions around others, not wanting to perpetuate the stereotype even further.

“You saw that then?” When Ginny nods she sighs. “It’s just been a frustrating few days and I love my friends, but they don’t always get it. That stupid Umbridge is really going to screw me over this year and I can’t fail now. Not when I’ve spent the last seven years working my ass off.”

“I’m really sorry, Y/N that sounds awful. There’s going to be this, thing. A meeting or whatever. Next weekend during the first Hogsmeade trip,” Ginny pauses so she can tuck a piece of parchment into her hand. “Stop by, it might be, uh helpful to you.” With a warm smile and a pat on the shoulder Ginny leaves Y/N alone.

With a heavy sigh Y/N starts to head to the common room. She uncurls the piece of paper Ginny had handed her, fearful that this might be some elaborate set up for one of her brother’s tricks.

Hogshead Inn, 12 pm, is all the paper reads in neat handwriting that Y/N doesn’t recognize. She shoves the piece of parchment into her pocket as she reaches the dungeons, trying to decide whether or not to go.

-

The rest of the week and the next pass by slowly much to Y/N’s dismay. Things between her, Marcus and Adrian returned to somewhat normal, but Daphne is still refusing to speak to her. No matter how many times Y/N apologized Daphne just kept ignoring her. The fact that the Weasley Twins were lurking behind every corner just pushed Y/N closer to the edge, so by the time Saturday arrived Y/N didn’t care if the note Ginny had slipped her the previous week was the bait for an elaborate prank. She just needed some sort of human interaction.

Due to her and Daphne’s still strained relationship and the first Slytherin Quidditch practice of the school year, Y/N is all alone as she heads to Hogsmeade. Normally she’d not even bother going if her friends didn’t accompany her, but her lack of company makes it easier for her to slip down the forgotten path that leads to the Hogshead Inn.

She looks the dim building up and down as she approaches, grimacing at its appearance. Adrian and Marcus had tried to convince her and Daphne to enter the pub with them during one of their first trips to the little village on the outskirts of Hogwarts, but the girls had overpowered them, and dragged them into Honeydukes instead.

She pauses briefly at the entrance, trying to prepare for the things that could be waiting for her on the other side. She enters through the door slowly, her eyes widening in surprise at the scene she’s met with. It certainly is not what she had expected. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger are sitting in front of the unlit fireplace, with more than a dozen chairs facing them. Some are empty, while others are taken up by students that Y/N vaguely recognizes. Ginny gives her a wave when they make eye contact, motioning for her to take a seat.

Y/N sits down in a seat towards the back and fidgets with the sleeves of her jumper. She’s relaxed slightly since she entered, this clearly wasn’t some elaborate prank set up by Fred and George, but she’s still unsure of what she just walked in to.

“What are you doing here?” Comes a voice from behind her, causing Y/N’s shoulders to tense up. She turns around only to be met with Fred and George.

“Come to spy on us, Head Girl? Want to get all of our secrets and then run off to the greaseball you call Head of House to tattle on us?” Fred sneers as he and George push past her to take the seats in front of her.

Y/N rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. “Clearly I’m here for the same reasons you are, moron. If I was spying on you why would I just be sitting here out in the open?”

Truly, Y/N has no idea what she’s doing there, Ginny had been extremely vague. All she knows is that this meeting will somehow make dealing with Umbridge better, and after the awful start to term she’s had Y/N is willing to do anything at this point.

Before either Fred or George can respond, Hermione is urging everyone to take a seat so they can begin.

-

45 minutes later Y/N is standing behind Fred and George, waiting her turn to sign the paper that will make her an official member of Dumbledore’s Army. Y/N was skeptical at first about getting involved in whatever Harry and Hermione had cooked up. But as Harry talked more, about needing real, practical knowledge Y/N couldn’t help but agree. She had always been so focused on school and her future career that she never even considered what lay waiting for them outside of Hogwarts’ protective walls.

Y/N hadn’t known Cedric well. A conversation or two during Prefect duties, idle pleasantries in the hall, but that was it. But she had spent much of her summer vacation thinking about him, and about what Dumbledore had said about his death. While her friends and many of her housemates thought Dumbledore was an old crack pot, Y/N trusted and believed him. Her parents did as well, and they had talked about the first wizarding war with her over dinner on several different occasions.

As she listened to Harry talk about what he had seen and what he has already dealt with, Y/N knew that she needed to be a part of whatever he was planning. Being able to get some practice with actual defensive magic would surely help her when it came to end of the year exams, but if they truly were getting ready for another war, it may just help save her life.

As she heads back towards school, she can’t help but think about a conversation she’d had with her father not too long before the school year started again. He had reminded her that she had been placed in Slytherin house because of her ambitions in life, and her willingness to do whatever it takes to get there. Before he had kissed her goodnight he told her that it wasn’t always what you know, but who you know and that the people she surrounded herself with was just as important as focusing on her studies.

At first she had scoffed at his thinly veiled digs at her friends. Y/N has been friends with Marcus, Daphne and Adrian since first year, and she had never felt the need to expand her circle. Her parents were quite familiar with the families her friends came from, and the values they held. She knew that her parents didn’t exactly like her friends but were still supportive of Y/N and the relationship she formed with them.

But now, after seeing how badly the Daily Prophet was slandering both Dumbledore and Harry and hearing directly from Harry what he’d been through, Y/N understands what her father was saying. The Greengrass’ and Flint’s had been suspected Death Eaters all those years ago and its likely members of Adrian’s family had ties to Voldemort as well. Her father had been encouraging her to seek out new friendships to try and protect her from the Dark Arts that seemed very attractive to members of Slytherin house.

She’s so lost in thought that she doesn’t hear the Weasley Twins coming up behind her until they’re knocking into her shoulders as they pass by. She flips them off behind their backs, trying to ignore their chuckling.

“I can’t believe I just signed up to spend even more time with those twats,” she mumbles to herself as the castle comes into view. While she doesn’t mind having Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny on her side, she plans on staying as far away from the Weasley Twins as possible.

-

That night at dinner Y/N is listening to Adrian and Marcus bicker over what drills to run during their next practice when her mouth starts to tingle. Her eyes widen when she takes another sip of pumpkin juice and the sensation only gets worse. Adrian and Marcus give her a concerned look as she begins to fidget and from the corner of her eye Y/N can see that Daphne is watching as well.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Adrian asks as Y/N slaps her hands over her mouth.

Except she can’t respond. Her tongue has started to swell in her mouth so much so that it’s trying to force its way past her lips. It feels like it weighs a ton and as the pain increases she has no choice but to let it slowly seep out of her mouth.

“What’s the matter, Y/N?” she hears George shout from the Gryffindor table, causing groups of students to look over at her. She’s desperately trying to contain her growing tongue as she gets up to head to the Hospital Wing.

“Cat got your tongue?” she can hear Fred call behind her, nearly drowned out by the peeling laughter coming from the Great Hall.

-

When she gets back to the common room that night, Y/N is expecting it to be empty. But when she’s barely closed the door behind her a mess of black curls takes over her vision and arms wrap around her tightly.

“Oh, thank Merlin you’re alright. I thought you would have been back ages ago. What happened?” Daphne asks as she lets go. She leads Y/N over to a set of couches in the corner, where Adrian and Marcus are waiting for them.

Adrian pulls her down next to him and Daphne sits so close to Y/N on the other side that she’s practically in her lap. “Would you all stop fussing? I’m fine, honest,” she says with a reassuring laugh. While Y/N is fine, she can’t help but lean into Adrian’s side, feeling relieved that things are back to normal between the four of them.

“Let me guess, Weasley Twin revenge?” Marcus asks.

Y/N nods, smiling when Daphne curses them under her breath. “A creation they like to call Ton-Tongue Toffees. They must have managed to get it into my goblet or something, so it melted into my pumpkin juice. It took ages to get the swelling to go down but Madam Pomfrey managed it. I’ve just spent the last 45 minutes listening to Snape try and get the maximum punishment for them.”

Y/N knows that not many people like Snape, that it’s really only Slytherins that appreciate him. It’s no secret that he favors his house almost unfairly so, but she doesn’t really mind it when he’s advocating for them. The twins had technically poisoned her, which is something Snape had pointed out when McGonagall suggested only taking points away from the boys for a “harmless” prank. Snape had managed to negotiate on Y/N’s behalf, and the boys will now be serving a week’s detention with Snape.

“So, what are you gonna do to get back at them?” Daphne asks, causing all three of them to give her a look. “What?”

“What happened to all that crap about just ignoring them?” Marcus teases.

Daphne rolls her eyes. “To hell with all that. They want a prank war? Well then let’s show them what being a Slytherin is all about.”

-

By the time Monday morning rolls around Y/N is in such a good mood that she practically skips down the stairs to Potions. The fake Galleon Ginny had slipped her during lunch yesterday had burned red this morning, letting Y/N know that the DA’s first official meeting would be taking place this Thursday. So not only was she going to get some real defensive magic training, but after the Twin’s prank on Saturday evening her and Daphne were able to properly make up and she had her friends back.

She bites her lip as the twins fall in step beside her once again, determined not to let their presence ruin her mood.

“How’s your tongue feeling this morning?” Fred asks from her right side.

“Any bloating? Tingling? Lasting side effects?” George teases from her left side.

Y/N shakes her head and chuckles. “It’s okay boys, go ahead and make your jokes. I want you to remember how good you feel now, because once I’ve gotten you back you’ll wish you’d never messed with me.”

She can hear them both laugh as they enter the Potions class and take their respective seats. “Really? Already planning your next late-night trip into the greenhouses?” George muses.

Y/N turns in her seat so she can look each of them in the eyes. “Oh, you poor, sweet, boys,” she mocks. “When I’m done with you the dragon dung fertilizer you took to the head will seem like a shower of rose petals.” She gives them a sly wink, and turns back around, their shocked expressions still dancing around in her brain.

-

“So, you figured out what you’re going to do them, then?” Daphne asks excitedly after Y/N has finished recounting her conversation with Fred and George to her and Marcus in Herbology. Professor Sprout has tasked them with dissecting Shrivelfigs, so the three of them can talk freely. Even though her and her friends had spent most of Sunday trying to concoct the perfect revenge plan they had come up with nothing that was quite right.

“I guess you could say that.” When Marcus and Daphne give her questioning looks she giggles. “I’m not going to actually do anything to them.” When they both still look confused she rolls her eyes. “I’m just going to let them think that something big is coming. That way they’re always on edge when I’m around, always looking over their shoulders, waiting for some huge prank to befall them. It’ll drive them bonkers trying to figure out when and where it’s gonna happen.”

Marcus gives Y/N a look of appreciation. “Damn, that’s pretty brilliant, Y/N.”

Y/N bows at his praise, causing Daphne to chuckle. “What they got this morning is just a taste of what I have planned for tonight.”

-

Y/N sneaks out of the common room that night, not too long after dinner. She knows that Fred and George will be serving detention with Snape and that it’s the perfect opportunity to mess with them.

When she reaches the Potions classroom she pauses just outside the door to ensure that Snape isn’t actually still in the room with the boys. When all she can hear is the clatter of cauldrons and Fred and George’s soft voices, she decides to go for it.

“Excuse me, Professor?” Y/N asks innocently as she enters the classroom. “Oh, boys! What a treat, seeing you down in our ends this late at night.” Y/N walks further into the classroom and she can’t help but smile as the twins start to fidget.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” Fred asks, eyeing her warily.

She puts the most innocent look on her face as she can, blinking up at the two of them. “I’m looking for Professor Snape. Is he around?”

“No, he left us alone quite a bit ago,” George responds. Y/N can tell he’s trying to hide how nervous he sounds. Fred seems like the one to never back down, so Y/N switches her tactic slightly. She starts to walk closer to George and she has to bite her lip to keep the smile off her face as he tries to subtly move away from her.

“That’s a shame. I have a question I need to ask him.” Y/N leans against the table, moving that much closer to George. “Did he say when he was going to be back?”

“He didn’t,” Fred answers, making direct eye contact with Y/N. She returns his gaze, not backing down until he looks away from her.

Feeling accomplished Y/N smacks the table with her palm and stands back up. “Well I guess I’ll leave you boys to it.” She heads towards the door. “Have fun.” With one final wink she’s out the door, laughing to herself as she goes.

-

Before Y/N knows it, Thursday has already arrived. She tries her best to contain her excitement, but as the first DA meeting approaches it’s getting harder and harder. She feels bad for not telling her friends about what she’s involved in, but she knows it’s for the better. They certainly wouldn’t approve of the unofficial club, and she doesn’t want to chance that they’ll blow the whole operation in to Umbridge.

“I’ll see you guys later,” Y/N says with a wave as she heads to leave the common room. She  told the others she had some Head Girl duties to take care of so they wouldn’t try and come with her when she left.

As she heads towards the room of requirement Y/N takes the time to glance over her shoulder every once in a while to make sure no one is following her. She had been the only Slytherin in attendance at the Hogshead Inn, and she doesn’t need to be trusted even less by bringing unwanted guests with her.

When she finally enters the room of requirement it’s a bit crowded, but she can tell that not everyone has arrived yet. Ginny waves at Y/N, motioning for her to come and join her and Hermione. She’s silently thankful for her invitation so she doesn’t have to stand there by herself and goes to join the two girls.

“Hey, Ginny. Granger,” she greets them both with an awkward wave. She doesn’t know much about Hermione, again, having only heard about her from Draco. She’s had to interact with her a few times due to Hermione being a prefect, but for some odd reason she trusts Ginny, so she figures that Hermione is alright to hang out with.

“Y/N I’m really glad you decided to join. Not only is it probably helpful to have the Head Girl on our side, it’s also really nice to have some house diversity,” Hermione says with a genuine smile.

Y/N can feel her cheeks start to heat up, so she clears her throat, giving her a moment to regain her composure. “Thanks, Hermione. I never really understood it, all of the house rivalry mumbo jumbo. I’m just supposed to automatically hate you because some hat put you in one house over another? Seems silly to me.”

She hears someone scoff behind her, and she turns to see George standing behind her, his arms crossed over his chest. “What? Got a problem, Weasley?”

“That’s real big talk considering the fact that you’ve had some grudge against me and Fred since first year, Y/N,” he says, looking at her curiously.

“I don’t hate you and Fred because you’re Gryffindors,” she explains with an eye roll. “I hate you because you’re ungodly annoying.” She bites her lip, allowing herself to look him up and down. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and Y/N can’t deny that his arms look downright filthy. She had never truly looked at George, he was quieter than Fred, so he didn’t quite capture her attention like his brother had. But now that he’s standing over her, she can’t deny that he’s attractive. He is most certainly her mortal enemy, but he’s an attractive enemy at least.

“If anything, you and Fred are the ones who started our rivalry,” she continues a moment later when her eyes meet his again. “You locked me in the girl’s bathroom with Moaning Myrtle for three hours on the second day of school, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” George says with a laugh. “Forgot about that.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, turning her attention to Harry as he starts the meeting. He decides to start with something basic but effective, disarming. Y/N could disarm any witch or wizard in her sleep, but not everyone there is at the same skill level, so she’s willing to get some practice in.

They start to break up into pairs and Y/N looks around, trying to find someone, anyone to work with. Of course, George is with Fred, Ginny is already working with a Ravenclaw Y/N thinks is named Luna, and Hermione is with Ron. She ends up locking eyes with Neville Longbottom and she motions for him to come join her.

“I’ll work with you Neville.”

He gives her an appreciative smile, and as he crosses the room George nudges him. “Watch out for her Neville. You never know what she might be up to, this could all be a big ploy to take out the entire Gryffindor house.”

Y/N flips him off, giving Neville a warm smile. “Just ignore him, he’s an idiot.” They both take their stance, wands at the ready. She has heard Draco and his cronies make fun of Neville for hours on end, so she’s not really expecting much to happen.

When Neville waves his wand and shouts Expelliarmus, his own wand flies out of his hand and clatters to the floor at Y/N’s feet. His cheeks turn a bright red, and Y/N can practically feel how embarrassed he is. He looks at her expectantly, like he’s waiting for her to laugh and say something rude.

She sends him a smile and grabs his wand. “That was a really good try, Neville. The first time I tried to disarm someone I nearly blinded Professor Quirrell when my wand shot out of my hand and flew across the room,” she reassures him with a laugh. When Neville laughs too she hands him his wand back. “Here, try moving your wand like this.” She shows him the proper wand movement before she takes her place again. “Ready?”

Two hours later when Y/N is heading back towards the Slytherin common room, she feels accomplished. Neville had managed to get her wand to wiggle in her grip by the end of it, and she could tell he was proud of himself.

Y/N is thinking about all the homework she has to do tonight when someone falls into step beside her. “Alright, give it up, what’s your deal?”

She looks up at George before she examines the rest of the hallway. “Where’s your brother? I thought you two did everything together.”

“He’s down in the kitchens getting food, not that it’s any of your business,” he adds quickly. “And stop dodging the question. What’s your deal?”

She rolls her eyes and stops walking. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” George turns to face her, crossing his arms over his chest. She mirrors his stance, looking up at him.

“Don’t play stupid. You know what I’m talking about.”

Y/N sighs, rolling her eyes again. “So, what because I’m a Slytherin I can’t participate in clandestine clubs? Your sister is the one who invited me to that meeting, so go and ask her why she did it. All I did was show up. I liked what Harry said and since Umbridge isn’t doing anything to help us with NEWTS  I signed up. That’s it.”

George doesn’t respond immediately, instead he studies Y/N’s face, trying to see if she’s lying. He goes to say something when someone interrupts them.

“Mr. Weasley! Ms. Y/L/N!” They both jump as Professor McGonagall comes down the hall towards them. “What are you two doing out past curfew?” Y/N and George look to each other with a worried glance, not entirely sure what to say. “Never mind the reason, you shouldn’t be out of your common rooms at this hour. I’ll have 15 points from each of your houses and I’ll see you both in detention tomorrow evening!”

Y/N gives George one last glare before she stalks all the way back to her common room.

-

“What exactly were you doing standing in a hallway with George Weasley past curfew anyway?” Daphne asks Y/N the next day at lunch.

Daphne had just finished explaining the evening she had planned out for them when Y/N informed her that she’d be stuck in detention with George for the beginning portion of their girl’s night.

Y/N shrugs, trying to act casual. “I finished up my Head Girl stuff and was going back to the common room when I saw him sneaking around. I followed him, figuring I could catch him doing something. I confronted him and McGonagall saw us and gave us detention.”

“Maybe that was his plan all along, maybe he was trying to get you in trouble,” Daphne suggests.

“Yeah but he got in trouble too, Daph,” Y/N reminds her with a laugh.

The other girl shrugs, taking a bite of her Yorkshire pudding. “I didn’t say it was a smart plan.” Marcus and Adrian arrive then, taking their respective seats next to the girls.

“Who didn’t have a smart plan?” Marcus asks as he starts to pile food on his plate.

“George Weasley,” Y/N answers, batting away Adrian’s hand as he tries to steal her roll. “I caught him sneaking around one of the hallways after curfew and McGonagall rolled up on us and gave us detention.”

“Detention? On a Friday night? What about our hot date?” Adrian teases, making another attempt at stealing her roll.

Y/N flips him off and lets him have it. “The only hot date you’re going to have tonight is your right hand.”

-

Y/N groans as she picks up another teapot to clean. Her and George have been serving their detention in complete silence for twenty minutes and her brain feels like it’s going to mush. “Is detention always this boring?” she asks, not really expecting George to respond.

“No. But mostly because I’m usually with Fred, not you,” George replies dully.

“Oh, how you wound me, George,” she responds, mocking the tone he had used with her on the first day of term.

They work together in silence for a few minutes before George puts down the teapot he had been scrubbing and tosses his rag to the side. “So, I asked Ginny,” he says, turning to look at Y/N.

Y/N gives him a look as she turns to face him as well, discarding what she had been doing. “Asked Ginny what?”

George rolls his eyes at her, clearly annoyed that Y/N had forgotten the conversation they had in the hall the previous night. “Why she told you about the meeting at the Hogshead, about Dumbledore’s Army.”

“Oh,” she responds softly. When she had said that to George last night she hadn’t expected him to actually ask, she was just trying to get him to leave her alone. “And what did she say?” George gives her a look, causing Y/N to roll her eyes. “Fine, don’t tell me. You’re the one that brought it up.”

George chuckles at her frustration. “Aw come on, I’m just kidding.” He pauses. “She said that Astoria Greengrass talks about you a ton, about how you’re different than other Slytherins. She said something about how you got into a fight with your friends, and she decided that if she talked to you and you were cool enough, she would invite you.”

“So, I’ve got the Ginny Weasley stamp of approval? I’m honored,” she says with a laugh, her surprise evident in her tone. “Does that make me alright then? Since I’m different than other Slytherins? Whatever that means.”

George shrugs his shoulders. “I think I know what she means.” When Y/N raises an eyebrow at him he continues. “Oh, come on don’t act like you don’t know it. You’re nice.”

Y/N scoffs, lightly shoving his arm. “Slytherins being mean is just a stereotype, George. Tons of the people in my house are nice. Daphne is nice, and so are Marcus and Adrian.”

“Cut the crap, Y/N,” he chides. “Daphne, Marcus and Adrian are nice to you and the other members of your house because you all share that in common. But you’re nice to, well most people honestly. Everyone even, except maybe me and Fred. But we aren’t nice to you either, so I understand it.”

Y/N opens her mouth to respond, but George puts his hand up to stop her. “Take yesterday, for example. I saw you, with Neville. The way you made him feel better about his failure, how you encouraged him and helped him improve. Daphne or Marcus or any other Slytherin wouldn’t have done that. They’d have laughed in his face and you know it.”

“I guess you’re right,” she admits softly, a slight blush on her cheeks from George’s kind words.

“So, you’re so worried about your NEWTs that you’re willing to spend hours practicing a spell you mastered in 2nd year? Thought you were top of our class?” he teases.

Y/N plays with her fingers and fidgets in her seat. She knows the question is innocent, but it feels like George can see right into her soul. That’s he looking at all her worst fears. “I am, yeah. I need at least an Exceeds Expectations on my defense against the dark arts NEWT to be a Healer and I’ve already worked so hard, I can’t screw it up now, not when I’m this close.”

George is silent for a moment and he turns in his chair so he’s fully facing Y/N. When she does the same he speaks. “I didn’t know you want to be a healer.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Weasley. What is it you said? I’m not nice to you and you’re not nice to me. It’s always been that way.”

“Yeah I guess so,” he admits. “I never imagined you as a Healer, if I’m honest. But I think you’ll be amazing at it.”

Y/N blushes and looks down. “Thanks, I appreciate it. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to be, since I was a little kid. I used to pretend to Heal my dolls all the time. My parents even gave me a muggle doctors coat for Christmas once, I wore it like, every day,” she reminisces with a laugh.

George laughs along with her. “I fear that I may have seriously misjudged you, Y/N.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, lightly shoving his shoulder.

George blushes and Y/N finds it endearing. “I figured you and your family were like the other pureblood Slytherin dynasties. That you cared about your grades to make you a more appealing bride or something.”

Y/N nods in understanding. “Yeah I don’t blame you on that one. That’s what most people think. My parents were raised like that and they hated it. All the stupid rules, the lack of freedom. They’re lucky, they were able to find genuine love with each other. And they’re still so in love, it’s actually pretty sickening,” she says with a laugh. “But they agreed that when they had kids they wouldn’t raise them like that. That they’d let them think for themselves, find their own way in life. It’s been so hard, not to send an owl to my dad and tell him all about Dumbledore’s Army.”

“Really? He’d approve of it?” he asks, unable to help how surprised he sounds.

“Oh yeah,” she confirms with a laugh. “He was so angry all summer, with what the Daily Prophet is saying about Harry and Dumbledore. He even not so subtly suggested that I expand my horizons, make some friendships and connections with people from other houses. I think he’d be really excited about what Harry’s doing.”

“That’s actually really cool. I guess I definitely misjudged you then.”

They both get back to work then, but Y/N doesn’t feel as awkward anymore. She’s never bothered to have an actual conversation with either of the Weasley Twins, and she is quite surprised to find that she actually really enjoyed it.

