#he was still raised in a group disdainful towards commoners

[mademoiselle-cookie]

She didn't say "children".

She said "common children".

English is not my first language so I didn't know if I was overinterpreting and that it was something that was actually said in English. But apparently no, it’s a deliberate choice. So let's overinterpret.

Let's leave aside the fact that she criticizes Tood and Ambrosius at the same level while the latter only defends himself against idiotic attacks and arguments (you can argue he should have been calmer but everyone was against him, not just Todd, and he has a few problems with his boyfriend).

First of all, it’s not the first time she hears something like that, like when Tood mocked Ballister (in a really classy way) at the beginning of a very important ceremony or when he complained about Ambrosius and his "lavender smell". She clearly heard that, but she didn’t say anything. She could have : bullying someone or imitating and insulting another of being a "dork" and having a good smell (?) are way more childish behaviors. At least for the second case, she could have at least frowned (Todd said this literally in front of her from a distance of a meter).

(Yes she looks like she ate a lemon but she looks like that throughout the whole scene, not just for Todd)

So the problem has never been how they act but how they don't act. They are currently not acting in ways that she deems useful but are instead wasting time. (And she is definitely only complaining about Ambrosius and Todd, not the other knights who joined the latter in accusing the former of nonsense. Alone against everyone, Ambrosius is not the problem, much less the one who started it)

I put it there, but when did the nobles (apart from Ambrosius who is not only an exception but is also obliged to appear impeccable) show themselves to be more distinguished than the commoners? Without wanting to defend them, when we see commoners acting in a despicable way, it is largely because they are being lied to and manipulated. The knights have no reason to harass Ballister - Ambrosius doesn't - and seeing as the squire is a fan, he's probably not the only one. It doesn't take a genius to know that you shouldn't harass people, no matter the situation.

Do we have a scene with a knight like with this woman in the subway who gives a coin to a musician? Todd when he's on the wall in honor of Nimona? OK, but that's after the ENTIRE kingdom has learned their lesson (meaning it's not just him and that's exceptional) and having been a huge asshole for the entire movie.

Also, the knights and the Director, when have they really been around a commoner? Who is the only commoner they know? Ballister. Ballister who most represents the values that the Institute and the knights are supposed to embody. He's the best of them (1st in his class), he's courageous, kind, intelligent (he built his arm on his own), competent (he infiltrated the Institute several times without being detected), strong (the fight of 2 against all) and he sincerely wants to protect the Kingdom. He is also much more polite (he is the only one to have thanked the squire).

Are you trying to seduce me gay boy?

As far as I know, he was always very courteous to everyone, especially to the Director. Her only real reference to commoners is a hard-working, competent and polite man. (The only time he was "wild" was when he attacked a wooden mannequin before entering the Institute. But he was a child, and it didn't exceed the level of violence of Todd, an adult.)

The Director uses commoners as an insult, when overall, commoners act much more distinguished than nobles.

[havecourage-darling]

Firsts: song

Parts 1, 2, 3 linked below. Can be read as standalones!

<< Firsts: I love you || First Gig >>

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female Henderson!Reader

wc: 3.3K

warnings: none

A/N: the response on ao3 has been so lovely, you guys are so sweet! thank you, thank you!

Early on into your relationship you knew that you and Eddie tended to have opposite opinions on things. You suspected that he did it for the sake of arguing with you half the time.

The quickest way to start a heated discussion was music. You liked pretty much all music, much to Eddie’s initial disbelief. His disdain for anything that wasn’t metal was obvious and loudly declared, much to your amusement. However, you’d never really cared of your limited common musical ground. Not until recently.

You were halfway through your lunch with Nancy, Jonathan, and Will when Nancy had perked up. Will immediately groaned and you glanced at him. Jonathan, despite his growing blush, shot Nancy a knowing smile.

“What’s happening?” You asked, your burger hanging midway to your mouth.

“Madonna,” Will grumbled, grunting when a swift kick – that you felt – landed to his leg.

You turned, realizing there was a dazed looking couple smiling at each other by the jukebox. Focusing, you recognized the song.

“Crazy For You?” You said, bopping your head to the chorus. “Solid choice?”

“It’s their song,” Will whispered, over emphasizing the word. Jonathan shot him a look and you narrowed your eyes.