-

When Y/N and George leave the transfiguration classroom a few hours later she’s exhausted and silently thanks Merlin that she is a Witch, because cleaning the muggle way is dreadful. Despite the late hour Y/N is surprised to see that the hallway isn’t empty. Adrian and Fred are leaning up against the wall across from the transfiguration classroom a few feet apart, glaring at each other.

“What are you doing here?” Y/N asks with a soft laugh, altering both boys of their arrival.

“I wanted to make sure George was alright. You’ve been spouting about your grand revenge plan all week, I wanted to make sure you didn’t try and pull anything while you two were alone,” Fred answers, finally looking away from Adrian so he can glare at Y/N.

Y/N rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t talking to you, Weasley. I don’t care why you’re here.” When Fred flips her off she returns the gesture.

“To answer your question,” Adrian starts as he walks towards her. “I came to accompany you back to the common room. A gentleman never lets a lady walk alone at night.”

“Well then where’s this gentleman?” she teases, looking around the hallway.

Before Adrian can respond Fred laughs. “Yeah, I don’t see a lady either.” George’s laughter joins his brothers and Y/N flips them off again.

When Adrian starts to move closer to Fred, Y/N grabs his arm and pulls him into her chest. “Not here, Adrian,” she whispers. “McGonagall is right in there,” she reminds him, gesturing towards the open classroom door with her head.

“You are so lucky, weasel,” Adrian practically growls at him. Y/N wraps her arms around Adrian’s waist and starts to pull him down the hall away from Fred and George. Adrian glares at them one last time before he turns forward and wraps his arm around her shoulder. “You should have let me hit him. One good hit would have been worth a month’s detention.”

“Not this close to quidditch season it’s not. Smack a few good bludgers at him instead,” Y/N pauses and she looks up at Adrian with her best puppy dog eyes. “Piggyback ride? Please?”

Adrian sighs heavily but crouches down in front of Y/N, nonetheless. She squeals in delight, climbing onto her friend’s back. Adrian grips her thighs tightly as he stands. “Ready?” Once he feels Y/N nod he sets off towards the common room. “You’re lucky I love you, brat.”

-

When Fred and George slide into their seats behind Y/N in Potions on Monday morning they don’t say a word. When she saw them enter the room she had tensed up, just waiting for whatever snarky comment they were bound to make. So, when they take their seats without a word, Y/N can’t help but turn around to look at them.

“What’s wrong with you two?” When neither of them responds, Y/N waves her hand in front of their faces. “Hello? Earth to Nitwit 1 and Nitwit 2.” She expected her insult to get them to at least look at her, but both of their focus is on the blackboard in the front of the room. She huffs in annoyance. “Whatever be pricks. I don’t care.” She turns back around and crosses her arms, trying to convince herself that she in fact doesn’t care that they’re ignoring her.

-

“Will you stop staring at them? It’s weird,” Marcus scolds Y/N that night at dinner, kicking her shin under the table to get her attention.

Y/N kicks him back, finally tearing her attention away from Fred and George. “They’re planning something,” she insists.

Daphne rolls her eyes and throws a carrot at Y/N. “First you complain that they’re always loud and bothering you and now you’re complaining that they aren’t bothering you. Will you just give it a rest? Be thankful that they’ve finally decided to leave you alone.”

Y/N sticks her tongue out at Daphne before she takes a bite out of the carrot she had thrown at her. She knows Daphne is right, but she can’t help but be bothered that Fred and George aren’t even trying to annoy her. As much as she hates to admit it, she misses their antics. Y/N had really enjoyed George’s company during their detention and part of her had hoped that maybe their newfound acquaintanceship would have carried over once they were no longer the only people in the room.

So, she had found herself quite disappointed that he hadn’t said a word to her all day. He hadn’t even looked at her. Y/N thought she had felt his gaze on her during Charms, but when she turned around to check he was focused on Flitwick.

“Daph is right,” Adrian whispers in her ear, bringing her thoughts back to the present. “They’re finally leaving you alone, you should be happy.”

Y/N shrugs her shoulders, her gaze falling upon Fred and George once again. “I am happy,” she lies. “I just know them too well. They’re planning something big. They’re trying to throw me off.” She flips her friends off when they all groan.

“What makes you think they’re planning something?” Marcus asks. “Did something happen between you and George during detention? You didn’t say too much about it.”

Y/N bites her lip. She hadn’t said much to her friends about her detention when her and Adrian arrived back in the common room that night, just that it was mind numbingly boring. She didn’t want them to know that she had not only had a conversation with George Weasley, but she had actually enjoyed it.

“No, nothing happened. We sat there cleaning teapots for hours, McGonagall came back and she let us go,” she says with a shrug, trying to seem casual. “He didn’t even say two words to me.”

“Exactly, so chill out. Enjoy the peace,” Daphne says.

When Y/N finally collapses in her bed that night she can’t seem to fall asleep despite how tired she is. She tosses and turns, her mind wandering to George and why she’s so bothered by the sudden lack of attention she’s getting from him. Her stomach lurches, realization hitting her like a ton of bricks.

I have a crush on George Weasley.

-

Y/N spends the rest of the week avoiding both Weasley Twins. She sits as far away from them as possible, refuses to look at them and even goes as far as to hide in an empty classroom when she sees them heading towards her one afternoon. Y/N is determined to extinguish whatever positive feelings she has towards George. She’s spent the past seven years hating his guts, and she is not about to let herself reverse all of that over some stupid crush. Unfortunately for Y/N, on Saturday morning her fake Galleon burns red, letting her know that there will be another DA meeting that night.

Which is why she’s currently heading towards the Room of Requirement, her stomach a pit of dread and despair. “Get it together, Y/N,” she mutters to herself. Y/N is standing just outside the room of requirement and she takes a deep breath to calm herself down.

Y/N pulls the door open and goes to head in, but she runs smack into the chest of someone trying to leave. An involuntary squeal leaves her lips as her body tenses up, preparing itself to hit the ground. Except she doesn’t even fall. A pair of strong arms wrap around her waist and she’s pulled into the other person’s chest.

“Woah there. Watch where you’re going.”

Y/N doesn’t have to look up to know that George Weasley is holding her in his arms. She can feel her cheeks heat up and she pushes away from him, needing to get away from him as fast as possible. “I could say the same to you, Weasley,” she sneers.

Even though her tone is crude Y/N can feel her heart fluttering in her chest and her skin is tingling from his touch. She looks up at his face, letting her eyes linger on his lips for just a second. She tries not to think about what it would feel like for him to grip her waist as they kissed.

“No need to be so feisty, Y/N,” George teases, snapping Y/N out of her thoughts.

She rolls her eyes and steps aside so George can leave, Fred following close behind him. “Maybe if you weren’t trying to mow me down I wouldn’t need to be,” she responds, watching as Fred flips her off behind his back.

She watches them walk away for a moment before heading into the room of requirement. Her palms are sweaty even from that small interaction with George and Y/N tries to subtly wipe them off on her skirt as she joins Ginny, Hermione and Ron in the back of the room.

“Where are they off to?” she asks after they’ve been talking for a few minutes, not wanting to seem too interested in George’s movements.

“Filch has been sniffing around for Umbridge, she knows Harry is up to something. So, Fred and George are going to slip him something that’ll put him out of commission for few hours,” Hermione explains.

Y/N nods. Hermione had made a few complaints to both Y/N and Miles, a Ravenclaw in her year that was Head Boy, that Fred and George had been spending their free time making an array of joke products and then testing them out on first years. “Despite the fact that I have been the victim of a Weasley product, I can’t say I feel bad for Filch.”

Once Fred and George slip back into the room of requirement and give Harry a thumbs up, he starts the meeting. They’re going to continue working on disarming, and Y/N immediately searches for Neville in the crowd. Neville certainly isn’t the most talented wizard, but Y/N can tell that he’s full of determination and she likes working with him. When Harry sets them off to work Neville joins her.

“You better watch out, Y/N, I’ve been practicing,” Neville says with a laugh as they take their stances.

“Alright then, Longbottom, let’s see what you’ve got.”

-

When Y/N leaves the Room of Requirement later that night, she can still hear Neville chattering to his friends happily as they head back to Gryffindor tower. It had taken him most of the meeting, but Neville had finally managed to get her wand to fly out of her hand. She was extremely happy for him as the other members of the DA came around to congratulate him, and not just because George had pressed up against her back as he patted Neville on the shoulder.

“Sneaking away without saying Goodbye, Y/N? I’m hurt,” George scolds teasingly as he comes up behind her.

She rolls her eyes, trying to contain her excitement. “Oh, so you’re speaking to me again?” she says as he falls into step next to her. He’s standing so close that their arms almost brush, and Y/N swallows down the butterflies that come up her throat.

“Aw, did little Y/N miss me?” George teases, shoving her shoulder.

“No,” Y/N responds far too quickly, trying not to get flustered from the contact. “Just surprised that you managed to go a whole week without annoying me that’s all.”

“Uh huh. Sure, whatever you say.”

She bites her lip, trying to contain her glee. Cut it out, she scolds herself. George Weasley is nothing more than an annoying git, you do not like him.

“Why are you following me, anyway? Last I checked Gryffindor’s common room is in the other direction,” she questions as they head down towards the Great Hall.

Y/N watches George shrug out of the corner of her eye. His face is blank, but Y/N can tell that he’s nervous. “Making sure you’re not getting up to anything is all.”

“Or you’re distracting me while your brother sets up some kind of trap,” she responds.

Suddenly she feels George’s hand wrap around her wrist and he’s pulling her into a nearby broom closet. As he slams the door shut behind them Y/N can’t help but notice just how close they are. Her back is pressed up against the wall and George is standing only a few inches away, his hands on either side of her head.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Y/N demands, hoping that her voice doesn’t shake. George is towering over her, and Y/N can see the muscles on his forearms bulging in her peripheral vision. It is taking every ounce of willpower in her body to stay still.

George leans down as he chuckles and his warm breath tickles Y/N’s cheeks, causing a shiver to run down her spine. “I think what you mean to say is thank you because I just saved your ass from serving another detention with McGonagall.”

Her eyebrows knit together in confusion. “McGonagall? I didn’t see-.“ Y/N’s sentence is cut short as George places his hand over her mouth to silence her. Her breathing involuntarily speeds up and she hopes that George can’t feel the blush on her cheeks. Y/N can hear footsteps approaching the broom closet and she closes her eyes in fear of being caught in such a compromising position with George.

Thankfully the footsteps disappear just as quicky as they had come and Y/N sighs in relief when George takes his hand away. “Thank you,” she mutters. Y/N can still feel the imprint of his hand on her mouth and it makes her stomach feel queasy.

“You’re welcome,” George says, sounding pleased with himself. “We should probably stay here for a moment or two longer, just to make sure she’s gone.”

Y/N nods, her head tilting back so she can look at George’s face. She examines his features closely, trying to commit them to memory. After her realization earlier in the week she had spent every moment trying not to think about George, but now that they’re standing there so close he’s the only thing she can think about.

George clears his throat suddenly, breaking Y/N from her thoughts. “We’re uh, we’re probably good to go.”

“Yeah,” she agrees softly, trying not to let the disappointment she feels seep into her voice.

George lingers a moment longer, before he pulls away and slowly opens the door to their hiding spot. Y/N watches as he checks the hallway and follows him out when the coast is clear.

“Well um. Thanks for that,” she stutters, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’ll see you around, I guess.” Y/N starts to walk away, but she pauses when George follows behind her. She turns to look at him. “What are you doing?”

“You might still be up to something. I should follow you, just to make sure,” he responds confidently.

Y/N rolls her eyes but doesn’t say anymore, not wanting her giddiness to become noticeable. They walk side by side silently with Y/N glancing at George every few steps. As they reach the landing Y/N goes to turn down the corridor that will lead her down into the dungeons when she runs smack into someone for the second time that night. Except this time, it’s much less enjoyable.

“Professor Umbridge! I am so sorry,” Y/N apologizes as she fixes her balance. She may hate the woman, but she’ll be nice to her if it’ll get her out of a detention.

“Oh Ms. Y/L/N it is quite alright,” she practically squeaks while smiling at Y/N. Y/N imagines it’s meant to seem sweet, but it looks more like an evil grin. Umbridge’s eyes suddenly narrow as she looks past Y/N at George. “Mr. Weasley! Out in the corridors past curfew again I see. That’ll be detention with me, Monday and Tuesday evening.”

Y/N can hear George sputter behind her, and she turns around, cringing at the angry look on his face. “What about Y/N?” he asks angrily. “She’s out past curfew as well!”

Umbridge tuts, moving past Y/N as she heads back towards her office. “Yes, but Ms. Y/L/N is Head Girl I’m sure she has a good reason for being out in the halls.” Umbridge puts her hand up to stop George from responding. “Now that is enough out of you, Mr. Weasley. I suggest you head back to your common room before I make your detention a whole week.”

They both watch as Umbridge walks away and when Y/N turns to look at George, he’s already watching her. “I’m really sorry about that, George,” she says quietly.

George scoffs. “Yeah whatever.” He stalks off then, and it takes everything in Y/N to not follow behind him.

-

As Y/N enters the common room her plan is to stalk off to her dorm and get in bed as quick as possible. She’s gone through a whirlwind of emotions over the past few hours and all she wants to do is fall asleep, so she doesn’t have to feel any of them. All of that changes however, since when Y/N finally steps into the common room there is music blaring and people are everywhere.

Y/N makes eye contact with Adrian across the crowd and he clumsily waves her over. She slowly makes her way through the crowd. The air is heavy and hot from all of the people and it smells of firewhiskey. When she finally reaches Adrian, he stumbles over his own feet as he pulls her closer and she notices Marcus is seated on the couch with Daphne sprawled out across his lap; all of her friends are clearly very, very drunk.

“Y/N! You made it!” Daphne yells happily when she notices Y/N’s arrival. She wobbles as she gets out of Marcus’ lap and practically falls into Y/N, giving her a tight hug.

“Someone’s having a good time,” Y/N says with a laugh. Drunk Daphne is one of Y/N’s favorite things, and it’s rare that she gets to see it. Daphne is always prim and proper. She never has a hair out of place and she rarely lets herself goof off with her friends; she’s always their voice of reason. So, when she lets loose, she really goes for it, and it always leaves Y/N in hysterics.

“Where’ve you been? Party started ages ago,” Marcus says slowly, his words slurring together. He grabs Daphne’s hands and tries to pull her into his lap, but they’re both so drunk that they end up falling over, and Daphne somehow ends up on the ground with Marcus on top of her.

Y/N and Adrian burst out in laughter, with Adrian leaning on Y/N for support. His drink sloshes in his hand, and Y/N takes it from him to avoid it spilling everywhere. She eyes his glass warily, trying to decide if she wants to join her friends in drunk land. Her plan had been to sleep away her emotions but drinking them away will work just as well.

“I guess I have some catching up to do then.” Y/N downs the entire glass in one go, her warm bed long forgotten.

A few hours and far too many glasses of Firewhiskey later the party has died down and Y/N is slumped over in the corner of the common room, cradled in a large pile of pillows that Adrian had assembled for her. Daphne and Marcus had disappeared several minutes ago, probably to make out somewhere and once they had Adrian moved from the nearby couch to join Y/N. He’s laying on his back, head in Y/N’s lap as he listens to her complain about George Weasley.

“He’s just so annoying,” she drawls, her words coming out fairly jumbled. Y/N has said the same sentence at least five times in the past 10 minutes, but she’s too drunk to remember or care. She’s been rambling on about George and every mildly annoying this he’s done since the moment they’ve met and she’s having a hard time remembering what she’s already mentioned. “And his face, don’t even get me started on his face.”

When Adrian groans she smacks him on the forehead. “Can’t you talk about something else,” he murmurs. “Anything else, please.”

Y/N smacks him on the forehead again before starting to run her fingers through his hair. It’s his only weakness and she’s hoping it’ll keep him quiet. “There is nothing else to talk about,” she says, her tone condescending. “It’s empty up here, no thoughts,” she giggles, hitting herself lightly in the head with her free hand. “No thoughts, just George Weasley and his face. His pretty, pretty face. And oh god his lips. They look so damn soft. D’you think their soft?”

Adrian hums, not really paying attention to the words coming out of Y/N’s mouth. She’d started to lightly scratch his scalp as she talked, and any ability he had to comprehend the English language disappeared. “Yeah sure, whatever.”

Y/N sighs dreamily, thinking about what it would be like to kiss George. “Bet he’s really good at it,” she muses. “And his hands,” she adds a moment later, practically moaning. “They’re so big and strong. He’s got good fingers too. Bet he knows how to use them.” Y/N rubs her thighs together involuntarily as she feels herself starting to get turned on. Y/N’s eyes start to close as the copious amount of alcohol she drank starts to catch up with her. “You wanna know something funny? I don’t hate George Weasley anymore.”

“Is that so?” Adrian mumbles, starting to drift off as well.

“Mhm,” she hums. “I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him.”

-

The next morning Y/N is awake far earlier than she’d like to be. Adrian’s elbow was digging into her back, and she tried to ignore it for as long as possible, but eventually she just gave up and pulled herself off of the floor.

Her head is pounding, she feels groggy and she desperately wants to crawl into her bed. But her stomach grumbles loudly and so instead of dragging her body down the staircase that would lead to her dorm, she drags herself towards the portrait hole, still in the clothes she had on yesterday.

When Y/N finally makes it to the Great Hall she practically crawls over to the Slytherin table and plops down in the first open seat. Thankfully it’s still early, so not many people are around and it’s fairly quiet. She starts to grab random food, not really caring what it is. She’s cursing herself for challenging Adrian to a drinking contest as she goes to grab the pitcher of orange juice, but a large hand beats her to it.

“George?” she asks in surprise when she looks up.

He doesn’t say anything as he fills her goblet up for her. He takes a seat across from her and fills his own goblet before he starts to pile eggs on his plate. “Yes?” he answers casually, as if he eats breakfast with Y/N every morning.

“What are you doing here?” Y/N watches George as he begins to eat, her eyes searching his face for some kind of hint of what he’s up to. George shrugs as a light laugh tumbles from his mouth.

“Eating breakfast?” he asks, gesturing to his plate like it’s obvious. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Y/N rolls her eyes playfully, watching as he grabs an apple. She watches as his fingers wrap around it and she practically drools. A tingle runs down her spine as she imagines his fingers wrapping around something else.

“Obviously I can see that you’re eating,” she says a moment later when her thoughts become PG. “I meant what are you doing sitting here. With me. At the Slytherin table.”

George smirks at her. “Why? Do I make you nervous?” His lips wrap around the apple as he takes a bite, and Y/N has to take a bite of her muffin to stop herself from moaning right there in the middle of the Great Hall.

George’s hair is ruffled from sleep, and he looks cozy in the homemade jumper he’s wearing. His eyes are soft, and his lips look even softer. Y/N is dreaming about what it would feel like to lean across the table and kiss him, when she realizes that he asked her a question.

“Not at all,” she says, her voice shaking. “It just isn’t like you, that’s all. Besides last night when you left it seemed like you were angry at me,” she trails off, her voice soft. She looks down at her plate to avoid his gaze.

“I’m sorry about that, Y/N,” George admits sheepishly. Y/N’s skin tingles when he nudges her leg with his foot under the table. She looks up to meet his gaze, instantly returning his warm smile. “It’s not your fault Umbridge is a toad.”

Y/N laughs, completely entranced by George. “I should have said something. Made up an excuse for you.” She worries her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, waving away her apology. They both just look at each other, the food on their plates long forgotten. Y/N lets her gaze wander to George’s lips again as she thinks about kissing him. She starts to involuntarily inch closer and to her surprise, George starts doing the same thing.

“Uh, Y/N?”

Y/N and George jump apart, startled by the sudden intrusion. Y/N looks over to see Astoria standing next to her, clearly surprised by what she had just witnessed. Y/N feels her cheeks heating up, and she fidgets in her seat.

“Hey, Astoria. What’s up?” Y/N asks, trying to sound casual, like her best friend’s little sister didn’t just catch her about to kiss George in the middle of the Great Hall.

“Daphne is asking for you. She’s throwing up in the dorm bathroom.”

Y/N rolls her eyes with a huff. “Of course, she is, poor girl can’t handle her alcohol.” She stands suddenly, nodding awkwardly at George. “Weasley,” she says curtly. She gives a wayward glance to Astoria before she heads for the exit, trying to walk as quickly as possible without looking like she’s running away.

-

“And you don’t remember anything?” Y/N questions Adrian as they head up to breakfast on Monday morning. After she fled the Great Hall yesterday morning she’d spent the rest of the day with Daphne going between the bathroom in their dorm and her bed, with Astoria sneaking in food for them. As she sat holding Daphne’s hair back Y/N had a chance to replay the events of Saturday night, and all of the things she had said to Adrian about George became clear to her. She was panicking all night, hoping that he didn’t remember any of what she had said.

Adrian nods. “Not a thing. Last thing I remember is you challenging me to a drinking contest. Everything after that is completely blank. Probably due to the 10 shots we took,” he says with a laugh. “I was so confused when I woke up in the common room.”

Y/N breathes a sigh of relief. She’s barely come to terms with the fact that George Weasley is no longer her mortal enemy, but someone she truly cares deeply for, so she is definitely not ready to share that with her friends.

“Why do you care so much? You confess your love for me or something?” Adrian asks as they enter the Great Hall.

Y/N lets her eyes scan the Gryffindor table, a pink blush forming on her cheeks when she spots George. He looks prim and proper in his school robes and his hair is neat. She bites her lip, imagining what it would be like to fuss up his hair with her hands with their bodies pressed together so tightly that their uniforms wrinkled. When George suddenly makes eye contact with her she looks away, bringing her attention back to Adrian.

“Nothing like that,” she insists, shoving him playfully. “I was just rambling on and on. I sounded like an idiot, most of it didn’t even make sense.”

“What didn’t make sense?” Daphne asks as Y/N and Adrian sit across from her and Marcus.  

“The things I rambled on about in Adrian’s ear on Saturday after you two disappeared,” Y/N says with a laugh. She reaches for the orange juice, a small smile appearing on her lips as it reminds her of George.

“Aw you were rambley drunk? How cute. I’m sad I missed it,” Marcus teases.

Y/N throws a grape at him. “If you weren’t so busy sucking face with Daphne, you could have witnessed it.” Marcus and Daphne both blush at that, causing Adrian and Y/N to laugh. “I don’t know why you’re laughing, Pucey. You were cuddly drunk. I ran my hand through your hair, and you were practically mewling.”

Adrian blushes and bats at Y/N’s hand as she pinches his cheek. “Thank god I don’t remember that then.”

-

Unlike last week, Y/N spends most of her time on Monday and Tuesday trying to get close to George. She heads to meals a tad earlier than her friends, hoping that he’ll join her briefly. She gets to class early, hoping that he may arrive on his own and they can talk. But every time she tries she either doesn’t happen to run into him or he’s too busy messing around with Fred to notice her presence.

“Oof. Sorry,” Y/N grunts as she runs into someone. One of the Ravenclaw Prefects is sick, so Y/N  volunteered to spend most of her Tuesday night patrolling the halls of the castle. Patrolling was one of her favorite duties as a Prefect, since it gave her time to just be by herself and think. She had let her mind wander to George, and she was in the middle of quite the raunchy daydream.

“What are you doing? Trying to mow me down?” the person asks with a chuckle.

“George, hey,” she greets airily. Y/N takes a step back so she can look up at him, a dopey smile on her face. “What are you doing out here? Kinda late, innit?”

“Maybe I’m here to see you,” he responds, causing Y/N to look away and blush. “I was serving my detention with Umbridge,” he reminds her, gesturing towards the corridor he had just come down.

She glances at her watch before looking back to him. “And she just let you out now? What did she have you do, polish all those weird cat plates?”

George chuckles. “Writing lines, actually.”

“Must have been enough to fill a book with how late it is,” she jokes as they start to walk together. George fidgets beside her, and she gives him a look. “You alright?”