“Don’t hurt him, he’s just a kid,” you said, tucking in closer to Will. The boy in question beamed at you, shooting Jonathan a superior look. Jonathan rolled his eyes and turned back to Nancy. They both looked adorably in love and you couldn’t help but lean towards Will. “Were they always this gross?”

Will snorted, coughing out a piece of his fries in his peal of laughter. Nancy glared at you, lacking heat, and shook her head. “You’re one to talk. I see you and Munson together.”

Jonathan turned to you. “Munson? Eddie Munson?” His brows raised.

This time, you felt heat rise to your face. You’d been dating Eddie for a two months now, it was still relatively new, but more than half of Hawkins had the same reaction whenever you mentioned it.

“He’s a good guy,” you said, a little defensive.

Jonathan shrugged. “I’m sure he is. I rarely spoke to him when we were in school – I actually barely spoke to anyone. I just didn’t picture you as someone who’d run with his crowd.”

“Well, I don’t, he’s repeating his senior year again,” you said. “He was in Steve’s and my year originally. We met when I was picking Dustin up…sort of.”

“The point is, they’re attached at the face,” Nancy interjected, teasing and chewing thoughtfully on a fry. “The tension even affects me.”

“Tension? Are you fighting?” Will asked. “Can I meet him?”

You ignored Nancy snort and Jonathan’s knowing expression. “Yes, you can. I think he’d like you – he started a D&D club at school.”

“Cool,” Will breathed.

“Wait, wait, why does Will get to meet him?” Nancy said, teasing expression gone. “I haven’t even met him! You let Steve and Robin meet him.”

“Steve already knew him!” You exclaimed. “I promise, once we’re ready we’ll…integrate our friend groups. Somehow. You’ll meet him eventually.”

“Eventually,” Nancy huffed.

You winked at Will, who blushed, and went back to your burger.

///////

That night, you made your way over to Eddie’s trailer. You saw light coming from his van and a muffled song drifting out the open back doors.

“Hey hotstuff,” you grinned at the surprise on his expression. He shot up from his sprawled position and beamed when saw you.

“Don’t you know it’s not nice to scare people princess?” Eddie asked, stubbing out his cigarette. You eyed it with distaste and he rolled his eyes. “You like the scent on me but you don’t like the habit. Pick your poison.”

“I’m an enigma,” you said, shrugging and leaning against the van doors.

“That you are, Henderson,” he said, eyes crawling down your body and leaving the familiar butterflies in its wake. “Is that my jacket?”

You looked down at the old cargo jacket you’d found in the back of his closet one a few days ago. You’d smuggled it out in your bag, wanting to realize how long it’d take him to notice. Clearly, not long.

“It is,” you said, pulling the sleeves over your knuckles. “I like having you wrapped around me.”

He hopped out the car and pulled you into his arms. Eddie buried his nose into your hair and inhaled. “You’re killing me princess,” he groaned.

“I know,” you said, smirking. “You’re the one that said-”

“-I know, I know, me and my old school notion of actually wanting to get to know each other,” he joked, nose trailing down your neck. Your breath stuttered at the sensation and by the smile you felt pressed into your skin, the butthead knew what he was doing.

“We could get to know each other by also getting into each other’s pants,” you suggested, wrapping your arms around his waist. You’d like to tease him but he knew you also agreed with taking this slow.

“Don’t tempt me,” Eddie growled, his teeth nipping your ear. He exhaled harshly before stepping back. “So, how was lunch with the California crew?”

The Byers were visiting for summer vacation and Dustin had all but forced you to drive him over to see Will the second they arrived. Despite being Steve’s best friend – you’d always been fond of Jonathan. Especially considering he’d sparked some of your interest in photography.

“Good,” you said, thinking back to the diner. Madonna’s voice bounced around in your head and you must have missed Eddie’s next question because his hand on your cheek brought you out of your memory. “Sorry, what?”

“I said, what’s got you so conflicted fair maiden?” Eddie smiled when you kissed his palm.

“Nothing,” you chewed on your bottom lip before shaking your head, “actually…”

“Aha, so there is something,” Eddie said, sitting onto the bumper of the van and pulling you into the space between his legs. “What vexes you?”

“At lunch earlier, a song came on and Will said it was Nancy and Jonathan’s song,” you said, slowly.

Eddie’s eyes lit up. “Please tell me what song it was? I’ll do whatever you want. Please, please, please.”

You raised your brows suggestively and he sighed.

“You know people think I’m the pervert in this relationship when really…” he said, laughing when you smacked his shoulder. “I’m joking!”

“It was Crazy For You,” you said, dropping onto the bumper next to him.

“By Madonna?” Eddie wrinkled his nose. “Wheeler does not seem like the Madonna type. I had her pegged for a Dion or Lauper.”

“Hey,” you bumped him with your shoulder, “Madonna is a great singer – so are the others by the way.”

“I mean, she is – they are! -- because Madonna’s not scared of putting out whatever she wants. She’s mixing it up for pop, you know? It’s still pop,” he said.

You rolled your eyes so hard you were surprised they didn’t roll out your head. “Have you always been this pretentious about music?”

“I’m not pretentious!”   

“I’m Eddie Munson and I only listen to metal and I’m super cool,” you said, mimicking him.

“I don’t sound like that,” he said, eyes deadpan.

You fought your laugh and continued. “Rock is okay but everything else sucks.”

“Okay, okay, you’ve made your point Henderson,” Eddie groaned, dropping his body back into the makeshift pile of blankets he had been lying on. “I could…maybe…be more open-minded.”

“Oh my God,” you exclaimed, glancing out the sky.

“What?”

“I’m looking for flying pigs because you just admitted you might be wrong about something,” you gasped dramatically, “so clearly the world is ending.”

Eddie was failing to fight the amusement off his expression as he rolled his eyes. “And I’m the dramatic one?”

“You really, really are,” you said, standing up from his van. “Now that you’ve got your new open mindset, can we pick a song?”

“We, me and you?”

“No, you and your other girlfriend,” you said, exasperated.

Eddie grinned slowly. “You know, you’re really hot when you’re snappy,” he said, standing up beside you.

“Don’t make me laugh, I’m being serious,” you said, hiding your smile in his neck.

His arms came around you and his huff of laughter tickled your skin. “Okay, if you want us to have a song, let’s pick a song.”

“That easily?” You asked, suspicious.

Eddie shot you an amused look. “Princess, you really underestimate how much I like you. I’m pretty sure you’d ask me to rob a bank and I’d be the getaway driver.”

“It wouldn’t work, everyone knows you drive the van,” you said, kissing the edge of his jaw. “Besides, that’s codependent.”

“You still like me,” Eddie laughed, his chest shaking as he shook his head, “and I’d still do it.”

“I appreciate it Clyde,” you said, leaning up for a kiss. He brought his hand to the back of your neck while the other found the sliver of bare skin at the hem of your shirt.

“Wait, why are you Bonnie?” Eddie asked.

You snorted. “Did you want to be Bonnie?”

“No, but I don’t appreciate not having the option,” Eddie said, teasing glint in his eye.

Rolling your eyes, you gave him a thorough kiss before walking back towards your car. “Make a list of songs and bring your records to my house tomorrow.”

“That feels presumptuous Henderson, how do I know my virtue will be safe in your home?” He shouted, hands on his hips.

“You don’t,” you said, winking before ducking into your car.

////////

“So, this is what your room looks like,” Eddie said, leaning against the doorframe.

“Don’t make it weird Munson,” you said, rolling your eyes. “You’ve seen my room.”

“Not through the doorway or in daylight– climbing in through the window in the middle of the night doesn’t count. We usually meet at my place,” he said.

You turned to him and frowned. “We could…hang out here more often? I just – my brother’s usually home or my mom. I don’t think she’d mind but she would definitely want you to come to dinner.”

Eddie nodded, nonchalance not all that believable, and shrugged. “I could do dinner.”

Not able to stop the way your brows rose, Eddie finally laughed.

“Don’t look so surprised.”

“I-I don’t mean to be, I thought you wanted to keep this more private,” you said. “I thought that’s why I hadn’t met your uncle yet…or your friends really.”

Eddie looked mildly surprised and dropped his box of records and cassettes onto the floor. “Princess, I said let’s take it slow not let’s be quiet about it. I thought you wanted to keep this quiet,” he shrugged, looking uncharacteristically unsure, “I know I’m probably not the best for badass full scholarship Henderson’s reputation. Parents tend not to like me very much either.”

“Hey, I thought we talked about this,” you said, walking up to him. You intertwined your fingers with his fidgeting ones and squeezed them. “I don’t care about that stuff. Dustin thinks you’re like, super cool – I don’t know why frankly, I’m kidding! – and my mom isn’t judgmental like that. She’s got Dustin and me as kids, what higher ground does she have?” You joked.