George hums and absentmindedly brings a hand up to run through his hair. Y/N’s eyes widen when she notices the back of his hand is bleeding, and she grabs it before he has a chance to hide it. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he mumbles, trying to pull his hand away.

Y/N tightens her grip, too focused on his injury to think about how perfect his hand feels in hers. “What is this, George? How did this happen?”

George sighs. “Umbridge had me use her special quill to write my lines.”

Y/N ghosts her finger over the wound, giving George an apologetic look when he winces. As she examines the wound she can make out what is it, the wound in his hand spells out ‘I must not break the rules’ in his messy handwriting. A sudden wave of rage washes over Y/N and she releases George’s hand so she can stomp towards Umbridge’s office.

“Y/N what are you doing?” George asks as he follows, though he’s pretty sure he knows that answer.

“I’m going to go give that toad a piece of my mind. That’s how she punishes people. Torture? That’s mental.”

George catches up to her quickly, and he wraps his fingers around her wrist, pulling her into his chest. He wraps his arms around her shoulders, holding her tightly against him. She breathes in his scent, wanting to just melt into his embrace. But she resists the urge and struggles against it, desperately trying to get out.

“Let me go, George,” she grumbles, wiggling in his grip.

“Absolutely not, Y/N. What good is yelling at her going to do? All that’s going to do is get you in detention as well and I’m not going to let you do that to yourself.”

Y/N wiggles against his grip for a few more moments before she gives up, her anger deflating. She relaxes in George’s arms and buries her face in his chest. She feels lightheaded as she takes slow, deep breaths, enjoying being this close to George. They stand like that for a few minutes, just enjoying being in each other’s presence, only breaking apart when they hear the door to Umbridge’s office open.

“Shit,” George whispers. He releases Y/N from his grip so he can grab her hand, intertwining their fingers. “Quick, follow me.” George leads them down the hallway and through a few different corridors before he stops in front of a tapestry.

“What are you doing?” she asks as the sound of footsteps echoes through the empty space.

George shushes her, and Y/N watches in amazement as he taps his wand to the tapestry, and it swings to the side, revealing a hole in the wall.

“Woah, this is so cool,” she comments as George pulls her in behind him. The tapestry immediately closes behind them, and George waves his wand so the torches that line the walls light up. “How do you know about this place?”

George shrugs, leaning up against the wall. “Fred and I have explored the entire castle. There isn’t a secret passageway or hidden corridor that we haven’t found.”

They stand there in silence while Y/N looks around the small passageway. She can feel George’s eyes on her and she’s doing everything she can to not return his gaze. Her body feels like it’s on fire, the feeling of George’s grip on her shoulders still fresh in her mind.

“You know if you want to spend time alone with me all you have to do is ask,” she teases a moment later, finally looking at George. She’s leaning on the wall opposite him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She starts to fiddle with a stray string on the bottom hem of her skirt, needing to keep her hands busy to avoid wrapping them around George’s tie to pull him close. “You don’t have to keep pulling me into dark rooms.”

George looks Y/N up and down, a smirk forming on his face. “Is that so? After you practically ran away from me at breakfast on Sunday I didn’t think you’d want to be alone with me.” He sounds confident, but Y/N can tell that there’s an underlying tinge of insecurity in his voice.

Y/N frowns and pushes away from the wall so she can take a small step towards him. “I tried to catch you alone all day yesterday and today,” she says softly. “But every time I tried you were with your stupid brother.”

“Well every time I tried to catch you alone you were with your stupid friends,” he says with a chuckle, copying her frustrated tone. George takes a small step towards her, so there’s only a few feet between them.

“I’m sorry, by the way. For running away from you the other day. Astoria startled me and I panicked,” she pauses, taking another small step forward. They’re standing so close that Y/N can smell him, and her brain goes fuzzy. “I should have stayed,” she admits quietly.

George licks his lips as he takes a final small step forward. They’re now only a few centimeters apart, and he grips Y/N’s hip softly. “What would have happened?” His eyes flick down to Y/N’s lips before meeting hers again. “If you had stayed, what would have happened?”

Y/N can feel her heart pounding in her chest, and her face is warm. “I. I would have.”

But she doesn’t get to finish her sentence. George leans down and presses their lips together, kissing her sweetly as his other hand comes up to rest on her neck. Y/N feels lightheaded as her lips start to move with George’s, her arms winding around his neck. George backs them up as he deepens the kiss, pressing Y/N up against the wall. She moans as her back hits the hard stone, allowing George to lick into her mouth.

“I would have done that,” she finishes once George pulls away, her breathing heavy.

George chuckles before kissing her again briefly. “You sound so fucking hot when you moan,” he teases, kissing her again as her cheeks flush pink.

Y/N returns his kiss eagerly, letting her fingers tangle in the hair at the base of his neck as both his hands come to rest on her hips. Her brain is in overdrive, trying to process everything that’s happening. She wants to commit it all to memory, in case this is the only time it happens. She’s thinking about how good of a kisser he is, and how perfectly their mouths fit together when George pulls away.

“Bet you would sound even hotter moaning my name,” he whispers in her ear, before he starts to trail kisses down Y/N’s neck.

A soft whine leaves Y/N’s lips as she tilts her head back, giving George more room to kiss. She tugs his hair and the groan he lets out against her neck goes right to her core and arousal starts to blossom in her stomach. His grip on her hips tightens as he begins to suck a mark into her neck. “George,” she moans, her eyes fluttering closed.

Y/N can feel George smirk into her neck before he pulls away and reconnects their lips. He pushes their bodies together tighter, shoving her legs apart with one of his own. She instinctively grinds down against it to get relief from her aching pussy, causing both of them to moan lowly.

“Holy fuck, Y/N,” George growls as he breaks their kiss. He looks over her as she continues to grind against his thigh, in awe of how beautiful she is. Her face is flushed red, her lips are swollen from his kisses and breathy moans are falling from her mouth as her hips move back and forth.

Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth to try and contain the noises that are creeping up her throat as she works towards her climax. Her hips move sloppily, giving her clit the perfect amount of friction against George’s muscular thigh. “Fuck,” she breathes and opens her eyes so she can gaze into his, a moan falling from her lips when she sees how dark his eyes are.

George kisses her for a brief moment, his cock starting to harden in his trousers. He craves the feeling of her lips, but the noises coming from her mouth are too intoxicating to cut off. “You look so pretty, darling, getting yourself off on my thigh.”

George’s words only turn Y/N on more and she starts to move her hips faster, desperate for her release. “George,” she moans, tugging on his hair again. “Please, please, George,” she begs.

George presses kisses to Y/N’s jaw as his grip on her hips tightens. He pulls her down harder against his thigh and smirks when she whines loudly. “What do you want darling? Hm?”

“I’m so close,” she gasps. “Please, George. Can I,” her words turn into a moan as George forces her down harder against this thigh again. Y/N can feel her climax approaching and her body feels like it’s on fire. “Please, let me come, George. Please,” she begs breathily.

George’s cock twitches in his trousers and he groans as he realizes what Y/N is begging him for. Permission. “Go on darling, come for me.”

George’s voice is husky, and as soon as the words leave his mouth Y/N’s hips stutter as she reaches her climax, George’s name falling from her mouth. She tugs his hair lightly as she comes, pleasure washing over her like a wave. George rubs her hips and presses open mouthed kisses to her jaw and neck as her hips start to slow down.

“Oh my god,” Y/N pants, resting her forehead against George’s shoulder. Her legs feel like jelly and a moan falls from her mouth when she shifts on George’s thigh and her sensitive clit rubs against her panties.

George laughs lightly and brings a hand up to stroke Y/N’s hair. “That was so fucking hot,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her temple. He removes his leg from between hers but keeps a tight grip on her hip to make sure she’s steady. “Like really fucking hot, Y/N. Holy shit.”

Y/N buries her face in George’s neck, pressing a few light kisses to his skin. “No, it was embarrassing,” she mumbles. She’d never felt the need to ask for permission to come with any of the other people she’d been intimate with, but there was something about George. Y/N felt comfortable with him, she felt safe enough to let her walls down; to be completely vulnerable to him.

“Hey, look at me,” he says softly. George waits for Y/N to pick her head up and look up at him before he continues. “You will never have anything to be embarrassed about with me. Ever.”

Instead of responding, Y/N kisses him desperately and reaches down to palm his hardening erection through his trousers. George groans into the kiss, his hips automatically rolling to meet her movements. Her lips start to kiss across his jaw and down George’s neck, nibbling lightly.

Y/N pauses her kissing so she can lean up and whisper into George’s ear. “Your turn,” she teases. George curses softly as she removes her hand from his crotch, and she places a quick kiss on his lips before she pushes him away slightly. Y/N slowly sinks down to her knees and starts to work at the button of George’s trousers.

“God you are gorgeous,” he says dreamily as he tangles his fingers in her hair.

Y/N can feel the blush creeping up her face as she undoes George’s trousers. She looks up at him as she pulls his trousers and boxers down together just enough to free his cock. Y/N slowly wraps her hand around the base of his cock, a smirk forming on her face when he groans.

George’s grip on her hair tightens as Y/N begins to slowly stroke him. “Merlin that feels good,” George moans, causing Y/N to increase her pace.

She leans forward and takes him into her mouth, her hand continuing to stroke what she can’t fit in her mouth. George is quite well endowed, and Y/N rubs her thighs together as she starts to bob her head, imaging what he’d feel like inside her.

“Such a good girl. Sucking my cock so well,” George praises. His breathing starts to get heavier as Y/N’s tongue starts to swirl around his sensitive head and when she looks up at him he has to look away to avoid coming right then and there. Y/N looks absolutely sinful with her lips wrapped around his cock, and George is sure that image will be imprinted in his brain forever.

George’s grunts echo throughout the passageway as Y/N starts to move faster, wanting George to fill her mouth with his release. She takes him down even further, gagging slightly when the tip of his cock hits the back of her throat. George uses the grip he has on Y/N’s hair to help guide her head, his hips starting to slowly meet her movement.

Y/N hums in approval and pulls her head off of his cock for a moment to catch her breath. She strokes him with her hand for a moment, her thumb circling his sensitive head. “Fuck my mouth George, please,” she begs, before swallowing him down again.

“Such a dirty girl aren’t you Y/N?” he teases as he wraps his hand in her hair, gripping it tightly. “Such a slut for my cock already, hm?” He lets out a groan as he starts to move her head on his cock, his hips meeting each stroke. “Fuck, darling. Your mouth feels amazing,” he moans, starting to fuck her mouth faster. “Good girl,” he praises as she gags around him.

Y/N can’t help but slip her hand under her skirt and into her panties, letting her index and middle finger toy with her clit. George’s cock is heavy against her tongue and his dirty words are sending shivers down her spine and into her core. She’s still sensitive from her previous orgasm, and she moans around George’s cock as drool drips down her chin. She starts to work her clit faster, her second orgasm quickly approaching.

“Getting close, darling,” he grunts. “Gonna shoot my load right into your pretty little mouth.” George watches as Y/N squirms, a wicked grin forming on his mouth. “Are you touching yourself darling?” A shiver runs down his spine and he slams his cock into the back of her throat harder when she hums around him. “Such a dirty little girl you are, Y/N.” His tone is patronizing, and it only turns Y/N on more. “Love having my cock in your mouth that much, hm?”

Y/N whines around his cock, her hips moving in time with her finger’s movements on her clit. She brings her free hand up under her shirt and bra so she can massage her breast, her fingers pinching her nipple. Her climax is building rapidly, and Y/N looks up at George her eyes full of arousal and desperation.

George bites his lip as he looks down at Y/N, knowing exactly what she needs. His strokes become shallow as his own orgasm approaches, a low moan falling from his lips. “Go on, darling. Be a good girl and come for me.”

Y/N’s whole-body shakes as she comes, her second orgasm even stronger than the first. Her lips clamp down around George’ cock even tighter, bringing him to his climax as well. He pulls her hair as he empties himself into Y/N’s mouth, her name spilling from his mouth in hard pants. She continues to toy with her clit lightly as aftershocks of pleasure continue to roll through her body.

George loosens his grip on her hair as he slowly pulls out, his mouth running dry as saliva and some of his cum dribble down Y/N’s chin. He watches as she swallows his release, his cock twitching at the sight. He tucks his cock back into his trousers, wincing as the head brushes up against the fabric. Y/N looks up at him as she wipes the drool from her chin, looking far too innocent after what just happened. Her lips are red and swollen, almost begging for him to kiss her.

He releases her hair and helps Y/N to her feet. His arms wrap around her waist and he brings their lips together. They kiss slowly and messily, both of them too tired to care. George licks into her mouth, not caring that he can taste himself on her tongue. They stand there kissing for a few minutes, only breaking apart when the need for air becomes too much.

“You think the coast is clear?” Y/N asks with a giggle, her voice hoarse.

George chuckles and presses a kiss to her forehead. “I certainly hope so, because I’m absolutely knackered and if I have to spend another minute in here with you after what just happened I’m not going to be able to control myself.”

-

Wednesday morning arrives far too quickly for Y/N’s liking. She had fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, but when Daphne starts to shake her awake it feels like she hadn’t even slept at all.

“Five more minutes, mum, “ she groans. Her throat feels raw and Y/N can’t help but blush as the memories of last night run through her mind. She had wanted to confess everything to George as they snuck out of the passageway, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.  As they stepped out into the empty hallway the haze of sexual tension around them broke, and when George headed off back to his dorm with nothing more than a wink and a kiss on the cheek Y/N’s stomach sank.

Y/N had felt nothing but pure joy after her and George’s activities and her heart felt as if it would beat out of her chest. She knew that she was in love with him, and after he had been so tender with her she was sure that he returned her feelings. But after he left her behind so quickly, she couldn’t help but think it had all been in her head.

“Five more minutes will turn to 10, which will turn into you missing breakfast. And you know how you get when you’re hungry, so get your ass out of bed,” Daphne scolds lightly.

Y/N groans but rolls out of bed, her heart heavy and her knees aching.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Daphne whispers to Y/N as they enter the Great Hall, gesturing towards Fred and George.

Y/N allows herself to look quickly, her heart rate increasing as her eyes pass over George. Memories of last night swim to the surface, and she swallows hard, willing them away. The twins have their heads together and they’re talking feverishly, clearly up to something. “Dunno really,” she answers, tearing her gaze away. “Probably planning their next prank or something.” Y/N and Daphne sit down with Adrian and Marcus and she grabs some toast, not really feeling up to eating.  

“So, what are you gonna do?” Daphne asks as they start to eat.

Y/N gives her a look. “What am I gonna do about what?”

Daphne rolls her eyes. “Come one, it’s been what, two weeks since the twins have done something to you? They’ve gotta be over there cooking up some grand scheme against you.”

Y/N goes to respond, but she suddenly feels sick as George’s actions over the past few days start to make sense. He wasn’t in love with her, he was trying to embarrass her? Use her? Get information on her for him and Fred to use against her? She wasn’t exactly sure, but her heart sinks into her stomach. Whatever it was it couldn’t be good.

“I think I’m gonna head to Potions early,” she says suddenly, standing up. Adrian, Marcus and Daphne give her a look.

“You haven’t even eaten anything,” Adrian says, trying to pull her back down.

She bats his hand away and gathers her bag. “I’m not really that hungry. I’ll see you guys later.”

Without another word she’s heading out of the Great Hall, her friends and George all casting her back worried glances.

-

Y/N spends all day ignoring George despite his efforts to get her to pay attention to him. He spends all of Potions throwing rolled up pieces of parchment at her back, he tries to pull faces at her all during lunch and he spends most of charms slipping her notes. It had taken all of her willpower not to let him break her down. She’s so desperately in love with him that she’s almost willing to let him break her heart just so she can be close to him again.

“Finally, I’ve been looking for you all evening.”

Y/N doesn’t look up from her Herbology assignment as George takes a seat across from her. Her friends had been giving her worried glances all day, so after a quick dinner she tucked herself away in a corner of the library to avoid the confrontation she’s sure she’d get in the common room. She had figured she’d be safe from George as well, since Y/N is sure she’s never seen him, or Fred enter the library in the seven years they’ve been at school.

“What’s going on with you?” George asks softly when she doesn’t say anything. He’d been looking forward to seeing Y/N in the morning, and after her weird behavior at breakfast he had tried everything to get her attention.

Y/N glances at George quickly before she turns back to her assignment. “I could say the same to you,” she says coldly. When George doesn’t say anything Y/N sighs and puts her quill down, finally looking at George fully. “What were you and Fred talking about this morning? During breakfast.”

George taps his fingers against the table, his eyes starting deeply into Y/N’s. “He was asking me why I got back from my detention so late last night.” His cheeks are flushed pink and Y/N bites her lip to keep from smiling.

“What did you tell him? Did you tell him how easy I was? How desperate I was for you? How I touched myself? That I asked you for permission to finish?” she sneers, suddenly filled with rage.

George’s jaw practically drops to the table, his eyes widening in shock. “What? Why would I say any of that to him?” George asks, watching as Y/N starts to gather up her things.

“Because last night was just some big joke to you, wasn’t it?” she asks, as if the answer is obvious. “You don’t have feelings for me, you were just trying to get me into bed so you could have blackmail material or something. And I fell for it. Because I’m a big dumb idiot who is too in love to realize when she’s being played.”

Before George can even process what Y/N has just said she’s gone, tears streaming down her face and her heart broken in her chest.

-

“What’s wrong Y/N?” Daphne asks, taking a seat on the edge of her bed.

She isn’t completely surprised that Daphne had come to find her. When Y/N returned from the library, she was full on crying. She had ignored her friend’s attempts to talk to her and stormed right to her dorm room so she could crawl into her bed and sob. Daphne starts to stroke her hair, and Y/N wipes away some of her tears.

“I’m in love with George Weasley,” Y/N mumbles into her pillow.

Daphne’s hand pauses. “Come again?”

“I’m in love with George Weasley,” Y/N huffs, turning over so she’s facing Daphne. Her whole-body tenses, waiting for Daphne to laugh or make some kind of snide comment. But it doesn’t happen. Instead Daphne starts to stroke her hair again as she wipes away some of her tears.

“Honestly that’d make me cry as well,” she says with a laugh, trying to get Y/N to smile. When it works and Y/N cracks a small smile Daphne continues. “So, what happened? Did he say something rude? Because if he did I swear to you I’ll have Adrian and Marcus break into Gryffindor tower and beat him up.”

Y/N can’t help but let out a quiet laugh. She sits up in bed, wiping away the last few tears. “I ran into him last night when I was doing my rounds. And Umbridge almost caught us so we ran and hid in this weird secret passageway and um,” she pauses, swallowing thickly. “We kissed. And fooled around a little. Or a lot.”

“And that’s why you’re crying? Was it bad? Did you fake your orgasm?” Daphne teases.

Y/N rolls her eyes as a blush starts to form on her cheeks. “No, that’s not it. It was quite enjoyable I’ll have you know,” she says playfully, shoving Daphne’s shoulder lightly. “It was what happened afterward.”

“He said something stupid, didn’t he? My offer still stands, I will have Adrian and Marcus go beat him up,” Daphne says her tone serious.

“He didn’t really say anything,” Y/N explains, choosing to ignore Daphne’s threats for now. “But you said it yourself this morning at breakfast. He was talking with Fred, probably planning some prank on me.” Y/N pauses to swallow the lump in her throat and blink away the tears that threaten to spill down her cheeks. “It was all probably just some prank or set up or blackmail or something. I mean why would he wanna be with me,” she says lamely, looking down at her hands.

Daphne scoffs and puts her finger under Y/N’s chin, forcing her to return her gaze. “If George Weasley doesn’t want to be with you then he is a big fat idiot. Y/N you are amazing. And beautiful and smart and way too nice for your own good. You may have questionable taste in men, but I’ve been snogging Marcus since third year so I’m not really one to judge.”

Y/N laughs and pulls Daphne into a hug. Her heart still aches for George, but she feels a tiny bit better knowing that she has Daphne on her side.

-

Despite the fact that Y/N has been ignoring George all day, she finds herself heading to the Room of Requirement on Wednesday evening for a DA meeting. There are nervous butterflies in her stomach as she approaches but she doesn’t turn back. The DA is one of the only good things she’s had going on this year, and she’ll be damned if she lets George Weasley ruin that for her. Y/N had felt his eyes on her all day, and she hates to admit that it made her feel lightheaded.

She stops outside of the room of requirement to collect herself. Y/N takes a few deep breaths, trying to clear the thoughts of George from her mind. She’s semi-successful and she holds her head high as she throws the door open and steps inside.

“What the fuck?” she says, her eyes wandering around the room as the door shuts behind her.  Y/N had certainly not been expecting the scene around her when she walked in. The room is dimly lit, with most of the lighting coming from candles that are floating around the room. There’s no furniture or practice dummies in sight, and the only other person in the room is George. He’s standing smack in the middle of the room watching her, a small smile on his face.

“I couldn’t think of any other way to get you alone,” he says after a moment, reaching a hand out towards Y/N. “So, I had Hermione send an alert out to your Galleon and hoped that you would show up.”

Y/N walks further into the room cautiously, still unsure as to what exactly is going on. She stands a few feet away from George, resisting the urge to take his hand and fall into his chest. “Okay but why?.” She pauses, her eyes scanning the room again. “If this is some kind of elaborate set up and Fred is about to jump out of somewhere I swear to Merlin George I will kill you.”

George chuckles and shakes his head, taking a step towards Y/N. When she doesn’t flinch, he takes another one. “I promise you; Y/N. Fred is nowhere near here.” He bites his lip, looking at Y/N closely. “This is just me, desperately trying to fix whatever mess I got us into.” When she doesn’t say anything George continues, needing to fill the awkward silence of the room. “Tuesday night was incredible. Best night of my life, hands down. I thought, I thought things would be different with us, afterwards. But then you didn’t even look at me all day yesterday and last night in the library that stuff you said,” he cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I clearly did something wrong, but I’ve spent the past 24 hours thinking about everything I did, and I can’t seem to figure it out.”

“You didn’t say anything,” she says quietly after she lets George’s words soak in. When George raises his eyebrow in confusion she sighs. “On Tuesday, after everything that happened,” she clears her throat, trying to will the blush on her cheeks away. “When we were leaving you didn’t say anything. You just kind of left. I thought that it was just a one-time thing, that it didn’t mean the same to you as it did to me,” she admits quietly.

Y/N lets her eyes wander around the room, needing to look anywhere except for George’s face. Y/N likes to keep walls up around herself. She makes exceptions for her friends and her parents, the people she loves, but she keeps them up around others. She doesn’t like to show weakness, she doesn’t want to give people the opportunity to hurt her. On Tuesday Y/N had let all of those walls crumble to the ground the second George had kissed her and it felt incredible. She felt like she could truly be herself around him, and as much as she wishes she could build those walls up around her again it’s too late. Y/N has no choice but to stand here in this room and let George in.

“And then I just got all in my head,” she continues a moment later, finally letting herself look at George. Her heart is fluttering, and she can’t help but notice how good he looks. “When I went to breakfast that morning and you were whispering with Fred it looked like you guys were plotting something, like a prank or something. And it made me think that Tuesday was just some stupid prank. That you were gonna use the things I said against me, to embarrass me or something,” she mutters.

“Darling,” George starts, taking the last few steps to close the distance between them. He cups her cheek with one hand while the other reaches for one of hers. Y/N lets him grab her hand, and he intertwines their fingers. “I should have said something that night. There was so many things I wanted to say. But I didn’t want to overwhelm you. After that night we spent in detention I started to feel differently towards you. I knew you felt something too, but I wasn’t sure if you had realized it yet or not. So, when we left the passageway that night I wanted to give you time, to process everything.”

“I feel like such an idiot,” Y/N admits with a small smile. “I should have just said something instead of letting myself overthink it. I don’t like letting people in. But for some reason when I’m around you I can’t help but let you in. That night in detention I told you things not even Daphne knows. And then Tuesday, some of the things I said, I did,” she cuts herself off, a shiver running down her spine. “I’ve never let anyone see that side of me before and yet a few kisses from you had me blubbering like an idiot.”