“You two seem pretty cool to me,” Eddie said, soft smile making those stupid butterflies flutter around your ribcage.

“Do you think…your friends would like me?”

“Of course, everyone likes you,” Eddie said.

You snorted. “Eddie, you like me and you think it’s impossible for everyone else not to.”

“That is…true,” he admitted. “In my defense, you are pretty awesome.”

Grinning, you ducked your head and scuffed your shoe against the carpet.

“I love it when you do that,” Eddie groaned, tugging you closer to him.

“Do what?”

“Get all shy on me, it’s like you don’t know what to do with compliments,” Eddie joked, kissing you softly. “You should get used to them by the way.”

“I don’t get shy,” you protested, leaning away.

“Mhmm,” Eddie grinned, kissing your temple once before hauling his box to your stereo. “So, does this mean I can tell people we’re dating?”

“Eddie!” You whirled around to him. “You haven’t told anyone we’re dating? It’s been two months.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to!” Eddie said, standing quickly. “I’d scream it as I drive to school every day if I could.”

“I’ve told everyone I know! Even my mom sort of knows -- but also, please don’t scream it out from your car,” you added quickly.

Eddie looked at you over his shoulder. “You have?”

“Yes,” you groaned, flopping onto your bed. “Today’s the first time I’ve seen Jonathan in almost a year and I told him. Which! He said he’d help me out with some photography stuff, his camera’s a bit better and he said I could borrow it.”

Smiling at you, Eddie gave you a quick kiss before settling on the ground. “I promise you that all of the town will know by tonight,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. “Okay, now that that’s settled what’s your first choice?”

Hiding the cassette from him, you slid the tape into stereo and waited for the first song.

Ooh, baby, do you know what that's worth?

Ooh, Heaven is a place on Earth

Eddie immediately looked like he was gagging and you hid your laughter into your hand.

“Are you implying that I am not, in fact, heaven on earth?” You asked, tone mock serious.

He laughed. “Princess, every day I’m more and more convinced that you’re the devil in sheep’s clothing. Everyone’s mother in this town side eyes me, but really – it’s you they should keep an eye out for.”

You laughed, smacking his shoulder. “Okay, okay but really – what about this?”

All I needed for another day

And all I ever knew

Only you

“Yazoo, really?” Eddie said, dropping his head into his hands and sighing so loudly your neighbors probably heard it. “Are you trying to break us up?”

“Oh my God, you drama queen, put your pick on next then,” you said.

“Gladly!” He quickly, and with a scrunched nose, tossed your cassette over his shoulder. You glared at the back of his head and he laughed.

“What?”

“I can feel you glaring at me,” he said, “but you’ll love this song!”

The worst part was that you probably already did like whatever song he’d chosen.

Without you, there's no change

My nights and days are grey

“Nope,” you said, before it could finish the second verse. “Veto!”

Eddie groaned. “Princess, I know you like this song.”

You did, Motley Crue was a good band, but you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction. You crossed your arms and Eddie sighed. “Okay, that one might be deserved.”

He played two more songs and because you were nothing if not petty – what did being an older sister mean if you didn’t know how to harbor a grudge? – you pretended to dislike them.

“Alright, your turn then,” he huffed, “we’re never going to agree on one you know. We’ll be one of those couples without any common ground.”

“Oh my God, do you just like the sound of your own voice?” You asked, pinching his thigh as you passed him. He squawked and flailed, shooting you a glare.

“I happen to know you like the sound of my voice too, especially when I--”

“Eddie, I’ll knock you out,” you threatened.

“How many times do I have to tell you, you don’t need to flirt with me like that, we’re already dating,” he winked.

You really wanted to throttle him but goddamn did you not find his stupid dramatic sarcasm attractive.

“Okay, this one is serious,” you said, shooting him your best ‘behave!’ look. He straightened and crossed his heart. You sighed internally, that didn’t bode well. “I really, really like this song Munson!”

“Just play the record Henderson,” he sassed back.

You switch over to your old record player and set down your vinyl carefully. You tried not to look a little nervous, knowing he’d pick up on it. This was one of your only true suggestions you’d wanted to bring up to him.

“Is this-”

“Fleetwood Mac,” you nodded, swaying to the beat. This really was one of your favorite songs. You glanced at him and realized he wasn’t immediately recoiling. Hope bubbled in your chest and he smiled at you.

“I didn’t say anything yet.”