“Blubbering like a wicked sexy idiot, darling,” George teases with a chuckle. He leans down and kisses her briefly. “I’m sorry, for not being clearer with my intentions.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, but there’s a warm smile on her face. “And what are those intentions?”

Her eyes flutter closed as George kisses her deeply, both of his hands landing on her bum, giving it a tight squeeze. She moans into the kiss and lets George’s tongue in to explore her mouth. She wraps her arms around George’s neck and pulls him flush to her body. George pulls away suddenly, with Y/N trying to chase his mouth.

George chuckles when she pouts at him. “To answer your question, darling. First, I’m going to fuck you into the mattress over there like the dirty little girl you are.” George pauses, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s lips as a shiver runs down her spine. “And then I’m going to hold you close and whisper how much I love you into your ear.”

Y/N pulls George’s face down and presses their lips together hotly, kissing him desperately. She jumps up, her legs wrapping around his waist and his hands gripping her bum tightly. George carries her over to the bed that had appeared at some point in the past few minutes and throws her down on it. He loosens his tie and throws it off over his head and starts to work on the buttons of his shirt. Y/N watches his fingers move, practically drooling as his pale chest becomes more and more exposed to her.

“What are you waiting for? Permission,” George teases, his voice gravelly and his eyes dark. “Get naked,” he demands a moment later when she still doesn’t move. “Let me see all of you.”

George’s voice causes goosebumps to appear all over Y/N’s body and her core starts to ache. She can already feel herself getting wet, and the way George is looking at her as she rids herself of her clothes is only making it worse.

In a matter of moments, they’re both naked, and Y/N can feel her skin flushing under George’s gaze. He’s standing by the edge of the bed, slowly stroking himself as his eyes run over her naked body. Her body is aching for his touch, and she squirms under his intense gaze. “Please, George,” she moans, one of her hands coming up to toy with her breasts.

In an instant George is on top of her, kissing her messily as his hands touch every inch of skin they can. He bats away the hand that’s palming her breast so he can take over, his fingers starting to toy with her sensitive nipple. Y/N moans into George’s mouth, arching her back to press herself up into him harder. George practically growls at her actions and his other hand grabs her left thigh, forcing her legs apart.

“What do you want, darling?” he asks hotly, his lips trailing kisses down her neck. “My fingers?” He releases her thigh and starts to ghost his fingers up her it towards her folds. “My mouth?” He latches onto her neck and starts to lightly suck, causing a sinful whine to leave her lips.

Y/N tangles her fingers in George’s hair, tugging lightly as she squirms under his touch. “Both, please,” she begs, her breath coming out in hard pants. George’s fingers have finally reached her core, and his index finger has started to slowly circle her clit.

“Both, hm? What a needy little girl you’re being, Y/N,” he chides, his mouth continuing to trail kisses down her neck and over her chest. “But how can I say no? Not when you’re being such a good girl and asking so nicely.”

Y/N moans. George’s thumb has started to rub soft circles on her clit while his mouth wraps around her breast, sucking her nipple lightly. When George had called her a good girl at the beginning of term it had filled her with rage, but now as he slowly pushes his index finger inside of her tight walls she thinks she could come just from him calling her that alone.

“Fuck, George,” she whines, clenching around his finger as he curls it inside of her. She can feel his smirk as he kisses down her stomach. Her hips start to move off of the bed as he starts to slowly fuck her with his finger. His free hand flies to her hip and pins it down against the bed.

“Don’t be so impatient, darling. I’m going to take my time with you,” he scolds. He pulls his finger out slowly, and when he pushes it back in another has joined it, causing Y/N to gasp. “You sound so pretty, darling. Such pretty noises,” he praises.

George moves down the bed as his lips ghost over her hip so he can position himself better for what’s about to happen. He stops his movements on her pussy suddenly, causing Y/N to whine at the loss. He grabs her thighs and pushes them farther apart, so she’s spread open for him. “Such a pretty pussy you have, darling,” he groans, his eyes gazing over her dripping folds. Y/N tries to shut her legs, but George’s grip tightens on her thighs, keeping them open. “Don’t be shy, darling,” he teases.

Y/N is writhing in George’s grasp, one hand is toying with her nipples while the other grips the bed sheets. “George, please,” she begs again, needing him to touch her. George chuckles and suddenly his mouth is on her, lightly sucking on her clit. “Oh fuck,” she shouts, her hand leaving her breast to tangle in George’s hair.

George’s tongue starts to tease Y/N’s clit, wrapping around the bud slowly before pulling away and coming to lightly flick at it. He wraps his arm around her left thigh as she begins to move her hips, forcing her back down against the bed. “Gonna need to get some rope to tie you up, keep you nice and open for me,” he murmurs before putting his mouth back on her aching core.

“Holy fuck, George,” Y/N moans as he suddenly plunges two fingers into her heat. She can’t help the sounds that are coming out of her mouth as George pleasures her, images of George tying her up floating in her mind. George hums in laughter as his fingers curl and brush up against Y/N’s sweet spot, causing her to moan again.

Y/N can feel her orgasm approaching, can feel the arousal building in her stomach. She wiggles her hips, trying to move away from George, and a squeal falls from her mouth when he pulls her even closer to his face. She grips his hair tightly and her toes curl as her orgasm approaches. Y/N yanks the sheets hard, her mouth opening and shutting unable to form a coherent thought due to George’s relentless pleasure.

“George please,” she sobs, her eyes screwing shut from the sheer amount of pleasure coursing through her body. Her legs are shaking as George licks at her core, his fingers hitting the spot inside her that drives her crazy with every thrust. “I need you. I need you to, George, please,” she begs. She’s teetering on the edge of her release, just needing that one final push that only George can provide.

“Need me to what, darling?” he asks coyly as he pulls his face away from her pussy. His thumb takes over the assault on her clit his tongue had been doing before, starting to rub it in hard circles.

“Please,” she begs again, tears starting to leak out the side of her eyes. Y/N has never been this turned on in her life. Her body is trembling, her need for release overwhelming every part of her.

George presses a few kisses to the hot skin on the inside of her thigh to hide his smile. Y/N looks absolutely ethereal as she wriggles in his grasp, begging him to let her come. Her hair is splayed out on the pillow behind her, and her neck looks like it’s begging to be bit. Her whole body is flushed, and a sheen of sweat has appeared over her skin.

“You are absolutely gorgeous, Y/N,” he compliments as he situates himself on top of her again. He leans on his forearm and presses their lips together briefly. “Such a good girl, darling. Go on be a good girl, come for me.”

George kisses her again as she comes, groaning as her walls tighten around his fingers. Y/N’s whole-body shakes as she comes, and George continues to slowly rub her clit as she comes down from her high. With one final curl of his fingers he removes them from her heat.

“You are a goddess,” he murmurs against her lips before he pulls away.

Y/N opens her eyes, smiling up at George. “And you’re a bloody fucking tease.”

George laughs and rolls onto his back, his arm winding around Y/N’s waist to pull her on top of him. Y/N giggles in delight, pressing their lips together in a heated kiss. She lets her hand trail along his chest as they kiss, pausing as she reaches his groin. “Now see if I really was a good girl,” she mocks her fingertips dancing on the skin just above the base of his cock. “I’d touch you but.” She sighs and brings her hand back up to rest on George’s chest. “I’m feeling kinda naughty.”

“Bold tactic for a girl who was just begging me to let her come a few seconds ago,” George responds playfully, leaning up to press their lips together again. Y/N squeals when George pulls her fully on top of him so she’s straddling his waist. “I know I said I was gonna fuck you into the mattress but,” he says with a sigh when he breaks their kiss. “I don’t know if naughty girls deserve my cock.”

Despite the fact that she had just come a few seconds ago, Y/N’s pussy is aching again. She pouts down at George, rolling her hips. A satisfied smirk appears on her face when he groans. “What if I promise to be a good girl?”

George rolls them over so she’s underneath him. “I think I can make an exception.” Y/N laughs as George kisses her and winds her legs around his waist. George lines himself up with her entrance, breaking their kiss so he can look at her. “Ready?” When Y/N nods George pushes his hips forward and slowly enters Y/N.

“Oh my god, George,” she gasps as her hands come up to grip his shoulders. George doesn’t stop until his hips are flush against Y/N’s bum.

“Fucking hell you’re tight, Y/N,” he groans, burying his face in her neck. He lets out another groan as Y/N’s walls clench around him.

“Fuck me George, please,” she demands, squeezing his shoulders.

George chuckles into her neck and pulls out of her halfway before he slams back in, starting to slowly fuck her. “Since you asked so nicely,” he teases, pressing an open mouth kiss to her jaw.

For a few minutes all the noise that can be heard is Y/N and George’s combined moans as well as skin slapping on skin. George grabs Y/N’s leg and throws it over his shoulder so he can fuck into her deeper and the head of his cock is now rubbing her sweet spot with every thrust.

“Oh fuck,” Y/N moans, scratching her nails down George’s back. “Feels so good, George. ‘M already close.”

“Fuck me too,” he growls, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “You feel so fucking good, darling.” He presses a few kisses into the skin below her ear. “Go on, darling. Come for me when you’re ready. Didn’t even need to touch your little clit, did I? Such a good girl, coming from just my cock.”

George’s words tip Y/N over the edge and she throws her head back, George’s name falling from her mouth. Her walls tighten and twitch around George, causing him to reach his climax as well. He empties himself inside of Y/N, his hips slowly rolling into her to help them both come down from their highs.

Once George’s cock has stopped twitching and Y/N’s breathing starts to slow down, George carefully pulls out of her and collapses on the bed next to her. George opens up his arm and Y/N rolls into his side, burying her face in the crook of his neck. She peppers soft kisses to the sweaty skin as George starts to rub her back.

“It’s not fair, you know,” George says as Y/N trails a few kisses up his neck and across his jaw.

Y/N pecks his lips softly. “What’s not fair?” she asks with a chuckle.

George pouts at her and she kisses him briefly again. “Every time we get intimate you get to come twice, and I only get to come once. That’s totally not fair.”

Y/N laughs and buries her face in George’s neck again. “Well maybe if you were a good boy I’d let you come more than once,” she teases.

George’s fingers dig into Y/N’s side as he holds her in place, tickling her mercilessly. Y/N shrieks with laughter, desperately trying to wiggle away from George’s grasp. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she laughs, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. George tickles her for another moment before he stops, one of his hands resting on the small of Y/N’s back and the other grabs hers.

“I love you,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Y/N looks up at him and presses a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “I love you too.”

-

The next morning as Y/N drags George over to the Slytherin table for breakfast she can hear Ginny shouting at Ron.

“I told you, you absolute numpty! You owe me a Galleon!”

[a-funny-little-sunflower]

Yandere Legolas x reader Smut

There is a ball scene in this fic and this is what I imagined the dress would look like, cause I adore cottagcore. If you don't like it, I respect that and just ignore this picture :)

You would never have thought that this would ever happen to you. You’d heard the stories. The tales of elven obsession towards their darlings but you had never expected to become one of them….

Time makes fools of us all, I suppose.

You don’t know how you never saw it coming, after all, looking back on it, it was quite obvious.

The fawning over you, the obsessive glances, the jealousy.

God, you really should have seen this coming. You shouldn’t have fallen for his trap, but in all honesty, it just seemed so innocent.

Legolas had invited you to the Mirkwood palace, a high honour considering their secrecy and what kind of person would you have been to refuse such a generous offer?

You had gotten to the border, and Legolas was eagerly awaiting your arrival. His eyes were gleaming with an emotion you couldn’t place, and he greeted you warmly. “Y/N! I’m so glad you came!”

He ran forward and gathered you in his arms, utterly enveloping you in a bone-crushing hug, and you couldn’t help but hug back. When he finally pulled back, and gently cupped your face and stared into your eyes for what seemed to be an eternity. He looked enrapture with you.

You looked at him questioningly for a moment before you finally broke the silence “Legolas? Are you alright?” Your voice seemed to break him out of whatever trance he was in, and he smiles brightly before answering “Oh I’m alright! It’s just that my memory does not do your beauty justice”.

You were by surprise at the sudden compliment, but you couldn’t help but believe his words. You didn’t get a chance to answer because he was already guiding you to sit on his horse, and when you had been comfortably settled, Legolas joined you in the saddle.

You rode through thick forests filled with lush greenery, imposing trees, and beautiful trees. And the speed at which you were going must have been causing you to see things because you swore you saw a figure sat upon a snow-white elk, but you cast the notion away, deciding that it must have just been a trick of the light.

Time seemed to cease in this forest because you no idea how long you had been riding for, but it felt like it was somewhere between a second and eternity. Regardless of how long it had taken, you were finally at the palace gates.

You dismounted, and you had only taken a few strides forward before the gates opened ceremoniously and you were greeted by a company of guards. They bowed in unison before the captain announced your presence. “Prince Legolas and Lady Y/N, welcome to Mirkwood. The guests await your entrance”.

“Thank you Elros, we will be there soon.” You looked questioningly at Legolas as you were led into the palace, not understanding what he was talking about. He must have felt your curious gaze on his face because he turned to you and spoke “My father arranged a ball in the honour of your arrival.”

That took you completely by surprise! You would have never expected such a fuss over your presence. “But I’m not dressed for a ball!” You said in a shocked voice, but Legolas only gave you a patient look as you broke away from the group of guards.

Legolas smiled at your panicked tone and said in a reassuring tone “Your gown has already been arranged starlight.” You went a little pink at the nickname and allowed yourself to be led to the guest chambers that had been arranged for you.

“This will be your chambers for the duration of your stay, I hope it suits you well,” Legolas said before opening the door for you.

“Thank you, Legolas, it's more than I could have asked for!” You said with a bright smile. He grinned at your reaction, “You like it?” he asked. You nodded joyfully, staring around the room in wonder. “It’s wonderful Legolas, thank you.”

“I’ll leave you to get changed into your gown, my lo-…My lady,” Legolas replied, before closing the door, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.

You turned to where your ballgown was hanging, and you couldn’t help but to stop and admire it. It was truly divine. The tailoring was magnificent, it was designed to show off your shoulders and the soft colour would most certainly bring out your eyes.

You quickly stepped into the gown, and you couldn’t stop yourself from admiring how you looked. Utterly gorgeous.

You strode towards the door when you heard a firm knock echo against the hardwood and when the door swung open, you were met with handsome looking Legolas. The way he looked took your breath away and your appearance seemed to do the same. Legolas finally broke the silence, “Are you ready for the ball starlight?” You nodded eagerly, linking arms with him, and walking towards the ballroom.

The Mirkwood halls were truly as grand as the stories said. The decorations were extravagant and every elf in the room was dressed beautifully, and it was all being overseen by the Elven king, sitting high in his throne.

The night went by in a blur. You stayed by Legolas’ side the whole night, and you had the most fun you’d had in years. You had danced and drunk and laughed, it was bliss. You hadn’t thought much of it when Legolas asked you to meet him in a quiet corridor, thinking he just wanted somewhere quiet to talk to you for a while.

You finished up the conversation you were having with a young elleth and went out into the hallway in search of Legolas. You found him standing at the end of the hallway, waiting for you. He didn’t notice you walking towards him at first, seemingly entranced in his thoughts.

When he finally did notice you, his smile was enough to make flowers grow. “My darling Lady, you came!” He sounded so happy that you had decided to join him, almost like he was expecting you not to. “Of course, I came, why wouldn’t I? Besides, it sounded like you wanted to talk about something important.

He nodded, his face suddenly hardening over with a looked of determination as if he were preparing for something. “Yes, it’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you for a long time. Y/N, you must have noticed my affections for you by now, and I’ve been wanting to ask you…Will you marry me and become my queen?”

After he had finished his proposal, he handed a beautiful ring to you and looked at you with a hopeful gaze.

You stood frozen to the ground. You couldn’t believe what he was saying. Legolas was asking you to marry him, and by every force, in Middle Earth, you wanted to say yes. But you knew that you wouldn’t be able to handle the responsibility of being a queen, so with a heavy heart… You refused.

Legolas face fell into a heartbroken expression and his eyes glazed over with tears. “I’m sorry Legolas, as much as I do love you, I wouldn’t be able to handle the responsibility of ruling. So, I can’t marry you…I’m so sorry” You felt your voice crack on that last word and your eyes filled up with tears. You couldn’t look at his broken expression any longer, so you turned on your heel and started walking back to your guest chambers, leaving Legolas standing alone in the palace corridor.

Even after you had left, Legolas stayed in the corridor, still as a statue, with stray tears running down his face. He had been so sure that you would marry him, but you had refused him.

Legolas had been so caught up in all his thoughts that he hadn’t heard his father’s footsteps approaching him. “My son, what will you do to convince her to rule alongside you?” Legolas shook his head in defeat, "There’s nothing I can do ada, she doesn’t love me.”

Thranduil tilted his head at his son, "Oh, but she told you herself that she returns your feelings, but the burden of queenship frightens her.…She just needs a little encouragement to truly persuade her.”

Legolas looked up at his father, hope building in his heart. “What do I tell her ada?” Thranduil gave his son a knowing smile before placing a hand on his shoulder. “it is not your words that persuade her my son, but your actions.” Legolas gave his father a confused look before listening eagerly to what his father had to tell him.

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

You awoke feeling groggy and exhausted. When you had returned to your chambers after rejecting Legolas’ proposal, you had willed yourself to fall into the land of dreams to escape the feelings of heartbreak you had. But now you had returned to reality and you were slowly coming back to yourself, albeit slowly.

You opened your eyes to see Legolas staring at you from the bottom of your bed. You froze in shock, thinking you might still be dreaming, or maybe even hallucinating but sure enough, the longer you looked, the more it settled in your head that you were not dreaming.

You try to sit up in bed, but it’s like you’re frozen. You were only brought out of your trance by the feeling of Legolas’ hands on your rubbing up and down your legs in a comforting motion. You stare at Legolas in shock, and his only reply was to give you one of his cute smiles.

“L-Legolas…What are doing…?” You asked quietly, afraid of what the answer might be. Legolas only tilted his head at you and gave you a soft understanding smile.

“Darling, I know that this must seem all of a sudden but I can’t allow you to slip through my fingers. No one else makes me feel the way you do. I can’t lose that. You said you felt the same, didn’t you? You said that you loved me back?” You nodded, curious as to where he was going with this.

“Well darling, I will show you that staying with me despite your anxiety and fears of ruling will be filled with pleasure and love. Will you allow me to show you how much I love you?

After what seemed to be an eternity, you finally found your voice, “Y-Yes, I trust you.” Legolas smiled at your words before speaking “Lie back and lift your hips for me, my love.” You did as he asked, and he gave you a loving look before lowering his head between your legs and started to kiss up your thighs.

You closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the pillows, enjoying the feeling of his soft kisses against you. He slowly made his way up your thighs until he reached your centre. He pressed his thumb against your sensitive clit and because you weren’t expecting it, you let out a soft whimper of his name.

“Oh darling, you have no idea the power you hold over me, you could rip my heart from my chest, and I’d still adore you.” Before you could reply, he started an onslaught of licks against your aching pussy causing you to cry out in a mix of surprise and pleasure.

“Ahhhhh~ g-god yes! P-please don’t s-stop! It feels so good!” You heard Legolas laugh at your desperation “Shhh, darling, don’t want anyone to know how good I’m making you feel when we aren’t even married yet, now do we?”

You were already a panting, whimpering mess and he’d barely touched you, you don’t know how you were going to get through the rest of the night.

“No stay still and let me please you.” He lowered his head between your legs again but this time he was nowhere near as merciful to you as he’d been before. He was holding nothing back and you just couldn’t keep quiet. You weren’t even bothering to keep your loud cries of pleasure muffled because you knew it would be a wasted effort.

“Legolas – Legolas – ah right there! You cried, thrusting your hips up in a desperate attempt for more of the blissful pleasure he was giving you. Legolas listened to your desperate pleas and began to thrust his tongue into you, and within seconds of him doing that, you were ready to cum. “Ah! Ahh! Gonn- c-cum! Please! Please! Please, can I-”

Legolas cut you off before you could finish “Let go for me darling, I want to see how gorgeous you are when you let go.” His commanding tone was too much for you, and you finally let yourself tumble off the cliff in a peak of pleasure.

When you finally came down from your high, you saw Legolas staring at you with utter adoration in his eyes, and the overwhelming look of love in his expression was too much for you to handle, causing you to look away.

“Look at me darling, I want to see those beautiful eyes.” You turned your head back to look at him as he brought himself up to lay beside you, all the while his adoring gaze never left you. “Have I convinced you to stay my love?” Legolas asked, his voice full of hope.

“And if your people don’t accept me as their Queen, what then?” You asked in a worried tone, but Legolas only cupped your cheek lovingly, “Our love comes first. Everything else is secondary. I’ve waited so long to build up the courage to ask for your love, and now that I have it, I’m never losing it. All I want is you. All I’ve ever wanted was you.”

Your heart was filled with such love at his confession that you felt as though it might burst. And how could you refuse him? After everything he had done for you, how could you not agree?”

“Alright Legolas, I will be your Queen, and love you to the end of days.” His eyes gleamed with happiness and he put the ring he had placed in your palm earlier, onto your finger, before he pressed his forehead to yours in a loving gesture.

Cementing your love for each other till the end of time.

[tnystrk-exe]

Estocolmo 3

Hannibal x Reader

Masterpost

First Chapter

Warnings: 18+ thigh riding, in a public setting, degration, cockwarming

Word count: 6k

Chapter Three

Maybe you hadn’t thought through about going to Hannibal’s dinner party. In the moment you had just missed the sound of his voice. His touch… Okay, you were motivated by other things than how much fun you would have at this little dinner party of his.

However you had to pull a lot of strings and work extra shifts, just so your bosses would even consider letting you off for a couple days. You were a valuable worker, one that would damage them to lose, but pettiness didn’t know any bounds. The stress was adding up. Still you trudged through it all. Not one to ever want to end up on Hannibal’s bad side.

You didn’t like making the perfect, polite ones angry. Loud anger you could handle. You were used to it. Quiet anger was just upsetting. He’d be upset you let him down, but he wouldn’t say it right. A soft sigh followed by a half meant it’s okay would probably be the most he’d give you. Disappointing him was a no go.

“I can’t wait for you to leave.”

“You’re so good at making me feel loved.”

“You know I do!” She laid back in your bed, arm’s comfortably behind her head, “But since you planned yourself a date. I did too.”

You grabbed clothes and threw them into a small duffel bag. “The chick from work?”

“God I wish. Can't work up the courage.”

“Don’t tell me you called up Reggie,” you laughed.

“Don’t tell me you got called up by Hannibal,” she mocked your voice. “Look! We’re a team! You can get dicked by someone that doesn’t deserve you. And I’ll romance a very pretty woman the entire weekend.”

“When is she getting here?”

“I’m shooting the text the second you’re out that door.”

You sighed, “You replace me so easily.”

“Oh baby,” she cooed, “Remember who’s leaving who.”

“A couple of days. You could be lonely for a few days.”

Alex walked you out. Stressing that you had to text her throughout your drive. It was only a three hour drive, but a lot could happen within that time.

All in all it wasn’t a bad trip. Monotonous without your usual partner in the passenger seat, but not bad. Your nerves bit at you. Hannibal’s social presence really was everything to him. Your head ran though countless ways you could mess up the night. Ultimately you wouldn’t, you knew that, but your brain sure did like to torture you with the idea.

“Everything will be fine,” you told yourself as you parked alongside the manor. Staying in the car for a moment you built yourself up. It was Hannibal. He knew about your home life. How you took your coffee. The things you’ve allowed him to do to you. Probably some understanding of things that he hadn’t done to you yet. A knock on your window pulled you out of your thoughts.

Opening the door you got out of the car.

“You weren’t thinking of running away, I hope,” Hannibal greeted.

“I wasn’t. Nerves,” you admitted. “It’s usually just the two of us, y’know…”

“Darling,” he scoffed, adjusting a piece of your hair, “I have no doubt in my mind that my companions wouldn’t adore you as much as I do.”