We better make a start

You better make it soon

Before you break my heart

“Why this one?” He asked and you didn’t miss the way his index finger tapped against his leg. He always did that when he was listening to music he liked, it was as if he could imagine the guitar strings beneath his fingers.

“Because,” you said, “it’s one of my favorite songs.”

“And that reminds you of us?”

“It reminds me of you. You’re one of my favorite people,” you said honestly, glancing back at him. “You know that I'm falling, and I don't know what to say, come along, baby,” you sang along softly.

You saw the moment he gave in. Without saying anything, you grinned and climbed over to him. Peppering his face with kisses, he laughed, his hair tangling with yours. “I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t have to,” you said, beaming at him. “You really like it? I know it’s not your usual stuff.”

“I really like it,” he said, smiling up at you, “I mean, I really do want to be with you everywhere, so it’s fitting.”

“What’s your next top choice?” You asked, wanting to give him an out if he wanted one.

Eddie furrowed his brows, smiling when you reached out to smooth them.

“I got it,” he said, kissing you and sliding out from underneath you. “This one.” He popped the cassette in, tossing his own tape over his shoulder, again. The second the first guitar notes hit; you knew what song it was. You had to admit, you did have a soft spot for KISS. Only because Eddie liked playing covers of theirs the best.

'Cause girl, I was made for you

And girl, you were made for me

You raised a brow at the lyrics and he crosses his arms, brow raised back at you. You’d believe his charade if it weren’t for his pink ears.                                                      

“I do like Everywhere,” he said quickly, turning to you, “I just…this one reminds me of you.”

“Of me?” You asked.

I was made for lovin' you, baby

You were made for lovin' me

Eddie’s pale skin turned a fascinating beet red and you smiled openly. Not waiting for an explanation, knowing it was likely to include stuttering and painful silences, you shrugged. “Let’s just pick both. There’s no rule that says each couple can only have one song.”

"Two songs?" Eddie frowned, tilting his head.

"Yes."

"I thought the point was to just have one,” he said.

You quirked a brow. "Is that you adhering to societal norms and being a conformist?" You asked, leaning forward to check your window. "No pigs again today, maybe you’re coming down with something.”

"Ha, ha, you're so funny,” he said dryly, pulling you back into his lap.

"I'd like to think so," you smirked as he fought his smile.

“So? Both?” He said after a moment, hand coming up to your hip. His lips trailed down your neck, still humming to the song. “Feel the magic, there's something that drives me wild.”

“Yeah,” you said, smiling, “both.”

“Alright,” he agreed, “both it is. Look at us, a real couple now.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot,” he said, grinning.

Something in your chest softened in a way you didn’t think you were ready to examine too closely yet. “Yeah, you are.” His answering smile was enough for the butterflies to take flight.

And I can't get enough of you, baby

Can you get enough of me?

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Quite at Home in Hell

For @whumptober2021 day six & day 21:  blood-matted hair & hunger

CW: Vampirism, blood drinking, noncon touch, creepy whumper, sadistic whumper, biting, captivity, dehumanizing language

Vampire Chris AU Masterlist | Follows directly from this piece

Thanks to @boxboysandotherwhump for helping me with the German & @alittlewhump for helping with the French!

-

1918, the Western Front of WWI

The prisoners are held in a small, hastily constructed sort of barracks far too close to the front lines.

Gefrieter Erich Eeten knows why, of course. The hope is that his own people will hesitate before they blast this bit of dirt apart, that they will be concerned enough about killing their fellow soldiers that they’ll give up a few key moments of pause to the French, the Americans, and the British. Give them the advantage in a firefight.

They want to shield themselves with the bodies of the men in this tent, unwashed and dirty, who are exhausted from a day spent digging trenches for their enemies to hide in. 

He can’t exactly blame the Allied powers for it. 

It’s a brilliant bit of strategy, if less and less effective as men on both sides become so battle-hardened that they cease to care about their own lives, let alone each other. Still. He’d almost rather be at one of the true POW camps further away from the front lines, where the Red Cross at least comes to check on their treatment.

Here, so close to the front, there is no one keeping watch on what happens to them at all… and the longer the war draws on, the more viciously they kill each other, the more the prisoners kept here too far for oversight feel like they are teetering at the edge of some terrible invisible cliff. 

There’s a stiff breeze outside the tent, whipping the heavy, waterproofed canvas edges. They’re flapping a little, making a sound that Erich will one day hear in his nightmares. The cold sneaks in through the slight space between tent and ground, and the men in here are huddled together for warmth, sharing the meager blankets they are given. 