You moved to grab your bag, only for Hannibal to immediately take it from you. “You say that now, but that’s only because you’ve become accustomed to that certain charm I have at three in the morning after a night of studying. I’m not sure I can be as adorable to all of your friends.”

“Anyone that thinks otherwise has no place in my home.” Hannibal grabbed your hand in his own, leading you to the manor.

Once the front door closed, he wasted no time pulling you close. The kiss was long and rough. Both attempting to make up for lost time in the limited minutes you had. A soft moan from you made him press you against the door, the bag that had been in his hand long forgotten. His hand pressed lightly against your throat as he pushed a knee in between yours.

It was a long while before he pulled away. He rested his forehead against yours. “I’ve missed my favorite plaything,” He spoke into the shared air, “You’ve been away so long.”

“Your favorite?” You asked, looking at him dazed.

He smiled, mischief in his eyes. “I’d wager they couldn’t kiss you so well you’d look at them like they hung the stars after.”

“I do not!”

“Of course you don’t, darling.” He picked up your bag. “Come, we should start getting dressed.” You followed Hannibal up the stairs to his room. Apparently yours too, at least for the next couple of nights, since he emptied the contents of your bag into an empty dresser drawer. “You’re more than welcome to explore if you do get uncomfortable. I know meeting a sea of people can feel overwhelming.”

“I’m just afraid I’ll be out of place.”

“You’re exactly where I want you to be,” he disappeared into the walk-in closet, “The other’s are decent enough people. However, it makes sense that such divine beauty doesn’t fit in amongst commoners. I’d never dream of you finding yourself their equal.”

You walked over to examine the drawings he had hung on the wall next to his bed. “I’m not sure I’m worthy of such high thought.”

He came back, placing the suit and dress onto the bed. Standing behind you, he wrapped his arms around you, resting his head on your shoulder. “I really do mean it, beloved. You’re strong and intelligent. As much as I’d like to, you won’t allow me to pull strings and help you. That’s more than most of the crowd coming over tonight. They haven’t faced hardships like yourself and I. Don’t allow yourself to be treated less than and, please, tell me if anyone makes you feel that way.”

You turned your head, kissing his cheek. “I’m not sure I believe it, but I’m grateful for the thought.”

“I simply must make it my mission to prove it.” He inhaled deeply, “You’ve changed your perfume?”

“I liked the one you bought,” you said simply, getting out of his arms, you looked at the dress he had gotten you. The piece of fabric was easily the most expensive thing you owned now. It didn’t match his suit, but the two certainly complimented each other. “You really didn’t have to.”

“I want to,” he went to open another dresser drawer, pulling out a small box, “Consider it all a graduation present. You worked hard and deserve a reward for it. We didn’t get a chance to see one another before you left.”

“You’ve had these since then?” You asked.

“Of course. How could I resist an opportunity to find you a gift? And with Alex so graciously allowing me to buy you a dress, I figured tonight would be a wonderful time to give you your gift.” He opened the jewelry box.

“Hannibal,” you gasped quietly, the jewelry glimmered brightly, “It’s beautiful.” Usually you weren’t one for objects, but this was also the most thoughtful thing you’ve ever received. Hannibal had taken the small bits he knew of you and picked out the perfect pieces of jewelry for you. It was the feeling of being known so well that made it special.

“The second I saw this set I couldn’t help but think of my darling girl. Would you like me to put the necklace on you now?”

You quickly shook your head, “After I get dressed, please. I wouldn’t want to risk dirtying it while I’m getting ready.”

“In that case, I’ll show you where you can get ready.”

You grabbed the things you needed to make yourself look presentable and followed Hannibal to the bathroom. To your surprise he started to undress after he hung up his suit and your dress. You shrugged it off and set your stuff on the counter, you were more than comfortable with him and you and Alex had taken to doing similar in your cramped bathroom early mornings. The shower turned on while you took out your makeup. His humming filled the otherwise quiet room.

When you were pleased with how your makeup looked, you moved on to fussing with your hair. The shower shut off and your eyes wandered briefly in the mirror. You watched the show as he dried off his chest and followed the towel up as he dried his hair. He caught your eye, brow raised, you shrugged and sent a wink his way.

You got undressed, tossing your clothes in the hamper as you did. Walking over to the dress you felt the fabric between your fingers, studying the intricate pattern that was sown on to it.

“You don’t like it, darling?” Hannibal asked as he buttoned his shirt. “There’s another in the closet, but I was hopeful you’d like this one. You'd look stunning.”

“Admiring,” you stated simply, “Wait there’s another?”

“There’s a show, I’d like to see tomorrow. I figured it could be an outing for us.” He checked himself over before styling his hair. “This is ‘Making it worth my while’ as Alex said.”

“Han, you know better than to listen to Al.” You sighed, “I’m grateful, I honestly am. It’s just embarrassing. I really can’t give you anything in return.”

Hannibal came over to you, holding one of your hands in his. “They’re simple trinkets of my affection. In the end they all mean nothing. YN, you grace me with your presence and time, which is something that can never be repaid in form. I hold you dearly, your time is more than I deserve.”

You stood on the tips of your toes kissing him gently. There was all the time later for a rougher touch. Now you just wanted to feel him pressed close against yourself. A brief flick of thought asked if you really wanted this to just be a fleeting thing between friends. Pulling away, you gave him one final kiss to the side of his mouth.

“You’re allowed to give me one gift a month,” you teased, as you grabbed his tie and set to work on tying it for him. “You’re not my sugar daddy, as much as Alex wishes you were.”

“And you’re welcome to set as many rules as you’d like when it comes to this. However, what’s forcing me to follow them?” His hands grazed along your sides, “We both understand who makes the rules, don’t we little one?”

The part of you that had become accustomed to that particular tone, faltered slightly. “Hannibal, we’re not always in sessions,” you reminded him as you tightened the tie, “You can’t just have your way.”

“Why not?”

You shook your head, annoyed, “Or you can do what you’d like. It’s your wallet after all.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized immediately, “I don’t want to offend you.”

You let it go, there was no use to fight over this. “It’s okay, you’re only teasing right?”

“May I please see you in the dress?” He asked, lightening the mood.

You turned, returning to the piece of elegant fabric. Carefully you pulled it on. He really was excellent when it came to fashion. The dress hugged the right places and accentuated everything wonderfully. Hannibal stepped behind you once again. Zipping the back for you, his fingers trailing up as he did. Carefully, he moved your hair to the side as he fixed the necklace in place. Dipping his head down, he kissed that spot on your neck he had quickly learned turned you to putty in his hands. You leaned against him, angling your neck to give him better access as a soft moan escaped. His teeth grazed gently against your neck, he seemed to toy with the idea of making a mark before backing away. As much as he’d enjoy to see it blossom, he knew you had many first impressions to make.

You whimpered at the loss of contact. Suddenly realizing just how much you had missed him.

“I know, little one,” he sighed, pressing a kiss on the side of your ear, “but we have a night to get through. After this, I belong to you. We will have all tomorrow for each other.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

-

The dinner party was beautifully done. Of course it was. Hannibal never spared any expense, let alone when he was trying to impress. He had introduced you to a couple people, they were nice enough, but you just couldn’t find a connection with them. You definitely steered clear of Bedelia. That woman was intimidating to a whole other degree. Definitely someone you could actually see Hannibal going after. You wondered why he didn’t.

An hour into the dinner party, you slipped away. He had said you could explore and honestly, without him you weren’t much for conversation. You had already gotten a snide look for saying you worked at a bar on nights, but they didn’t hold much interest for you either. All the conversations you had heard were meaningless droning. People constantly trying to one up another or bragging about something new they acquired or some business deal.

So it was safe to say no one noticed your absence. Well maybe one extremely observant man.

You found yourself in his library, taking residence in a nook next to a window. Hannibal’s sketch book in your lap as you looked over his drawings. Each drawing looked like he must have spent hours on it. You marveled at his talent, watching the range go from almost romantic to grouesome. Some things could be recognized as his take on art pieces, and landscapes, while others seemed to be originals. The originals were darker in nature, but you supposed it made sense. He saw death as something comforting and could be considered beautiful. Of course it would translate into his pieces.

The door opened, revealing the man that occupied your thoughts at the moment. “Is everything alright, darling? No one bothered you, I hope.”

You smiled up at him. “I’m fine. I just wanted a break, I’m getting a little bit of a headache.”

“Oh?” He touched your forehead with the back of his hand, “Are you feeling well?”

“I’ll go back in a moment,” you promised himas you brought his hand down to press a peck onto it, “Go enjoy your party.”

“They can keep themselves entertained for a while.”  He took a seat next to you, pulling you to rest against him. “I could use a moment too.”

You couldn’t stave off the smile that played on your lips to get to have him to yourself. He made you feel comfortable and honestly you were out of your element at this party. Hannibal rested his head against the wall. That left his neck vulnerable and you couldn’t resist placing a kiss on it.

“Why must you insist on acting up when we are alone, darling girl?” He hummed quietly, his hand entertained itself absentmindedly drawing things on your thigh.

“I missed you,” you insisted. “Not just like that. We used to spend a lot of time together.”

“It has been a long time. I’m sorry about that.”

“I had your number too. I’m not completely out of blame.”

“Well, you’ll find a way to make it up to me.” He tugged you closer, “You’re too far.”

You straddled one of his thighs, placing your hand on his shoulders. “I’m sure you have a couple ideas of how.”

“A couple.”

Leaning in you caught him in a kiss. His hand started to trail lower, you caught him by the wrist before he got to his destination, placing his hand back on your hip. With his original plan voided, he bounced his thigh against you, the hands on your hips helping you grind down. You couldn’t help the moan you let out. Letting him continue until you remembered the party happening not so far away.

“Hannibal,” you whined against his lips, “Not right now.”

“But you sound so sweet, darling, don’t mind them.” He continued his earlier assault on your neck, this time not thinking twice before sucking his mark onto it. “You look so beautiful tonight. I know you can give me one before we’re missed, you’re always so good for me. Don’t you want to be good?”

The growing lust clouded your judgement. Hannibal’s soft words and the gentle but perfect rhythm he was working on made it hard to find any reason to argue.

“Yes, daddy,” you sighed softly, “I want to be good for you.”

The door opened again, followed by a dramatic gasp, “Hannibal, having dessert before the rest of us?” The strange man eyed you, “Plan on sharing?”

Hannibal had been quick to tug down the dress that had rode up, keeping you safe from prying eyes. “Unfortunately, I’m not one for sharing. If you don’t mind waiting in the hall. I’ll meet with you in a second.”

“Oh, I’d much prefer to stay. Hello, what’s your name? Is Hannibal keeping you entertained?”

You hid your face against Hannibal’s shoulder, your face burning to the touch.

“Shy thing isn’t she, daddy?”

“I really must insist you leave now,” Hannibal said, the anger evident in his voice.

“Fine, killjoy.” You heard retreating steps and the door closed again.

“Of course out of everyone to find us it was the gossip,” he sighed to himself, dropping a kiss to the top of your head, “I’m sorry about that, love.”

“I told you not now,” you said, pulling away and going back to your seat beside him.

“I know. I’m sorry,” he kissed the back of your hand, “I thought we’d have a couple more minutes before someone looked for us, let alone find us. Let me handle this and then you’ll never see him again.”

You nodded. “Can I go to the room for the night? He made me feel… strange.”

“Darling,” he cupped your cheek, a sad look in his eyes, “this is your home more than anyone else out there. Don’t let him ruin the night for us. I’ll make sure he’s gone and stay by you the rest of the night. Does that sound okay?”

And true to his word he was, he had escorted the man out quickly once he found him. However the Gossip was apparently a fast worker, because a couple people did give you lingering looks. Though they were quick to save face if they so much as thought Hannibal noticed. Whatever they thought didn’t matter. You were two grown, consenting adults that enjoyed each other’s company, be damned what others thought. Throughout the night you kept telling yourself that, hoping to cut the embarrassment short. A couple times you caught yourself, thoughtlessly intertwining your fingers with Hannibal’s when you were less than sturdy. Each time he squeezed your fingers gently, quiet reassurance that he was there for you.

-

You woke up the following morning. Hannibal was still asleep beside you, it must have been early. He looked sweet in the mornings. Relaxed, not as stiff as he usually was, his hair sticking up in places he’d immediately flatten out once he woke as he greeted you with that deeper more accented voice that accompanied the mornings. You pressed a kiss to his chest, before carefully removing the arm that was sprawled across your stomach.

Looking at the clock, you considered the time. There was enough if you worked quickly. Standing up, you grabbed one of your shirts and shorts. After freshening up, you made your way down to the kitchen.

It was different. You hadn’t toured much of the home, let alone know where anything was, but you gathered your bearings fast enough. The things you needed had been placed somewhat similarly to his old home and you set everything onto the counter. Protein scramble, fruit, and pancakes seemed like a good option today. The pancakes, he had taught you to make when you asked where the box mix was and obviously he wouldn’t stand for you not knowing how to make something so simple from scratch.

Your phone played music as you set to work, washing the used dishes along the way so there wasn’t too much of a mess.

As you were plating the food, you heard Hannibal call out your name.

“Kitchen!” You called out.

He was quick to meet you, “Darling, I could have made you breakfast. You should have stayed in bed with me.”

“I couldn’t sleep any more and you looked too sweet to wake,” you poured two cups of coffee and prepared them to both of your liking, “Figured why not play domestic for a while.”

“How did you like it?” He asked, walking over to take the cup from you.

“Eh well you know, the domestic life,” you shrugged, feeding him a cut strawberry, “I like to let my partner sleep in on Saturday’s and make them comfort breakfasts. Sometimes they ruin breakfast in bed by coming down too early, but what can you do?”

He chuckled around the bite of strawberry, “I’m sorry, beloved. I’ll stay put next time.”

“Yes, you will.” You stood on the tips of your toes to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “But I’m not too angry at you. I enjoy your company.”

His fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt. “Aren’t you usually sporting my shirts on these mornings?”

“I didn’t want to ruin one of them.”

“You couldn’t ruin a thing if you tried. I’ve got more than enough for you to steal away when you go back home too.”

“I only took them, because someone made a habit of messing up my shirts.”

“And your reasoning for keeping them, little one?” He grabbed the plates, “Come along, the mornings have been wonderful recently.”

You grabbed the cups. “You should’ve come and picked them up the same way I had. It’s your own fault they aren’t back where they belong.”

The afternoon was spent in each other’s company. Hannibal had insisted he’d wash the remaining dishes and asked you to pick up his sketchbook and pencils from the library since you were going to find yourself something to read. You did as asked, before returning outside. Setting his things on the table, you went to go sit in a sunny spot of grass.

It wasn’t long until Hannibal rejoined you outside and took a seat.

You glanced up curiously after a while, he was sketching away.

“Anything I can do for you, beloved?” He asked, not looking up from his work.

“Just watching.”

He hummed in response.

Some unease settled in your stomach when you remembered why exactly you were over here. What was the harm in voicing it? “Hannibal?” You waited until he looked up at you, “You’re okay that we haven’t slept together yet? I mean… I know that’s why I am here.”

It was true, the lingering looks you had gotten at dinner, paired with the small embarrassment of realizing one of Hannibal’s love bites got to bloom in front of them all threw you off at night. You had tried to let yourself go, let him have control of you for a while, but you couldn’t go past taking off some clothes and letting your hands feel the other. He didn’t mind when you didn’t want to do more. Always the gentleman. Instead he settled you against his chest, an arm keeping you close, quiet conversation and long breathtaking kisses filled the night.

“I’m not one of those little boys you’ve found,” he stated, seeming to be mildly offended, “I enjoy our quiet moments just as much, if not more. Sex is something else we could do together, nothing more. It’s not everything, little one. You’re not here for that purpose. What I enjoy is your company and I’ll take it any way you give it.”

You tilted your head looking at him closely, he mimicked you, narrowing his eyes at you playfully. That made you laugh softly, you decided he was being honest and not covering up his disappointment with sweet words. Patting the grass next to you, “Sit with me.”

“YN…”

“Please?” You asked, sweetening the pot with a pout.

He shook his head but gathered his things, soon joining you. Resting your head on his shoulder you looked at what he was sketching. The scene was you at the present moment. Half faced toward him, book in hand, completely relaxed, and more perfect than you ever dreamed of being.

“That’s an exaggeration, I’m not that beautiful.”

“That’s where we must differ, my love,” he kissed your temple, “Try as I might I’ll never be able to draw you with the dignity you deserve. It’s a poor imitation of the way I perceive you.”

“You’re a ridiculous man,” you said fondly, “Though I suppose I’d like to keep you around a while longer.”

“Suppose” he scoffed, “ You’d be lost without me.”

You stuck your tongue out at him childishly and went back to your book.

-

“Darling, I do adore when you take care of yourself, but we’ll be late if you don’t hurry,” Hannibal said, leaning on the bathroom’s door frame already dressed for the outing.

“It’s not my fault you always manage to get the bath perfect,” you groaned, getting out of the bathtub.

Hannibal walked over, grabbing a towel on his way. “I’ll run you another later.”

You took the towel, drying yourself off. It was nice to see a rare impatient Hannibal. There was more to that calm and collected demeanor he usually had. “You’re cute when you’re excited about something. Where are we going?”

“I got us tickets to the opera.”

“Really!” You lit up at that. When he talked about the shows he had seen before, he’d get so much more animated. It would be nice to experience one with him. “Which one?”

“Die Entführung aus dem Serail,” he answered, taking you in with a smile, “but darling, your excitement may go to waste, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll be quick!”

With you keeping your promise and Hannibal’s quick driving, it didn’t take anytime to make it to the opera house. There was time to spare and Hannibal socialized a bit, introducing you to other regulars. You exchanged pleasantries and let Hannibal control the conversation as you looked around the place. Some people you recognized from last night. One person you saw nod towards you whispering something to his companion.

“I didn’t think he’d be one for cradle robbing,” you caught the man say, as he eyed you up, “Lucky man. Reckon I could steal that little piece away?”

You subtly moved closer to Hannibal, feeling the heat rise to your face.

Hannibal turned his attention to you when the others started talking amongst themselves. “Are you alright?” He asked quietly, tucking away a strand of your hair that fell out of place.

“Yeah. I’m great,” you lied, knowing he’d probably take offense to any minute comment made about whatever kind of relationship the two of you had.

“Are you certain?” The tone of voice saying he knew you were hiding something. He always seemed to read you so easily. In that he knew you’d continue to deny anything. “Would you like to go to our seats now? The show should start in a couple of minutes.”

“Yes, please.”

Hannibal grabbed your hand in his, leading you away from the crowd. To your surprise he took you to a private balcony above the rest of the audience seating. “Since, it’s your first time, I figured privacy would do us well. No distractions,” he paused for a moment, “No one to get into that pretty little head of yours.”

“I just don’t enjoy all the looks and comments,” you sighed, allowing him to pull you down onto the seat with him. “I love spending time with you. It’s just soured by people that don’t mind their own.”

“It’s not ideal, but we mustn’t let them ruin our nights. With this kind of community, people make assumptions and talk. Darling, I really do insist you tell me when someone makes you upset.”

“I know, I know. Guess I should have braced for it more. I’m just not used to these kinds of things. When we’re alone it’s easy to just exist together. Just us.”

“I understand completely. However, I do enjoy that we finally got to leave the house. You look absolutely breathtaking tonight.”

You smiled at that, “Well, you do seem to have an eye for what suits me.”

“That, I do.”

Leaning your head on his shoulder, you breathed the comforting scent of his cologne, “I’m sorry I let them get to me when we're supposed to be enjoying our time together. It’s not fair to you.”

“They get annoying,” he gave your thigh a gentle squeeze, “Of course you’d take offense for us. There isn’t much we can do besides understand that we’re here for the right reasons. Though, it does get under my skin to see you affected so under my care.”

Soon the crowd made their way to the seats and the lights dimmed to near black. When the music started Hannibal whispered translations into your ear. You got caught up in the story between watching the characters go through their woes and Hannibal’s gentle voice guiding you through every detail. It was easy to see what Hannibal saw at these events. They really were thrilling to watch. Still it wasn’t so much the show, but getting to know another side of the man in question.

You looked at the man beside you, a happy smile plastered on your face. “Thank you for bringing me, Hannibal.”

“Anything for you, my love.”

“Your love?” You challenged teasingly.

A couple times he had thrown around the pet name. You didn’t take it for much. He was a sweet, old fashioned man, you had decided to believe. A sweet nothing that neither of you minded. Still you couldn’t deny the slight softness you felt from the moniker.

“You’ve promised yourself as all mine before,” he reminded you, “and I take no issue in claiming what’s mine.”

“That was said when I was drunk on you.”

“Deny all you’d like, sweet girl, you’re still mine.”

Hannibal tilted your head up slightly to kiss you. You couldn’t find it in yourself to care about why the music crescendoed in that moment. Not when he was kissing you with more passion than you had ever felt. He had a way of making it feel like you were the only beings in existence. Hannibal bit at your lip, asking for more, and you gave it to him without a thought. You’d do whatever he wanted at that moment. Still you couldn’t help grabbing his wrist when his hand found it’s way up your dress. He swallowed the helpless moan that slipped past your lips greedily.

You pulled away from him, your hips grinding onto his hand on their own accord. “Hannibal, I-“

He hushed you, “You’re missing a very important part of the show.” His hand didn’t let up from its ministrations as he continued to translate for you.

You went to cover your mouth with your hand, but Hannibal stopped you short, placing it back at your side. A quick mummer of be good was all he offered, not once stopping the pace he had set. You choked back the moan when he pressed against a spot that had been long neglected since the last time you paid him a visit. The music being so loud was your only safe haven, still, you pressed yourself further into Hannibal, hoping to hide yourself further from any wandering eyes that might look away from the show. Embarrassment and lust built with every thrust of Hannibal’s fingers. The former was getting increasingly easier to ignore as Hannibal pulled you closer and closer to your end. Pressing your face against his neck, you bit at the skin there in a cheap attempt at revenge for what he was putting you through.

Hannibal’s fingers stilled. A quiet chuckle met your ear when he heard your whimper of protest, stopping your hips as you attempted to help yourself. “Such an easy thing to toy with, you're nothing more than my own personal whore.” He didn’t miss the throb around his fingers at those words. “You’d let me use you however I’d like wouldn’t you?”

You gave a lazy nod as he brought his fingers up to your mouth. Eager to please him, hoping he’d let you finish, you opened your mouth and sucked his fingers clean. Behind your back, you felt him working himself out of his pants. Taking his hand away he adjusted your dress higher before pulling you on to his lap. With his other hand the head of his cock teased your clit, you forced yourself not to complain, knowing he’d go on longer if you did. When he finally pushed into you, you couldn’t fight off the moan of contentment as he filled you completely. Turning your head, you caught him in a languid kiss, caught up in only him despite the performance going on.

“Please?”

“What do you need?”

“You.” You shifted your hips slightly, “May I please move?”

“I’m sorry, little one,” you caught the slight upward twitch of his lip when you looked at him in disbelief, “I’d rather use you at my leisure.”

You whined in frustration, leaning against him knowing he’d play a cruel game. This time he offered no translations, keeping you entirely focused on the feeling of him buried deep inside of you doing nothing to help relieve your need for him. When you did manage to distract yourself, he circled your clit and gave a few sharp thrust, just enough to bring you back where he wanted you. His hand continued, changing the rhythm every so often so you’d stay aware of your position.

“I’ll be so good,” you begged helplessly.

“And yesterday you had been so against it despite having our privacy in the library,” he reminded you, pushing in and out of you in a too slow pace, but at least he was moving, “What was it that was missing, hm? The audience that could look up and see me using what’s mine?”

You didn’t know what had changed. Not truely. Maybe it was the couple of glasses of wine you had drunk throughout the day. Perhaps it was just finally getting what you had wanted for so long. Honestly, you couldn’t find yourself to be curious enough to find out.

“I wanna cum,” you told him, swallowing the embarrassment.

“I don’t know, darling, you’ve tried to find comfort with others. I really can’t say I approve of the notion. Suppose, I could just use you for your worth and leave you dry.” He groaned into your ear as you clenched around him, he sped up his thrust, “There’s my good girl, you like the sound of that?”