At least, though, their captors are officially the French. 

Say what you will about the blasted frogs, they never deny their prisoners a nip of strong cognac to help hold off the cold. The Americans, on the other hand, seem to be laboring under an enforced lack of good liquor, not just for prisoners but for their own soldiers, too. That seems a worse crime than nearly any other, in circumstances like this. To force a man to be a cruel killer without even a nip or three to soothe his conscience… to Erich, it sounds like brutality.

There’s a bit of a scuffle outside the tent, and the prisoners look up. Erich is at the back, leaning back against the rough frame of a cot he sleeps on at night, cards in his hands wrapped in strips of bandage cloth just for warmth. What happened to his gloves, he’s no idea. Probably one of the Allies took them for a souvenir.

The canvas wraps work well enough.

“Au garde-à-vous, prisonniers! Sur vos pieds!” Erich knows the voice - it’s the main guard of the tent they sleep in, a man named Alain who looks entirely too old for war. Here he is, anyway, all moustache and silvering hair, pulling open the entrance of the tent, moving the flap aside. 

Erich glances left and then right, meeting the eyes of his fellow prisoners, and the half-dozen of them that share this single small tent push heavily to their feet, shifting apart as much as the tent will allow, hands behind their back. 

His stomach dips, a low drumbeat of dread alongside his heart. Something tells him this isn’t a social call he wants to be part of. 

He’s even more certain when a tall, thin American steps into the entrance, nearly silhouetted by the dim, barely-there light behind them. Their hair is long, in a loose plait with parts undone, and their eyes gleam, briefly seeming to glow in the dark. Erich is reminded of his mother’s cat, who would stalk mice at night and whose eyes did just the same when light hit them.

He feels very… mouselike.

They wear a medic’s uniform, but it’s a little tattered. There are unrepaired bullet holes through the heavy woolen tunic, and they move with grace and disdain for how heavy wet wool must be, how itchy and uncomfortable. As if it simply doesn’t matter to them.

Because, of course, it doesn’t. The damn thing is a walking corpse, baring fangs in a grisly smile.

“Hello, soldiers,” They say, in a voice that isn’t quite a purr. “You all look a fright.”

“Verdammte Blutsauger,” Lukas Müller mutters to his right. 

Erich hates the bloodsuckers. Everyone does. They come with the Americans, monsters brought from the shadows as a kind of secret weapon. Erich has never seen vampires out in the open before - back home, they are creatures of hiding. They live in cellars and basements and houses with the windows painted in thick matte black. They sweep along the streets at night, a risk for anyone who stays out too late.

But they’re not part of anything. 

Here, they’re death itself, demons quite at home in hell.

 Oh, sure, the Americans claim they use them only for bringing the injured back to safety - and some of them, he’s sure, are kept to that purpose. Some kind of ability to deny the truth of them, if there are enough seen doing only what the official story claims.

Erich, though, has seen one dispatching wounded German soldiers one by one left behind in a field, killing them before they can be recovered by their own people. He’s seen one with fangs buried in the throat of a man who would otherwise have lived. They’re listed as medics, but those things are what keeps the Germans on their own side of the battle lines after dark, and everyone knows it. 

His own side brings canisters of poison gas. The Americans respond with an army laced around its edges in abominations the gas can’t touch.

The vampire sighs, faintly disappointed. “No good morning for me from my audience?”

Erich speaks the best English out of them all - his grandmother was English, taught it to his father in the cradle, who taught it to him. It’s made him more or less the spokesman for his small group of prisoners, and for the larger group when they are moved and briefly allowed to interact with the others. He clears his throat, stepping forward slightly. Lukas and Vilhelm, on his other side, nudge him just a little with their shoulders. It’s meant to be support, he supposes. 

He feels like he’s being pushed onto a target painted on the floor, one invisible only to him. 

“Good morning,” Erich says, voice flat, letting his accent roll far more heavily off his tongue than it needs to, turning good into gut. It’s always good to let the enemy believe you know less than you really do, so he pretends that English comes with difficulty and not ease. “Should you not turn to ash?”

Their eyebrows raise just slightly, not quite in amusement, and they give a brittle little laugh. “First off, Fritz, that’s a myth. Secondly, it’s not even morning. Probably close to evening now, honestly.” 