“Hannibal, please,” you whimpered, “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“Beg for it.”

“I’ll never look for anyone else again. It was so stupid to think anyone else could make me feel as good as you.” Your breath hitched when he struck deeper, “I've been so desperate for you.”

“That’s all so very sweet, but that’s not exactly what I want to hear.”

You whined quietly as you tried to figure out the right combination of words to get you what you wanted. “I’m just yours… No one else’s… You’re the only one, I’m so sorry…”

“See? Was it so hard to apologize for your misconduct?”

You shook your head.

He pinched your thigh. “Words, darling.”

“No, daddy,” you moaned, as his hands guided your hips to move with him, “But I’ll be good for you now.”

“I still don’t think you deserve to cum, you pathetic thing.”

“You’ll let me?”

Hannibal’s hand grabbed your jaw roughly, making you look at him. “Next time I won’t be so generous. Understood?”

You swallowed down the slight twinge of fear that had worked its way into your system. “Yes, sir.”

He pushed your face away. “Work for it yourself.”

Tag list: @charc0al-grey @songofcosplay

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Angelic.

Pairing: Yandere!Diavolo/Reader.

Word Count: 3.8k. 

Synopsis: You like being an angel. You’re proud of it, of your wings, of your faith, of all you’ve done to earn your place in the Celestial Realm. Diavolo doesn't mind your current state, of course not, he loves every part of you. He just thinks some modifications may need to be made, before he can love you properly.

TW: Violence, Kidnapping, Prolonged Imprisonment, Non-Consensual Touching, Blood, Possessive Mindsets, Slight Dehumanization, and Mentions of Non-Con.

Michael used to say only the bravest angels earned their wings.

It was part of the reason they were so rare, after the Celestial War, after Lucifer and his brothers took their wings and distorted them into leathery, spiked, perverted evidence of their new, tainted loyalties. You didn’t have to be the toughest angel, but you had to be devoted, you had to be dedicated beyond a shadow of a doubt, and you had to be brave enough to put that dedication on display. You were just a messenger, a servant to much more deserving candidates, but you still had a pair sprouting from your shoulder blades, just heavy enough to give you a reason to straighten your back, whenever you started to lose faith in your divinity. You’d earned them, and you were proud. You’d managed to keep them, and you had no plans to give them up.

Only the bravest angels had wings. That meant you were a brave angel.

It meant you could be brave enough to survive Diavolo, as long as you had your wings.

They were warm, too, forming a soft, white shell around your upper body, helping you to block out that unignorable chill that came hand in hand with the Devildom. It’d been a temporary discomfort in the past, something you could brush aside whenever you were asked to carry a letter to the Demon Lord’s castle or invited as a make-shift ambassador in the absence of a proper representative, but after days trapped in the domain, your shining sun replaced with layers of stone and rock, there was little you could do to escape it, and Diavolo seemed hesitant to offer his aid. His kindness had stopped at a silk gown, black and thin and just teetering on the edge of purposefully sheer, the fabric fine enough to slip through his fingers as he toyed with the hem, perched on the edge of your bed, edging closer despite your obvious attempts to melt into the headboard.

He said you’d have your own space, your own room, that he wanted you to feel comfortable enough to welcome him in willingly, when you were ready. He said he would give you time.

Obviously, he’d been lying, and you weren’t quite why you’d ever bothered to believe him.

The silence was tense. There’d been a greeting when he came in, a gesture of good will you hadn’t returned, but if Diavolo was bothered, it didn’t stop him from smiling, a simper tugging at the corner of his lips as he glanced towards you, attempting to catch your eye while you glared at the sheets. That didn’t stop him from speaking, though, attempting to clear the air and only making the atmosphere more poluted, as a result. “I take it you don’t care for my hospitality.”

His tone was light, jovial. Less of an attempt to coax you into a comfortable lull and more of a genuine fondness, regardless of whether or not the object of his affection returned the sentiment. “I don’t want to…” You wanted to go home. You wanted him to undo whatever spell he’d cast on the door and the windows and all the other exits that wouldn’t open, no matter of how many times you slammed yourself against them. You wanted him to let you go, but he wouldn’t. He’d already done enough to prove that, just by coming to you so happily. “I just don’t like it here.”

He dropped your gown, humming as he let his touch drift to your thigh, instead. You only pulled your legs closer, your wings tightening around you, attempting to provide another layer of reassurance. It was a futile pursuit, but still, you could appreciate the effort. “You’re cold?” There wasn’t a point in trying to avoid conversation, so you didn’t try, just nodding as he scanned over you. His skin was warm against yours, but unpleasantly so. Like taking a step too close to an open hearth and letting the heat become searing, rather than soothing. “It gets easier, with time. Angels usually have a difficult time adapting, but you’ll get used to it. And if you don’t…” He paused, his grin growing just a bit wider. “There are plenty of ways to speed up the process.”

Right. You’d almost forgotten. It wasn’t enough for him to just have you. It wasn’t enough for him to just keep you trapped here, against your will and so far from your natural element.

He needed to make you a monster, too. Something just as demonic and just as disgusting as he was.

You were thankful your face was hidden. He wouldn’t have taken it kindly, if he caught the way you grimaced at his suggestion. “I mean, I don’t like it here, Diavolo. It’s not just the cold. I don’t like being underground. I don’t like not being able to leave.” He wasn’t an oblivious man. He knew what he’d done, he knew how you felt about it, but for whatever reason, he refused to acknowledge your rejection. You couldn’t expect him to be kind, but you could expect him to be reasonable. “I don’t want to be a demon, or a fallen angel, or whatever you plan to turn me into. I’m just… I’m not supposed to be.”

“That’s one of the wonderful parts of having power, isn’t it?” It was a chuckle, a breath of a laugh. “I can help you change. With my assistance, you could be something greater than what you are, now. You could be a ranking demon, a name known and feared in—”

“Your servant.” You didn’t bother letting him finish. He was touching you, and you wished he wasn’t. The sooner this ended, the sooner he might stop. “I'll be your servant. Just as I’m Michael’s servant, now.”

Diavolo didn’t bother trying to deny it. “You'll my lover, as well. Isn’t that worth losing a few feathers?”

“I’m sorry, I just…” You didn’t want to be his lover, or his servant, or any role he had to offer. You wanted to be a messenger. You wanted to live a life you could be proud of, you wanted to feel the sunlight on your wings, and you didn’t want to give that up for the first crazed prince to take an interest in you. You didn’t want to give up your wings. Not to him, and certainly not for a prize so undesirable.

Your head lulled to the side, and for the first time since your arrival, you let yourself smile as you spoke.

“I like being an angel.”

~

Michael used to say only the most faithful angels earned their wings.

Only the most faithful, only the most trusting, only the least likely to be led astray by awful rumors and mortal temptations, by all the urges that’d drove so many of your brothers and sisters to abandoning the Celestial Realm entirely, trading it in for more forgiving terrains. You trusted Michael. You trusted every cherub, every seraph, every throne, every angel. Before, you’d trusted them to guide you, to correct you when you were in the wrong, and now, you trusted them to save you, to come for you, to do something to bring you home and as far from Diavolo as you could possibly be. You trusted them. You trusted them with your life, let alone your freedom.

And, you trusted that Michael had a good reason to wait so long to rescue you, too.

You were starting to lose track of how much time had passed, since you’d been abducted. It felt like two weeks, maybe three, but with Diavolo’s sporadic schedule and no sun to dim or brighten, you really didn’t have a way to be sure. His paperwork didn’t help, sprawled across his desk, all messily written notes and correspondences too personal to need dates or signatures. You looked regardless, doing what you could to search through the mess from your awkward position on his knee, your wings folded stiffly against your back. It had to be here. You knew it’d be here, you just had to—

On the corner of his desk, a letter with its envelope still sitting on top of it. A letter you didn’t remember delivering.

A letter with Michael’s insignia pressed into its torn surface. The insignia you’d dedicated your life to. The insignia you’d continue to dedicate your life to, as soon as you got away from Diavolo.

It would’ve been better to stay quiet. It would’ve been better not to say anything at all. It would’ve been smarter, but your mouth was already opening, your lips already moving, and before you could stop yourself, the question you’d been dying to ask was already spilling out. “Does he know?”

Diavolo hesitated, the constant scrawling of his quill going silent. Even then, he took a moment to answer, his tone suddenly much more patronizing than it had any right to be, for such a simple question. “Darling,” He started, his hand falling to your hip, rubbing circles idly into your side. “Michael’s a smart man. I’m sure he’s realized where you are, by now.”

“I know.” Michael had to know. You couldn’t take a step out of line without earning a lecture for your ‘disobedience’, most days. “But, you’re lying to him, aren’t you?” It was more of a hopeful thought than an accusation. Something you just wished he’d be kind enough to tell you, rather than honest enough to disregard. “He doesn’t think I’m… He doesn’t think I’m here like this, right?”

There was a pause, and his hand stopped moving. 

This time, he didn’t try not to laugh.

It was an awful feeling, his chest pressing against your back, just the hint of his weight forcing you to slouch as his lips ghosted over the dip of your shoulder, warm breath fanning over your skin at every chuckle, every wistful sigh, every painful word you couldn’t beg him not to say, not without losing your dignity, too. “What do I have to lie about?” You shuddered as he kissed you, the gesture fleeting, but no less repulsive. If Diavolo noticed, he didn’t seem to mind. “I’m taking care of you. You’re housed and fed and looked after, and you could be entertained, if I trusted you to wander out of my sight. He’s aware of my feelings for you, and if he asked, I’d be happy to tell him all about my stubborn little dove and spoiled you’ve become, with me.”

‘If he asked’. You were used to the way he talked about you – like a pet, like something to be adored and cooed over and cared for, but you’d be lying if you said something didn’t crack inside of your chest at that, at the implication that Michael hadn’t asked, not yet. It could’ve been a tactic, a strategy to guide Diavolo into a false sense of security. It could’ve been part of one of the many ‘greater plans’ your superior had always been so endeared by.

That, or he just didn’t care. It wasn’t like you were the only messenger in the Celestial Realm.

Diavolo must’ve caught your worried frown, the half-hearted, distracted glare you couldn’t seem to completely suppress. His next kiss lasted longer than his first, lingering against the nape of your neck. Temptation, poorly guised under the pretense of comfort. “Angels are fickle creatures, Michael especially. You’re dear to me, you know that, but I can’t say everyone is quite as emotional.”  He gave you time to respond, but you didn’t take the opportunity. You didn’t have anything to say, not when he got like this. “It might be a little less painful if you—”

“I like being an angel,” You snapped. It didn’t have anything to do with Michael, or his approval, or whether or not he cared that you were stuck in the same frozen, sunless hell he’d sent you to, trapped by the same devil he’d insisted that you see day in and day out despite your complaints, despite the lasting touches and the prolonged visits and that awful, possessive glint in Diavolo’s eye, when he looked at you. You didn’t care about Michael, not when it came to this. Not when you already knew what you were. “I’m an angel. I’ll always be an angel. I’ve never wanted to be anything else.”

It was the truth, but Diavolo only sighed, your wings straining not to lash out as he pulled you closer. Straining not to protect you, however necessary their service was beginning to seem.

“We’ll see.”

~

Michael used to say only the strongest angels earned their wings.

Strong in will, strong in mind, strong, whether or not you had any place on a battlefield. Out of all Michael’s compliments, it was the rarest, saved for soldiers and generals and magicians of the highest order, communicated in sparse bits of praise you felt lucky just to overhear. Maybe if you’d ever gotten your second pair, he would’ve said it to you, too. Maybe if you’d ever sought to be more than a messenger, he would’ve thought you were worthy of it. Maybe, if you escaped on your own, he’d smile and place a hand on your shoulder and celebrate your strength, your wings, your perseverance, you.

Maybe, if you escaped soon enough, you’d still want him to.

In your defense, it’d taken you a month just to get this close to the outside world, just to be able to see the Devildom beyond the walls of Diavolo’s castle, albeit still restrained to a balcony. It was brighter than you expected, the landscape below glowing with floating lanterns and glinting streetlights, ancient estates and modern stores standing side by side, a testament to the contained chaos of Diavolo’s domain. It was beautiful, even if you must’ve seen it a hundred times before. It was breathtaking, if only because it wasn’t the same stone and mortar, the same bedrooms and offices and grand ballrooms too empty not to come off as uncanny. You haven’t even asked for it, not unprompted.

It was a gift. It was a reward for your good behavior, not unlike your wings.

You pushed the thought out of your mind as soon as Diavolo’s armed wrapped around your waist. You’d wanted your wings. You’d worked for them. You’d never wanted this.

Still, you didn’t push him away. You wanted more time to take it in, another minute of feeling that humidity against your skin, another second of breathing fresh air. As long as you got that, you could ignore his unnatural body-heat, the feeling of his lips against the side of your neck, trailing towards your jaw while you bit back your usual complaints. That was his reward, for being such a considerate captor. He got to touch you, actually touch you, and for once, you had a good reason not to fight back.

Your wings had never liked to listen to logic, though. Despite your grit teeth, your white-knuckle grip on the low guard-rail, your right wing still plastered itself to your side, wrapping around you protectively while its twin hovered behind Diavolo, at your side, caught between the urge to push itself between you and a perceived threat and your commands to relax, fall back, do something that didn’t make your shoulders ache and your spine cramp every time you shifted. Fortunately, Diavolo seemed unfazed, only bothering to brush your wing away when it bumped against his back, reacting to every nip to your jaw, every brush of pointed fangs against your jugular.

He barely pulled away to speak, his voice coming out muffled. “I’m starting to think you don’t trust me.”

“I can’t really control them,” You mumbled, your grip growing impossibly tighter around the guard rail. Diavolo was pulling you closer, now, his hold not quite crushing, but still as suffocating as it’d ever been. “I… I think I’m just nervous. They start to get fidgety when I’m on-edge, y’know?”

There was a laugh, a peck the corner of your lips. You couldn’t stop yourself from flinching back. It wasn’t the most intimate thing he’d tried, it wasn’t even the most invasive, but the fact that he felt comfortable trying at all wasn’t a good sign. “Are you still scared of me, my love?” It was a question, but he didn’t give you time to answer, only tugging you towards him, his knee slipping between your legs as you were forced to face him, abandoning your railing and your only source of stability, in the process. “I think I’ve been kind, and you must see that I’m being patient. I’ve trying to be gentle with you, despite how cold you’ve been, since I took you in.”

A hand dropped to your thigh, and your vision tinged black around the edges. He must’ve been able to feel your pulse racing, but he didn’t seem disturbed by your sudden anxiety. “Only because I haven’t given you permission to be anything but gentle, yet.”

Something sparked in his eyes, a dark sort of fire. “I don’t need your permission for everything, you know.”

For once, you and your wings were in agreement.

It helped that he wasn’t expecting it. You’d always been passive when it came to action, too timid to fight back in any meaningful way, so when you lashed out, when you wedged a strong wing between his body and yours and shoved, he was caught off-guard, letting you go out of instinct alone. You didn’t bother trying to subdue him. He was a head taller than you and twice as strong, but you were faster, you were frenzied, and whatever he might’ve expected, it couldn’t have been what you did next. In the space between one second and another, you were on top of the railing, struggling to keep your balance as your wings stretched to their full length for the first time in weeks. You felt a hollow throb, a pang of discomfort, but you weren’t deterred. You needed to get out of here. You needed to fly. You couldn’t leave his kingdom, but as long as you left him, you’d be alright. You wanted to fly. You had to fly.

But, as soon as you’d jumped, a fist wrapped around your ankle, and you were thrown back onto the balcony before your wings could do so much as flap.

It hurt. More than anything, it hurt, from the new crack in your ribcage to the spot where something shattered in the arch of your left wing. You curled into yourself instinctively, a faltering whimper turning into a broken scream as Diavolo’s foot caught the bend of your fractured wing, still fluttering pathetically in an attempt to aid you. “I’m trying to be nice,” He snarled, but he didn’t sound angry. He sounded disappointed, exasperated, tired of you and your refusal and how little he seemed to respect either. There was an airy, exhausted chuckle on his part, then a ragged sob on yours. “Would it really be so awful to be with me? Have I really done something monstrous enough to deserve this?”

Yes. It was, he had, yes. That’s what you wanted to say, what you meant to, but your tongue refused to form the words. “I d-don’t—” You slurred, instead, only to be cut short by your own hitched cry. “I… I like being an angel, I don’t wanna— I can’t—”

“I know.”

His heel pressed into your wing, blood seeped from matted feathers, and something hot and agonizing shot from your injury to your brain. Like lightening. Like liquid mercury. Like fire.

You didn’t even have a chance to close your eyes before the world went dark around you.

~

You used to say you’d rather lose your head than your wings.

It was one of those stupid, short-sighted things people liked to say when they were feeling bold, when they were safe, when they’d just gotten something new and shiny and hadn’t grown tired of showing it off. Sometimes it was an arm, some days your legs, and when you were feeling particularly brave, you’d say your heart, despite how useless your wings would probably be without something so vital. It might’ve been different if you were ever actually up against a threat that wanted to take one or the other, but it still would’ve been your choice. That was what you were stuck on, really. You thought you’d get to choose.

But, you hadn’t.

Diavolo must’ve grown tired of letting you make the wrong decision, all while he tried to be so helpful.

You felt hollow when you woke up, lying on a bed you’d never seen before. Lighter than you should’ve been, sliced open and carved out, missing something necessary and warm and filling. Your throat felt dry, your eyes stung, and when you tried to roll onto your side, when you tried to move at all, it felt like every tissue, every tendon, every cell in your body was trying to tear itself apart. The pain was all-consuming, and it only seemed to get worse as you shrunk into yourself, your arms wrapping around your sides and your wings following—

Oh.

It was kind of funny, how long it’d taken you to notice.

You didn’t have to look. You kept your eyes shut, a cracked sob slipping past your lips as you tried desperately to move your wings, to lift them, to flap them, to do something beyond digging your nails into the sheets and cursing, panting, waiting for anything. The pain dimmed, numbing into something distant, something unimportant as you tried to push yourself up, but a strong hand clamped around your shoulder before you could make any progress, not forcing you to lay down, but urging you to, not giving you another choice. 

That seemed to be a trend, lately.

You tried to thrash. You tried to struggle, but Diavolo just clicked his tongue, the mild sound of disapproval serving as your only warning before he sat up, an arm soon thread underneath the small of your back and the bend of your knees, lifting you into his lap without the option to pull away. “Please, try not to move.” As always, he was gentle, hushing your weak protests before you could think to vocalize them. “Your wounds are still healing. It’d only be more painful if you tore your stitches, and the mess—”

“What—What did you do—” You were stuttering, stumbling over your words, but it didn’t matter. You were desperate, and you needed to do something. “I can’t… Why can’t I feel my wings?”

There was a slight pause, the smallest hesitation. You swear, you could feel his smile burning into you, as he started to speak. “You said you wanted to be angel, my love.” It was a crime, how soft his voice was, how tenderly he held you. A captor masquerading as a caretaker. A demon as a doting lover. “But, I couldn’t have you trying to fly away. Consider this a compromise, an alternative to keeping my little songbird locked in a cage.”

You might’ve preferred a cage. A cell, a prison, a chain around your ankle, anything over the strange dissonance that came with having half of yourself ripped away and discarded. But, Diavolo hadn’t given you the choice. Michael hadn’t saved you, and now, after you’d been damaged so severely, you doubted he ever would.

You liked being an angel. You really, really liked being an angel. You’d never wanted to be anything else.

You just weren’t sure if you could be an angel, without your wings.

[brushstrokesapocalyptic]

it’s time for the “overanalyzing one-off lines” show!

so the very first thing magnus says when he sees pit in chapter 2 of kid icarus: uprising is as follows:

“Well, I didn’t expect to see an angel here. Hope this doesn’t mean I’ve kicked the bucket.”

now, i’m not sure if you’re aware, but that’s a really weird thing for someone to say, and it’s even more weird that no one comments on it. pit and palutena go on talking about unrelated things, as if that’s a totally normal and expected thing for magnus to say.

now, if you’re like me, you probably also didn’t really react to this line the first few times you saw it. it’s the second chapter, kiu has a lot of slightly-odd lines which turn out to be foreshadowing. me, personally? my first thought was “oh, i guess angels are probably associated with escorting the dead to the afterlife,“ and then i moved on.

they’re not, though. that’s what reapers do. and there’s no way humans have these two races mixed up. just fucking look at them.

do they look anything alike to you??? no. they don’t. which raises the question of why, exactly, magnus said that.

now, we don’t know a lot about angels as a whole. pit (and by extension dark pit) is emphatically not the gold standard of angeldom. we can assume he looks fairly ordinary for an angel, seeing as no one has trouble identifying him as such. beyond that, though, a lot of what we know about angels comes from what pit isn’t. for starters, he can’t fly. and there’s something else, too, but i’ll get to that later.

before that, though, i’m gonna go through the various unsubstantiated comments made by people with a dubious level of authority on the subject. (incidentally, i sourced these screenshots from the wiki— much more convenient than trying to dig through youtube for every single random conversation.)

without any further ado! let’s get into it!

Angels as Messengers

Gaol: Aw, Palutena’s little messenger boy. And Magnus, it’s always a pleasure. (src)

in the specific context of overanalyzing magnus’s first line, this is an important sentence to pick out. magnus and gaol are both humans, both with presumably a fairly similar history as mercenaries up until gaol got stuffed in a suit of armor. but while magnus makes a weird comment about death, gaol calls pit a messenger.

and pit agrees with her!

Viridi: I wish I had an angel to do my bidding. It’s like having an intern.

Pit: I’m not an intern. I’m a messenger of the gods!

Viridi: Poor Pit. Don't you know that the definition of angel is "errand spirit"? (src)

this particular conversation is the most insight we get into angels as a whole, i think. viridi thinks of angels as like divine interns, there to do little tasks for gods, and palutena doesn’t exactly disagree with her. pit says they’re specifically messengers, which lines up with biblical mythology. i could see the traditional role of angels in the world of KI being exactly that, showing up to tell the humans what the gods have to say because the gods themselves are too busy being petty jerks to do it themselves.

The Angel’s Code of Conduct

Magnus: You go in fully dressed? Don't you at least want to change into a...swimming tunic or something?

Pit: Oh, no no no! The angel's code of conduct says that we must always be ready for duty.

Magnus: I guess you wouldn't be an angel if you didn't do things by the book. (src)

Pit: Hey! You know the angel's code of conduct! I need to be prepared at all times! (src)

another random little thing is the angel’s code of conduct. without a larger sample size, we can’t know if it’s a real thing or just an excuse to save on laundry, but apparently it’s against the rules to not be on call at all times. in pit’s case, the duty he has to be ready for is doing palutena’s dirty work, but it can easily mean just about anything— including, of course, being a messenger.

No Warrior

Chariot Master: But you are no warrior, angel. Tell me, why do you fight?

Pit: I fight for Lady Palutena. And I fight for the people under her protection!

Chariot Master: That's not reason enough for an angel. (src)

remember how i said there was something else weird about pit? the chariot master seems to think angels aren’t very prone to battle— or perhaps even that they’re actively opposed to it. this lines up well with the idea that they’re supposed to be messengers, peaceful go-betweens for gods and mortals. this does not line up well with pit, the adorable weapon of mass destruction.

and it also does absolutely nothing to explain the question driving the whole existence of this post.

you know what does kinda lean towards an explanation?

No Other Angels

Pit: Do all gods have their own angels, like you have me?

Palutena: No, I don't think that's necessarily the case. (src)

i said before that the Intern Pit conversation had the most illuminating information on angels. this is what i was actually referring to. on its own, it’s pretty innocuous, but it’s just as weird as the magnus line. shouldn’t pit know about other angels, seeing as he is one himself? but he doesn’t know if there are other angels.

the only angels we ever see are him and his clone. no one ever directly references the existence of other angels, they only make general statements about what angels as a whole are like— statements which clearly don’t apply to pit, meaning they’re not just extrapolating based on the one angel that definitely does exist.

the one time someone does comment on the hypothetical existence of other angels, palutena gives a vague answer to the tune of “no,” the topic is changed, and no one brings it up again.

let’s go over everything i’ve established about angels up to this point. they can fly, they’re peaceful messengers of the gods, and pit is the only one that seems to exist as of the start of KIU.

it should be pretty obvious at this point what answer i’m dancing around, if it wasn’t obvious from the start. pit is the only angel around because all the other ones are dead. the reason why magnus said what he did is that his thought process went something like this:

See an angel.

Think “Aren’t angels extinct? Is that a ghost? Am I a ghost? I sure hope not.“

Make a quip about that.

Move on with his life, because he isn’t dead and evidently neither is this guy.

i’m not gonna pretend i went into this post with the intent of any other conclusion to that mystery. anyone who’s bothered glancing over a plot summary for the original kid icarus can draw that conclusion. it’s certainly what i did, reinforced by fics by people who had the same thought!

the truth, however, is that this was all a trick to get you to read my analysis of the theoretical nature of angels as a race. now that you’re invested, i’m going to dramatically throw aside my cape and reveal my TRUE FORM: telling people that fandom consensus is wrong, and my ideas are cooler and better than everyone else’s and you should all throw roses at my feet and bow before your king.

(or just, y’know, take it as the subjective analysis that it is. whatever floats your boat.)

Hot Takes

the original kid icarus does not actually tell you about angels going extinct. here’s the wiki article with the full text of the backstory, just for convenience, so you know what i’m on about for the rest of this post.

so, the part of the story that i think gets misinterpreted is this part about palutena’s army.

Medusa led a surprise attack on Palutena's army which could barely fend off the attack. Palutena's army suffered major losses and was heavily defeated in the final battle.

specifically, i think a lot of people interpret said army as having been made up at least partly of angels. sure, in the actual game it consists entirely of centurions, but you have to take old NES games with a grain of salt. i know i don’t buy for a second that pit was part of palutena’s guard before the original game (he was just too goddamn young), there’s nothing wrong with reinterpreting things.

recall everything i established about angels already, though. this is the hot official lore, from the game everyone knows and loves. angels are messengers, and if the chariot master is to be believed, never warriors. pit is an outlier. palutena’s army consists of centurions, not angels. if medusa wiped them out, it wasn’t because they were fighting for palutena.

(and honestly, i don’t think angels are necessarily associated with palutena exclusively. sure, she’s got the wing imagery, and she’s got the one known surviving angel working for her, at least up until pittoo is born. but angels are messengers of the gods, not messengers of palutena. again, pit is an outlier.)

which all brings us to the real question of this post.

what the FUCK happened to all the other angels? why is there only pit? why does magnus act surprised to see a messenger of the gods, and make a quip about being dead, if not because angels are otherwise extinct?! WHO KILLED THEM, AND WHY?!

thus concludes the “over analyzing one-off lines“ show. see you next, uh, maybe at some point if i feel like it!

(also another thought i had but couldn’t find room to fit it in properly: the gods don’t really act like angels are all extinct, but i feel like that can be explained through the sheer scale of a god’s lifespan. if we assume they were wiped out sometime around the original kid icarus (even if not as palutena’s army) then that’s a whole twenty-five years. that’s a long time for us humans, but for a god, that might as well be last tuesday. “yeah, i know what angels are like. sure wish i could have one. too bad palutena’s got a monopoly on the one single angel that medusa didn’t manage to wreck.”)

[adonis-koo]

I'm so in love with chapter 15! Wicked has really become one of my favorites and ifjei I have so much to say about it! It's just fricking great you have no idea 😭

I love all those emotions you put in there! Their personalities feel so real. Hot headed prince and the gentle, but very emotional Mc. I understand both sides on that one conflict at the end. Jk had to do what he did. He grew up way different. He had to face the cruel world at a very young age. Penumbra isn't like Enoia. It's pure chaos. Either you protect yourself by building a wall over your heart or you go down. I get why he mistrusted her for a bit. It's for safety. Doesn't make the truth any less painful and right. He's definitely in the wrong and i hope he gets on his knees. Tho I must also say that the Mc isn't all innocent as well. She completely went behind his back and went to the underside and disregarded his feelings. Calling him a lair and all. She's so hurt and emotional by everything he said and didn't say that she is also the one who hurt him in the progress. It may not be on purpose, but she did. It confused me for a second, because she was known for being gentle and understanding, but in that moment she didn't understand him at all. She didn't even try where he was coming from. The feeling of pain was so overwhelming that she disregarded his feelings, called him a lair and basically went behind his back for no reason.

It was reckless for her to go to the underside, especially without letting anyone know. It makes me so impossibly angry that she thinks she's the only one hurt, because Wheein is in prison. As if Jk hasn't got any feelings at all. He even was all tired because of all the work he had to do, not only political matters, but also the thing with wheein. He fell asleep and she ran away. He was worried sick, because she wasn't there. He may not be good with words, but his actions speak them all. He cares and for her to just say his feelings are insincere, makes me so upset. Especially because HE was the one getting angry when she said her life basically didn't matter. It speaks volumes. She's not a victim, she's also at fault. Both of them are. I hope she apologizes to him as well. He started that whole thing and she continued. I hope they can resolve the issue and understand each other better. :(

The whole thing feels so real and I'm so impressed how much character you put into this fic. I'm so in love with it! Thank you thank you thank you. It's a masterpiece and I hope you know it. ^-^

(sorry if I wrote the name of the countries wrong, I couldn't remember how it was spelled. I'm no professional english speaker as well so, I'll apologize for every mistake that's in these paragraphs too 🥺)

First of all I can’t thank you enough for your thoughts on this chapter!! I LOVE deep diving into situations and characters. You have so many valid points about Jungkook and MC! However I’d like to impart a little bit of my thoughts on the writing process in hopes of easing the blow a little.

There are a few big overarching themes in this series, one being duality and the other being not everything is as it seems; don’t believe everything you hear.

While Jungkook had to face the cruel world at a very young age, so did MC, they are two sides to the same coin in this series, both on opposite teams of a war but still suffering trauma from it. MC has been vocal about it, if this chapter as told us anything lol, but Jungkook doesn’t bare his heart that easily, we will eventually get to hear his side of the five year war, as it most certainly affected him (being a child soldier). But the big thing I wanted to set up here was that that not everything is as it seems.

Eunoia is first set up as a Kingdom centered around nature and peace, giving and expecting nothing in return. A divine and sacred space. But as the series has continued, it’s revealed that it’s only been this way for a very short moment in time. They have an immeasurable amount of blood on their hands and sins on their shoulders as they used to be cannibals. I haven’t strictly used the word in the story but it’s heavily alluded too when the word ‘devour’ is used. Penumbra is called heathenistic nation in the beginning but as it turns out, they hardly are.

Eunoia however, cannot say the same. Duality again plays a big role in the story, while MC is supposed to be a gentle, understanding person (and she is!) she is still human. And she is more times then less, very stubborn and headstrong and she is incredibly temperamental in moments and hot headed herself. It states in the chapter that ‘it’s known by her family that she’s always had a temper’ this was a set up and both acknowledgement from her, and while she is reckless, she’s not above admitting that she is. In fact there’s actually a scene in chapter 16 of her talking about her innocence being non existent (which makes me sad in the sense that I can’t talk about this in further detail because it’s not out)

I think the biggest thing to understand is that MC does not parade around like a victim intentionally, she does however talk about her pain and her tribulations a lot, she’s been through much and she can’t stand it when someone tries to undermine it, when someone tries to say that she’s had an easy life because she’s from Eunoia, it may come across as victim playing but she doesn’t mean it as such, and if someone were to say it (because let’s be real it’s bound to happen soon), she’ll immediately rein it in. This isn’t to say she’s in the right in any way possibly, I’m only giving some perspective on where she’s coming from!

Jungkook however is both similar and yet different from her, he’s titled the wicked prince and yet there’s a certain softness about him that I wanted to incorporate, he’s very understanding and forgiving to those he loved despite everything he’s endured, he isn’t an aggressive or hot headed person by nature, it’s been trained into him at a young age but it’s still not something that comes easy to him.

I suppose what I’m trying to say, is that Jungkook and MC and both deeply flawed and complex people, the stereotype traits that they were supposed to have, ended up being what the other actually embodies deep down (a soft prince and head strong Princess among other traits). Not only that but they still embody the empathic Princess and cold prince. They are all of these traits above and yet they utilize them in different ways, they are both very different , they come from different upbringings, different kingdoms, different beliefs and yet they are almost the same.

The biggest takeaway from this story morally is to never believe what you hear until you experience it for yourself. Because you might find that Penumbra isn’t nearly as horrendous and heathanistic as they all said it was, but you might discover along the way the grotesque history of Eunoia.

Once again I can’t thank you enough for your thoughts on this chapter! I didn’t mean to ramble so long but I don’t think I’ve had the opportunity to touch on this before so I wanted to take it while I had that chance! 🫶🖤

[mrs-march-ahs]

38,48 with Kai andersonnnn😭🙏🏽

Kai Anderson Punishing You

38. “Ride me.”

48. “Watch yourself in the mirror.”

Summary- You accidentally disobey Kai and he makes sure his little lamb learns her lesson, and remembers who’s in charge.

Warnings- Sexual punishment, hard-core dub-con, hard spanking, belting, choking, crying, riding, Kai Anderson.

Words- 1.5k

Hope you enjoy! I’m really buzzing with this one<3

----

Grunts fill the room as Kai pulls all the way out, and slams back in repeatedly. He looks deep into your eyes, with a very dominant look on his face and a lustful sparkle reflecting off his gritted teeth. You hold fistfuls of the couch and look at him while he fucks you, not daring to close your eyes again. The last time your eyes shut in pleasure, you earned Kai’s large hand tight around your throat. He continues his assault on your pussy but stops groaning and leans closer to your sweaty face, listening to you gasp for air. He smirks at your weakness and puts one of your legs on his shoulder, the new angle making you whimper in pleasure. With the new sensation at your g-spot, your head falls back and your eyes struggle to stay on Kai. But the second your eyes direct from Kai’s stare and go towards the floor, Kai uses his tight grip on your throat to force you to face him. 

“Keep your eyes on me or I’ll pull out”.

You look into his black eyes with a pleading gaze, but his expression or pace doesn’t soften. In fact, he thrusts into you harder, almost challenging you to keep your eyes open. After a few perfect hits against your sweet spot, you yell out his name and get ready for permission to cum. Kai bites his lip and lets out a long groan, and right as you feel him tense and get ready to give you his load, your own orgasm arrives and makes your body shaky in extreme pleasure. You grip onto the couch harder than before and shut your eyes, whimpering and whining away as it comes. But before you have time properly experience your release, Kai pulls out completely and picks you up to look at him by the grasp on your neck.

You look at him and immediately realize from his angry expression what you did wrong. As you open your mouth to apologize, he lets go of your neck making you gasp for air. He stomps over to his dining room table, the table at which you did most of your pinky swears, grabs one of the chairs. He sets it down forcefully in front of the mirror. Though he doesn’t come to the couch to get you, a simple dominant look from him makes you immediately run over to him. He sits down on the chair and pushes you over his lap. You hang your head down in shame and bite your lip, getting ready for a brutal spanking. But instead, he tangles his left hand through your hair and turns your head towards the mirror. 

“This is what happens when you disobey the Divine Ruler, little lamb, you know this”, he says way too calmly. When Kai’s angry and aggressive, it’s very easy to get him out of his temper, he may throw a few chairs and flip a few tables, but the anger will run out and he will be peaceful soon enough. But when Divine Ruler is disappointed, enraged, or provoked: he’s calm, and that brings much greater trouble. Tears well up in your eyes, looking at his peaceful expression, and as he rubs his hand over your cheek, you already know you will not be able to sit down for a week or two. He looks at your bare ass in the mirror and lifts his arm above his head, and you mentally get ready for a harsh blow. You clench your jaw in terror and he tugs at your hair to make sure you watch.

“Watch yourself in the mirror”.

You nod obediently, as best as you can against his grip, and he slams his stiff hand on your cheeks, making you cry out. He exhales happily, watching your eyes glisten with tears and your hands inch to soothe your aching ass. Although you knew it wasn’t allowed, your hands can’t stop themselves from getting close to your cheeks to rub them. Kai, however, has other plants, and certainly doesn’t allow it. He lifts his rigid hand above his shoulder once again delivers a harsh slap in the exact same place as last time. You quickly blink to get the tears out of your fuzzy eyes and hope that Kai doesn’t notice. He looks at you in the mirror, and smirks at the tears rolling down your cheeks. Kai didn’t particularly get turned on at you crying, but instead watching you break apart. He couldn’t help but inspect your body in the mirror as you shook slightly and shivered at his every touch. As he runs his hand up your thigh and approaches your burning ass, you hitch in a breath and stiffen your whole body. He slides his finger over the red mark he left on your ass, and you flinch at his gentle touch. He suddenly grabs your ass cheek and squeezes it making you wince as you watch his veiny hand in the mirror. He clicks his tongue three times and sighs.

"Not enough”, he simply says, and looks at your ass. “I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson”.

You let out a sob and look up at him pleadingly. “I’m so sorry for disobeying you, Divine Ruler, please believe me, I’ve learned my lesson…”, you beg, not wanting him to spank you anymore. It was a never-ending cycle, because as your cheeks got redder and the spanks hurt more, you were less likely to be able to keep your eyes open. He sighs listening to your pathetic begs and lets go of your hair. Your head immediately thrusts down but you push it up and begin to get off his lap, but sharp smack to your ass tells you to stay still. You wince quietly and watch Kai undo his belt, and he looks you in the eyes with furrowed eyebrows and folds the belt in half.

“Nonono please- I’m so sorry-”, you cry, watching his large hand get a tight grip on the end of the belt. He raises his eyebrow at your whining, and cups your wettened cheek with his hand. Though at first the gesture seems nurturing, you understand the purpose when he forcefully turns your head to stay facing the mirror, watching him punish you. He quickly whips the belt down on your ass cheeks and you yell out pained cries but managing to keep your eyes open. He smiles down warmly at you, and rubs your crying cheek with his thumb.

“Please no m-more”, you beg, taking great care to not sound whiny. Divine Ruler hates whiny brats. “Please allow me to serve you”.

Kai looks at your begging face for a few seconds, and drops the belt to the floor. You hold back a sigh of relief, knowing that he is still in charge, and could turn this around any second. He picks you up swiftly and sits your aching red ass on his unzipped crotch. You wince at the contact and hold onto his thighs. He looks at you in the mirror and leans into your neck.

“I want those pretty eyes to stay on me at all times, understood?”, he demands lowly. You nod furiously and keep perfect eye contact. He leans his head back, away from your neck and grabs your thighs, squeezing them possessively, hopefully leaving marks.

“Now, you are here to serve me, remember?”, you nod enthusiastically, but when his expression doesn’t change, and still searches for a proper answer, you whisper, “Yes, Divine Ruler”.

“Ride me”.

“Yes, Divine Ruler”, you echo.

You shakily pick yourself up and sink down on his rock-hard cock. Punishing you always immensely turns him on. He pushes down on your thighs for you to sit down quicker and he fills you up completely, immediately touching your cervix, and your sore ass touching his pelvis. The sudden movement and rough touch make you wince and shut your eyes instinctively, but instantly opening them fully and looking at Kai to see whether he noticed. He lets out a dark chuckle in your neck before wrapping his hand around it, and whispering in your ear.

“You’re in for a long night, little lamb”.

[teyvattherapist]

Once you write for Baal, I'll request her with Mona and Kazuha with the god of fate.

Like the usual

I also added Thoma per your other inquiry!

tags: m!reader/Baal, m!reader/Mona, m!reader/Kazuha, m!reader/Thoma, God!Reader, Khaenri'ah spoilers, Inazuma archon quest spoilers, just spoilers in general.

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Khaenri’ah wouldn’t have had any survivors if it hadn’t been for a particular man that seemed unfazed by the battlefield the once prosperous nation of humanity became. Neither Khaenri’ahn nor from Celestia, simply an outlander. Despite showing great fighting prowess and strategic skill, Khaenri’ah had still fallen under the watchful gaze of the man. Of course, this was just a legend, a small rumour only known by the most curious of historians or academics. And even then, it’s debated. With the legacy of Khaenri’ah long gone, all that was left was anecdotal evidence.

Baal

-Divinity, humanity, both pale in comparison to eternity. You were nothing more than something in her way. Much like the rest of Khaenri’ah as a whole. To her you were nothing more than inferior. And she didn’t stop to take the time to investigate like Morax had nor did she take the time to recognise the marks of stars like Barbatos.

-Her ideals quickly shattered when she realised Divine Punishment means nothing when faced by another of her status. A divine being capable of braving the lightning’s glow. Too prideful to admit her defeat she proved to be quite a thorn in your side during the war. But even one whose ideal is closest unto Heaven cannot compete with the one who controlled Fate.

-Baal has all but forgotten the faraway God, too focused on her own ideals, too focused on herself in the present day to remember such an aimless point in time. In a closed off nation tucked away on the sea, talk of your presence in Teyvat went unheard by the Raiden Shogun.

The 100th vision hunt decree ceremony was commemorative. The Goddess turned to face the crowd of onlookers, violet eyes narrowing at an almost familiar face standing towards the back. You lifted your head to her, flashing the Shogun a smile before pulling the notebook from the black and gold cloak. Almost too quickly her attention turned back to the man kneeling at the foot of the statue. Her 100th vision.

Baal lifted her hand, summoning the pyro vision to her and despite the blond’s attempts at keeping his vision they were futile as it soared through the air towards the Goddess. You almost dropped your pen when Aether pushed by you, using his newfound electro abilities as a boost to snatch the vision. An interesting but not surprising turn of events that was scrawled into the notebook.

You watched as she brought her blade up to strike an unconscious Aether. The taller blond managed to get his binds off, throwing the polearm that she then deflected. The blowback caused Aether and Paimon to go flying backwards into the blond. As they ran off she gave the order to seize them under the decree, turning back to look up at the statue. That was your cue to leave, the work had been done for now.

When Baal turned to look back at the crowd she got the glimpse of that cloak that seemed to come back to haunt her departing from the crowd.

Mona

-Ah the great astrologist Mona. One who believes fate cannot be changed nor reversed, merely accepted. How funny an outlook. Though you’d never tell her that, she is for all that she’s worth, a wonderful astrologist. But that was the thing with mortal magicians, even they could get things such as fate wrong.

-She tried only once to glimpse into the mysterious stranger’s destiny. But when one has no destiny, what does she see? The threads of fate themselves have barred her vision into him. To her he is an uncertain piece in what should be absolute certainty.

-This however just makes her curious to know more. She thinks she’s being sneaky as she follows you around to try and garner more information. But Mondstadt isn’t all that big and her hat is very telling.

You narrowed your eyes at the telltale sign of somebody watching you, you lifted your head to look around but there were no more stares than the usual ones that came with being a stranger in a small nation. You did notice, however, a very familiar witch occupying herself with the fruit stand. Could she even afford that? Probably not. You bowed your head to Flora, tucking the windwheel aster behind your ear as you made off.

Mona put the apple back, waiting a few moments before she followed you down the cobblestone path. This was the problem with magicians in every world, always far too curious for their own good. You turned a corner to try and get her off your tail, you had far too much work to do to deal with her nosing around. She was smart, though. You had to give her that as you pressed your back against the wall of the alleyway, waiting for her to go by.

“I just have a question!” Mona popped her head into the alleyway, figures you wouldn’t be able to escape her. Mona looked around before stepping into the alleyway. “You are not from this world and sand clouds my vision every time I try to view your true nature. I am merely intrigued by this turn of events.” She put her hands on her hips, green eyes trying to discern something about you. She was certainly blunt, at least she knew what she wanted at the end of the day.

Her stare was intense as she tried to see through you, but whenever she looked too hard she found herself attempting to shake off invisible strings. You merely offered her a smile, what’s the point in lying to somebody you may not ever see again? “I’m a record keeper of sorts. You have impressive skill, Mona.” The compliment had her smirking, praise would be her undoing. But it at least changed the subject. What a fascinating woman.

Kazuha

-Unsurprisingly or perhaps surprisingly you met him while he fled from the Raiden Shogun’s forces. As in he ran directly into you and nearly dropped the dead vision he was still clutching in his hand. Interesting isn’t it? What a simple change of cloak can do to conceal one’s identity. Always intervening whether or not you should, that seemed to be the staple when it came to Teyvat.

-You did not spend much time with Kazuha beyond that. His path was his to walk and you would not meddle further. Though you knew that he knew, somebody as observant as he would be able to tell, wouldn’t he?

-That was a while ago though. Now you once more found yourself face to face with Kaedehara Kazuha. Or well, less face to face and more in the same area.

“I hope you can afford all these mercs!” Beidou called as she and her crew rushed into battle against the Shogun’s forces. Far enough away to not involve yourself, but close enough to listen to the resulting conversations. You jotted things down, whatever seemed important in the moment, minor details you may forget, a rough draft, if one will.

Kazuha lifted his head after greeting Gorou, eyes scanning the rocks jutting out of the nearby sea on the beach that had become a location of endless bloodshed. And for a moment, he faltered, red eyes widening before narrowing. He should have expected this. You always seemed to be where big things happened. “Kazuha, watch out!” Beidou warned and Kazuha snapped out of it, returning to the battle.

The rain began to start and you safely tucked your notebook away as you watched the rest of the battle. Ultimately Sara called back her forces when Kokomi showed up, the Shogun’s army quickly retreating from the bloody battlefield to rethink their strategy. You held your hand up, rain soaking through your glove. The battlefield cleared itself of most soldiers, Gorou, Beidou, Kazuha, two soldiers, and Aether remained to talk to one another.

Kazuha turned, looking over his shoulder and back at the sea around him. He wondered if you’d come, help like you had helped him back then. He lifted a bandaged hand, no doubt the same hand you had once given him bandages to cover the injury from clasping a dying vision. In turn you gave him a wave. All these people whose lives you have impacted in some way or another. Small things here and there. You wondered how much he knew of your deeds.

Thoma

“State your business here!”

“Oh- he’s a friend! He’s with us.” Aether interrupted the teahouse lady before she could say anything else. The woman huffed but conceded, allowing you to move past her and towards Aether and the taller blond from the ceremony. The teahouse door was opened and you stepped inside with them, pulling your notebook out to take notes. “Thoma, Ayaka this is… Well he doesn’t have a name.” Aether turned his head to look at you and you merely shrugged.

“You may refer to me as the Recordkeeper. Ha, that’s kind of like the Doctor.. I’ll have to write that down.” You make a note in the front of your notebook. Ayaka, Thoma, and Paimon look confused but Aether understood the reference. At least. “I’m merely here to listen. Pretend I’m not here, yes?” And with reassurance from your traveler friend, they did just that. You noted their plans, their ideals, where they’d go. It was all fascinating. A resistance against a God. The last time that happened…

You shook the thoughts, that was then, this is now. You cannot get involved again. Ayaka stood to leave, saying her goodbyes. Aether was gone next, a promise to meet again. That left you with Thoma. “Are you sure you don’t have a name? I feel a job title shouldn’t be a name.” He joked, leaning on his elbows as he watched you write into your notebook. Your pen stopped against the pages, the edge of the D growing thicker. “At least, I think that’s your job, right?”

You looked up from your book, setting the pen down against the pages. He was curious to say the least, despite everything that happened earlier. “I suppose it is my job, yes. I keep records. And I’m known by many names Fate Weaver, the Recordkeeper, God of Fate, I believe I’ve also been referred to as the God of Time once.. That’d be incorrect though.” For a moment something unrecognisable passes through his green eyes before his smile is back on his face.

“How about we call you (Name)? That way you don’t have to admit what and who you really are everywhere you go.”

“(Name)? Hm.. Very well.”

[transdemigod]

Cutting Yourself Off from the Entities: A Comprehensive Guide

I am once again overanalyzing the Magnus Archives for fun. This topic is super interesting to me, and I haven’t seen it explored as much as other theories, so here we go.

So, you’ve pledged yourself to one of the Dread Powers, but decided that you’ve had enough of terrorizing others. Not to worry, there is a way out. Melanie King did it and lived all the way to the end of the series!

Here is the summary, though I’m sure a full explanation will be more satisfying:

To escape the Buried, lose yourself to the emptiness. To escape the Corruption, kill what loves you. To escape the Dark, give yourself to the sunlight. To escape the Desolation, choose kindness. To escape the End, cut yourself off from dreams. To escape the Eye, blind yourself. To escape the Flesh, give up control of your body. To escape the Hunt, tear out your teeth and claws. To escape the Lonely, bind yourself to others. To escape the Slaughter, remove your emotions. To escape the Spiral, destroy your voice. To escape the Stranger, make yourself known. To escape the Vast, trap yourself in a small place. To escape the Web, give up your autonomy.

The rest is under the cut. Let me know if you have any ideas that you think I missed, I would love to discuss theories.

We know for sure that the way to escape the Eye is to gouge your own eyes out. The other entities have less information, but we get a few clues here and there. In the season 4 Q&A, Jonny and Alex joke about leaving the service of the Stranger by running naked through the streets. They also mention that the Desolation can be left by an act of true altruism. With these details, as well as other details in the rest of the canon, we can make a list of criteria that must be satisfied for an act that will cut someone off from each of the 14 Entities.

Firstly, it isn’t enough to just stop feeding your god. Daisy and Jon both tried to abstain and ended up wasting away, and it is implied that they would have died if they had continued. Dying is certainly one possible way to escape the service of a Fear, but we’re going for living out the rest of your natural life here.

Secondly, there has to be some sacrifice made that relates to the specific power. This is where the Desolation’s explanation kind of falls apart; doing one good act doesn’t stop you from just continuing to be destructive, so the act must also include giving up the thing that ties you to your Entity. In the Stranger’s case, one could argue that exposing yourself does count as giving up your anonymity, and there are several Stranger avatars that seem to thrive on being unknown. My theory is that each Entity has a draw of some kind, a power that it gives its followers, which you would have to completely give up if you are to leave it for good. Jon mentioned that the blinding has to be permanent, so I’m assuming this applies to the others as well. Basically, the avatar who wishes to leave must give up something that one who does not wish to leave would never want to.

Third, the change can be physical or symbolic. Obviously blinding yourself is a very physical change, while committing acts of altruism or making yourself known are less so. Some of the Entities will have pretty clear parts of the body that connect you to the power, others will need a bit more of an explanation. In special cases where a person gets their power from an artifact or a Leitner, destroying the thing would probably be enough to cut them off from that power. And of course, if you are as lucky as Georgie Barker and manage to completely get rid of your fear, that would probably be enough to cut you off from them as well.

So, here are my explanations for what you would have to do to cut yourself off from each of the 14. I’m basing it on examples we get in the series, the few rules I have decided to set, and what would seem thematically or symbolically appropriate. Realistically, each individual would have their own personal journey and each avatar is different, but it’s more fun this way.

The Buried- The draw of the Buried is a little difficult to narrow down, we’ve heard about restfulness, the comfort of enclosed spaces, the desire to be a part of the earth, etc. The thing Buried avatars seem to dislike the most is wide open spaces, though I don’t know how that would translate to something you can change about yourself. How would a person cut themselves off from the earth? You could move to a place that is very open, but you could also just leave. I’m not sure if there is a way a person could give up the concept of space, so I’m probably going to have this same problem when I get to the Vast. Probably the only thing you could give up that makes sense is the type of space the Buried is tied to, so you’d have to keep away from enclosed spaces. However you’re supposed to do that, I have no idea. This one is just going to have to be a less satisfying answer, unless I find another idea later.

To escape the Buried, lose yourself to the emptiness.

The Corruption- Most people who get into the Corruption get filled with bugs, and we know from Jane that it is appealing because you have a sense of belonging and purpose. The Corruption focuses a lot on toxic love, and I think communities specifically because the things we think of as infections are multitudinous: insect hives, bacteria, fungal colonies, etc. Even in the case of that one guy with the beetle wife, it was implied that there would soon be many more beetles. So, I think to stop being fed by the Corruption, you have to get rid of the infection in whatever form it takes. The one woman in the statement about the cult ended up leaving, but she wasn’t a full avatar, so I think that would require a bit more drastic action. If Jane had wanted to leave, she would probably have had to kill every worm inside of her. Knowing what we know about her, she would never want to do that, but she also had no regrets about becoming the Hive. Someone like John Amherst would have to get rid of all the diseases inside of him, so it might be as simple as a hospital visit and getting pumped full of antibiotics. If you got hollowed out by bugs, you might have to fill in the space somehow to be able to move, but I’m sure you could find a way. Maybe some help from the Flesh? It does seems to be in opposition to the Corruption in many ways, so that would work thematically.

To escape the Corruption, kill what loves you.

The Dark- Another abstract one. What’s the opposite of blinding yourself? The Dark, aside from the literal definition, includes things like weird science and unknowable things that lurk in the dark. Seeking knowledge would be a good opposite to darkness, but that’s not making a sacrifice or a permanent change. It’s not very clear what avatars of the Dark would hate to lose. Manuela Dominguez describes hating the light, how traditional divinity and knowledge are unnatural as opposed to the dark state of the world. This might be another location based one. Apparently, the sunniest places in the world are in northern Africa and the southwest parts of America, so moving there might do it. There isn’t an easy permanent change to make, but committing yourself to being in the sunlight as much as possible would probably work. Change your sleep schedule, move somewhere sunny, just avoid the dark in general. Maybe even start worshipping the sun; that would be in opposition to the cult following the Dark has.

To escape the Dark, give yourself to the sunlight.

The Desolation- We know it’s an act of altruism. I think it might need some adjusting, though, to make it more of a sacrifice by the person who serves the Desolation. This fear is all about sacrifice and loss, so it’s a bit tricky to think of something a Desolation avatar could give up when they’ve already committed to giving up everything. Well, everything except themselves. Many avatars, like Jude Perry, have shown themselves to be selfish, but I don’t think even they would be opposed to going out in a blaze of glory. No, the hardest thing for them would be to settle down and live a prosperous life. This one probably would have to be continuous effort instead of one grand sacrifice. It doesn’t fit with the others, but it does fit the theme of the Desolation. Yeah, I’ve just gone in a big circle. Altruism does make the most sense. Just make sure that selfless gesture counts. It’s not a real choice if you don’t mean it. I guess that would be really difficult if you’re used to burning everything around you, so maybe it’s more of a sacrifice than I thought.

To escape the Desolation, choose kindness.

The End- We actually already have a canon answer for this one: lobotomize yourself. Adelard Dekker found an End avatar that was killing people with carbon monoxide through their dreams, and he stopped him by cutting through his pre-frontal cortex- the part of the brain that lets you dream. It’s implied that this didn’t completely work, but I think the reason for that is that the avatar was not the one to make the choice. It’s emphasized again and again that serving the fears is all about personal choice, so it makes sense that any attempt to cut someone off wouldn’t take if the person hasn’t decided to give up their connection. The End is associated with dreams in most appearances, so I believe that a person who chooses not to dream would no longer be bound to it. Oliver Banks could see those whose deaths were coming in his dreams, which directly led to him becoming an avatar, so if he had decided to stop dreaming, that would be it. This procedure might be a bit difficult, I can’t imagine performing your own lobotomy would go very well, but I’m sure getting someone else to do it would count if you were the one to make the decision. Of course, Terminus would still have you in the end, but that will happen no matter what you do.

To escape the End, cut yourself off from dreams.

The Eye- This one is already answered. The draw of the Eye is the power to watch, so you have to give that ability up. Simple, straightforward, and definitely fits the theme.

To escape the Eye, blind yourself.

The Flesh- Oh boy, this is a weird one. We have dysphoria, consumption, body horror, I can’t say this one sounds very appealing. But it must be, or else it wouldn’t have people serving it. A lot of the draw to serve the fears could be interpreted as dishing out what you can’t take. You don’t have to be afraid of being watched if you do the watching, you don’t have to fear harm if you harm them first. Maybe the appeal of Flesh is making others share that fear that you are nothing but meat. I don’t think it’s really possible for people to give up their corporeal form, unless it’s metaphorical but I have no idea what that could mean. I think those who serve the Flesh thrive on being “more” than others. More body parts, more mass in general. You could go on a diet or become a vegetarian, which I think the writers may have joked about once? I want a more concrete solution, though. Diets are easy to break. You can’t fully give up food without dying, so I guess you could give up the control of food. Giving up your sense of taste would be interesting, but I’m going to keep it more general. No easy answer for this one either.

To escape the Flesh, give up control of your body.

The Hunt- People are drawn to the Hunt by that deep, primal desire to chase and attack. Humans have both predator and prey instincts inside of us, so you would have to completely leave the predator behind to escape the Hunt. I think a good way to do this would be the get rid of your teeth, or nails, whichever you use to cause harm. Daisy was able to temporarily leave behind her power in the Buried, but as soon as she got out, she started starving. I think this is a good argument that you could partially cut off your power by using a power that opposes it in some way, but you would have to give up a part of yourself to make it stick. As soon as she had the freedom and ability to hunt again, that was when the urge came back, and she eventually succumbed to it. Getting rid of the parts of your body that do harm wouldn’t completely stop you if you were dedicated enough, but it’s the choice to do so that matters. This one is a bit more of a symbolic choice, and you could probably do something else to your body that would prevent it from hunting, but I am going with the cooler option.

To escape the Hunt, tear out your teeth and claws.

The Lonely- Probably all you have to do to escape the Lonely is just…be around other people. I’m sure this is easier said than done, but there are lots of ways to commit to other humans. Get married, join a club, make a blood pact and permanently bind yourself to another human. The possibilities are endless! This one, I think more than the others, would require a bit more of a continued effort. I know that the whole point is to make one drastic, permanent change, but the Lonely feels like something that’s easy to relapse into. Maybe it’s the depression metaphor, I don’t know, but I don’t think this one has as easy a solution as the others. It’s hard work forcing yourself to stay connected to others, and it’s something most people in real life struggle with. Giving up any of these powers is a difficult choice, which is the whole point. Life is hard, and we have to make tough decisions. Anyway, I’m okay letting this one be a bit more abstract.

To escape the Lonely, bind yourself to others.

The Slaughter- This one is very similar to the Hunt in terms of actions, so I think the solution might be similar as well. Destroying your weapon would fit well, but it is just way too easy to pick up something else and continue hacking and slashing away. To give up violence entirely, you might have to destroy a significant part of your body. For the Slaughter, I think we should go with a less physical act. The opposite of violence is healing, so maybe become a doctor? You would have to really commit to helping others instead of hurting them, and that is too easy to go back on. I think the sacrifice made here would have to be emotion. Anger and the desire to hurt would go away if you couldn’t feel anymore. I don’t know how you would do this, except through drugs, but that isn’t permanent. There is probably a part of the brain you could destroy that causes emotion. It’s not the same as the prefrontal cortex, which we destroyed back in the End section, so at least it’s not the same solution twice. Honestly, the drugs could work if you did them long term, it’s about the choice anyway. However you do it:

To escape the Slaughter, remove your emotions.

The Spiral- The draw of the Spiral is the power to lie and deceive. There are many ways to do this, and there are probably just as many ways to stop yourself from doing it. However, there is one way that I think fits very well and is absolutely a permanent change: destroy your voice. This is actually the first one I thought of because even though it’s not technically the only way to stop yourself from lying, it fits very well thematically. Michael as the Distortion calls itself the Throat of Delusion Incarnate, so what better way to break yourself off from the same power then by tearing out your throat? It’s not perfect, but I like it so much that I’m going to pick it. I don’t know how one would go about destroying one’s voice, except with very careful surgery. Or screaming for a very long time.

To escape the Spiral, destroy your voice.

The Stranger- We got our answer to this one in the Q&A. Run naked through the streets, and make sure to engage with everyone who talks to you so that you can’t hide. Utterly terrifying. It makes perfect sense though; we heard from the Not!Them that beings of the Stranger hate losing their anonymity. Whether by switching skins, tricking the mind, or looking so generic that no one can remember your face, being known is antithetical to the Stranger. There are probably other ways to go about losing your anonymity then running around naked. You could get up on a stage somewhere and pour your heart out, or publish an autobiography. Basically anything the Eye would like. As long as you are putting yourself out there in a way that you can’t take back, you should be able to successfully cut yourself off from that uncanny fear.

To escape the Stranger, make yourself known.

The Vast- This one might actually be easier than the Buried, because it’s not purely spatial. It includes things like longevity, our insignificance in the face of a massive universe, and large scary things in general. A Vast avatar would hate to be enclosed, but they would also hate to be made responsible. They enjoy making others afraid of their insignificance, but what if they were important to the universe? What if the world was actually very small, and they fit neatly into it instead of being lost? There’s a lot of different ways to go here, so narrowing down one sacrifice might not be the best answer. I can’t really think of any one action that makes a person feel as though the world is small and trapping them. Giving themselves to the Buried would, probably. A direct contrast is the easiest answer.

To escape the Vast, trap yourself in a small place.

The Web- Avatars of the Web are manipulators, through and through. There are so many ways to manipulate a person that no one action could prevent you from doing that, so this one would likely vary a lot between individuals. That movie director who had people puppet him in his own house comes to mind, I think giving up your freedom like that is a good way to do it. Being paralyzed wouldn’t stop you if you used your voice to control others, and giving up both would suck, but if that’s what you need to do, then I guess it’s your choice to make. Maybe all you would need to do is let someone else tell you what to do, and fully trust them. That would be difficult, coming from the Web where everything is tied together and you know how easy it is to manipulate you.

To escape the Web, give up your autonomy.

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

The shifting narrative of God’s interventism and how it reflects on the narrative on John

This post will ignore the issue authorial intent entirely because I can, but it’s also about authorial intent in a way, but I also don’t like to talk about things as happening “accidentally” because a) a serialized story like Supernatural, especially one that got renewed for much longer than anyone could possibly expect or hope in their wildest ambitions, structurally relies on serendipity, because that’s how stories work when they’re work in progress, b) a television show is an extremely multi-authored text and the chance that something happens out of the intent of any of the multiple layers of creators is kind of... statistically negligible. So, yeah, that’s my stance on the topic. Anyway.

The shifting narrative about God is simultaneously something that hangs on fortunate storytelling clicks on an essentially programmed narrative. At first, we don’t know where the fuck God is. Cas starts looking for him with little success. Raphael says he’s dead, Cas doesn’t believe it. Dean relates to his struggle because he knows the feeling of not knowing where the fuck your father is and going looking for him with little success, not knowing if he’s even alive. Then the theory that gets assumed as the truth is that God has left. He fucked off who knows where, who knows why, leaving his creation to struggle alone. Also essentially how Dean had felt after John had died; in that case there was guilt for his demon deal and everything, but the most cruel weight on Dean’s shoulder was that John left him alone to struggle with his devastatingly horrific instructions he doesn’t understand. The angels are also left with horrific instructions they don’t understand. No wonder Cas does his own ‘demon deal’ in season 6, as he desperately tries to do what he assumes his father wants from him, but he doesn’t actually know what that is.

“God has left” is maddening, and everyone is angry about it, but it has its own dignity. God has left us without clear instructions, we are confused and in pain and evil runs amock but at least, we suppose, the evil of it is our own doing. We are alone and we do our best, our best is simply not enough. We wish he gave us guidance, but he won’t. He wants us to figure it out ourselves, possibly. We don’t actually know what he wants. But maybe that’s the point. It’s possible he doesn’t even know what’s happening, he just has left the building entirely.

But then Chuck reveals himself. We find out that he never actually left. He was there. “I like front row seats. You know, I figured I’d hide out in plain sight”. He simply chooses not to intervene. He chooses not to answer. He chooses to be hands-off. He presents himself as a laissez-faire parent, because, he says, it’s better for his children to have the responsibility they need to grow up. He’s absent, but in a different way than we thought! It’s not that he doesn’t know what’s happening or isn’t interested in knowing what’s happening. He’s here, he knows what’s happening, he just stays there and watches as you stumble and struggle and scream. It’s worse, and it pains Dean so much he isn’t even afraid to yell at God. You know we’re suffering and you just don’t give us any support, any comfort.

You’re frustrated. I get it. Believe me, I was hands-on, real hands-on, for, wow, ages. I was so sure if I kept stepping in, teaching, punishing, that these beautiful creatures that I created... would grow up. But it only stayed the same. And I saw that I needed to step away and let my baby find its way. Being overinvolved is no longer parenting. It’s enabling.

But it didn’t get better.

Well, I’ve been mulling it over. And from where I sit, I think it has.

Well, from where I sit, it feels like you left us and you’re trying to justify it.

I know you had a complicated upbringing, Dean, but don’t confuse me with your dad.

At that point of the show, the writing team almost certainly didn’t have the s14-15 twist in mind. So this was probably intended to be Chuck’s truth. Later it gets twisted (retconned?) into a lie, but about that later.

Here, Chuck is really good at manipulating the conversation. Dean has a perfectly valid point, because there IS a middle ground between being overinvolved and not being involved at all. There is a middle ground between enabling your children and abandoning them completely. But Chuck hits Dean where it hurts, plays the emotional card, basically tells him that he’s too emotional to understand, too emotional to think rationally about it, because he mixes his feelings about his father to the issue and thus cannot see it clearly. He basically tells him he’s too close to it to get it. You don’t understand parenting, Dean, because you’re too blinded by your emotions about your own little life and cannot see the big picture.

It doesn’t really matter here if he’s telling the truth or lying, it already says a lot about Chuck that he’s emotionally manipulating Dean, silencing him by hitting the painful spot.

But the thing is, 11.20 immediately presents Chuck as a liar. He makes Metatron read his autobiography and the very first line is a lie (“In the beginning, there was me. Boom – detail. And what a grabber. I mean, I’m hooked, and I was there.” “I’m hooked too, and yet... details. You weren’t alone in the beginning. Your sister was with you.”) and the stuff he talks about his experience as Chuck is not exactly truthful about anything (“That, you know, makes you seem like a really grounded, likable person.” “Yeah, what’s wrong with that?” “You are neither grounded nor a person!”). Metatron calls him out (“Okay. There are two types of memoir. One is honest... the other, not so much. Truth and fairy tale. Now, do you want to write Life by Keith Richards? Or do you want to write Wouldn’t It Be Nice by Brian Wilson?”). Chuck SAYS he chooses truth and gives Metatron a different manuscript, supposedly containing the truth, to which Metatron reacts positively. Metatron believes it, and we believe it with him.

Oh! Oh, this! This is what I was talking about. Chapter Ten “Why I Never Answer Prayers, and You Should Be Glad I Don’t”, and Chapter Eleven “The Truth About Divine Intervention and Why I Avoid It At All Costs”.

Nature? Divine. Human nature – toxic.

They do like blowing stuff up.

Yeah. And the worst part – they do it in my name. And then they come crying to me, asking me to forgive, to fix things. Never taking any responsibility.

What about your responsibility?

I took responsibility... by leaving. At a certain point, training wheels got to come off. No one likes a helicopter parent.

This is sort of what he later says to Dean, except that to Dean he talks about “beautiful creatures” “my baby”, talks about helping, none of the harsh tone he’s using here. When Metatron accuses him of hiding from Amara, he retorts “I am not hiding. I am just done watching my experiments’ failures”. What a different language, uh? Then Metatron asks him why he abandoned them, and Chuck answers “Because you disappointed me. You all disappointed me”. Then, he admits he lied about “learning” to play the guitar and so on, because he just gave himself the ability, and then appears to Dean and Sam, after Metatron’s passionate speech about humanity.

So, no matter the authorial intent at the time - the truthiness of Chuck’s words was already ambiguous. He kept lying and being called out, or silencing the conversation with some good ol’ gaslighting.

The season 14 finale introduces the big twist: it was, indeed, all a lie. The whole of it. Chuck didn’t abandon shit. It was all him, minutely controlling the narrative of the universe, putting the characters through all the pain and struggles for his own amusement.

The “absent father” narrative was a lie.

What does this tell us about John? Nothing, according to the authorial intent that shines through Dabb’s Lebanon. But we don’t give a crap about Dabb’s authorial intent about John! He’s just one dude and plenty of other authors have painted a different picture. So I’m going to read the narrative the way I want, because I can, and the narrative allows me to. It’s all there.

I’m suggesting that the fact that Chuck lied when he talked about being a hands-off/absentee father parallels how Dean and Sam prefer to think of their father as an “absent father” when that’s not exactly a reflection of the truth.

You left us. Alone. ‘Cause Dad was just a shell. [...] And I-I had to be more than just a brother. I had to be a father and I had to be a mother, to keep him safe.

Setting aside how “I had to be a father and I had to be a mother” sort of retcons and cleans up the Winchester family picture painted by ealier seasons, the fact that John didn’t really count as a functional father figure and Dean and Sam were essentually alone is not incorrect or anything. It is true that John would leave them to their own devices a lot, thus the long stays in motels, the hunger, the food-stealing, and all. But John wasn’t always absent, at all. He trained them as soldiers, he disciplined them, he was around enough for them to be intimately familiar with what happened when he drank. He drove them around.

It’s almost like it’s preferable to Dean and Sam to spin their own “absent father” narrative, putting the accent on the time they spent alone, painting their childhood as a time they had to grow up on their own, rather than acknowledge they grew up under the thumb of a controlling, looming figure they would regularly live in fear of, even when he was not physically present.

The “absent father” narrative is what Dean and Sam need to use to avoid confronting the reality of the father figure whose moods and whims they had to dance around. “I know things got dicey... you know, with Dad... the way he was. And I just... I didn’t always look out for you the way that I should have. I mean, I had my own stuff, you know. In order to keep the peace, probably looked like I took his side quite a bit.”

John shaped their lives. He shaped their identities. Even in the episodes where he abandons Dean or both children somewhere, he’s portrayed as the figure who drives the car. He symbolically drives the car, you know? John shaped Dean and Sam’s relationship with each other, both on a surface level (the conflicts) and on a deeper level (the parental dynamic).

Heck. The entire first season of the show plays on John’s disappearance as the “elephant in the room”. John is there by not being there, you know? And after he dies, his death - his absence - is again the elephant in the room for Dean, the weight on his psyche that he shatters under.

It is not wrong that Dean and Sam had to spend long periods of time without John. But John structured their lives in quite minute detail. Where they needed to be, what they needed to do, what they must not do, everything had to follow John’s instructions. A drill sergeant, the narrative called him, ordering how his sons needed to live their lives. That’s no absence, except on a level where Chuck not showing himself and pretending he’s not there can be considered absent. That’s a presence, not necessarily always physical, but semiotical and psychological.

John is an absent father as much as Chuck is a hands-off god. He even writes himself into the story around the time Cas has the “season 1” phase (let’s go look for dad/let’s go look for god), which is when John actually was alive and appeared. Then he was no longer physically there, but he was still shaping his characters’ lives, just like he’d always done.

The “absent father” narrative on John is that - a narrative. Spun by the characters themselves because it’s easier and actually kinder on John. Or, better, it allows them not to be crushed by the psychological implications of having to accept that their father was such a looming, minutely formative figure in their lives. They know, but they can wave the “absent father” idea around to avoid thinking about it.

“I had to be a father and I had to be a mother” is something easier to tell yourself. I was the one who did it all. But he wasn’t, and that’s the problem. The fact that John was their father - Dean’s and Sam’s - is the problem. But ironically, blaming himself for every failure is a better option for Dean than fully acknowledging John’s abuse. As long as he blames himself, he has control over it. The moment he acknowledges the extent of John’s influence, he loses control over the entire narrative of his own identity and the family identity, the family dynamics. That’s scarier, just like realizing that God manipulated everything is much scarier than the alternative. “God abandoned us” was indeed a better option, and “John left us alone” was a better option. But neither was true, and the characters faced the implications of the cosmic level, but never got to face the implication of the familial level, because the narrative always danced around it and then Dabb’s apologist version “won”.

But what’s been put in the show is still there. The narrative of John’s abuse is still there. Nothing can take it out of the story.