Erich rolls his eyes. Lukas mutters something under his breath next to him, but the slight creaking of their boots seems to cover it too much to be understandable. Erich sighs, heavily. “Then why did you have us say to you good morning, Blutsauger?” 

“Because it’s funny that you don’t know what time it is, of course. All right, who here is Fritz, who is Hans, and who am I just going to call Kraut?” 

“No one here is named Hans and no one is Fritz, fangs.” Erich tips his chin down slightly, a lock of greasy brown hair falling into his eyes. “May you drown in holy water.”

He spits at the vampire’s feet.

He feels a pang of regret when the vampire turns to look at Alain, the French guard and points back at Erich, cheerful. “I want that one. He’s rude.”

“Das ist pech,” Lukas whispers.

When Alain simply stares at them blankly - and Erich knows Alain speaks English, they’ve spoken before in a tongue they had in common when neither spoke the other’s mother-tongue -  the vampire groans. They don’t seem to know Alain is pretending not to understand them. “Fine. Let’s try this again. Je veux cet homme, s'il vous plaît.”

Alain’s expression tightens a little. He nods, and he won’t look Erich in the eyes as he draws the entrance open a little wider. “Emmenez-le alors.”

“Merci beaucoup,” The vampire says, giving a little bow. Erich backs up, but there isn’t anywhere to go, and none of them is armed. Besides, any resistance is met with removal of meals, with being denied the smallest comforts that make this bearable. With the possibility of all of them being handed over to a vampire, not just one.

This war had been civilized, in some ways, before the Americans brought their monsters.

It’s not actually true, but in this moment it comforts him to pretend it, to have a place to put his furious disgust as the vampire’s thin, long fingers close around his arm and yank him forwards with inhuman strength. They’re clicking their tongue against the top of their mouth in a strange animal way. Erich thinks again of his mother’s cat, making just that sound watching birds outside the windows.

“May your hands be pressed into the holy cross,” Erich snaps as he’s forced out into the freezing humid air outside the tent. There are others walking around - a war camp is never less than controlled chaos, no matter the time of day - but none of them will look at him. No one acknowledges him, although they’ve all seen this before. They know what’s going to happen here. 

“Je déteste ça,” Alain mutters.

A bell is rung, clanging in a discordant note, and soldiers move into the POW tents. Erich is led towards a pole in the center of the ring of prisoner tents, something that a half-century ago might still have been a flogging post, a punishment for mutinous men. 

“Crosses don’t really harm us,” The vampire says, careless and casual. “Very little does, actually. I’m a big fan of garlic, for instance. Silver, though…” They hum, dragging a fingernail over Erich’s wrist. “That hurts.”

He jerks his hand back and free, only to have the vampire laugh, bright and brilliant, and grab him again, spinning him around until they’re behind him, chest pressed to his back, using that demon strength to twist his arms up his back until his bones creak and ache, forcing him forwards towards the pole. 

“I hope you have silver shoved down your throat,” Erich manages, but his heart is pounding in fear as the vampire grabs his hair and jerks his head to the side, forcing his cheek against the rough-hewn wood. Splinters bite into his skin and he grunts as his arms are moved, forced to encircle the pole. His wrists are tied with rope, leaving him looking a little ridiculous, as if he decided today to go for a hug. 

Another rope goes around his shoulders, keeping him in this awkwardly pressed position. He tries to kick back, pulling viciously, but then his ankles come next. The rope goes from them to small metal hooks driven hard into the ground, keeping his legs more than shoulder-width apart. He can’t kick, or even balance himself. He must rely entirely on the pole he’s tied to in order to stay upright. 

“I’m going to enjoy you,” The vampire murmurs. 

Behind Erich, the sounds of a crowd gathering begin. Soft mumbles, exhalations of surprise and disgust. He closes his eyes against the rush of heat he feels - more rage than tears - knowing the prisoners are being brought out to witness this, to be shown what could happen to them next.

It does an excellent job of making them grateful for every day it’s not.

The French commander of the POW camp is barking a running list of commands to his men, but Erich doesn’t speak enough French to clearly understand them. Someone comes close by behind him, and he jolts as there’s a clap to his back. There’s a laugh behind him, not the vampire but someone else.

He manages to see from the corner of his eyes. A different American, of course. Comfortable enough with the vampire to get this close to them. 

“Isn’t this a sorry sight,” The American says, and laughs. “What’s the prize for, fangs?”

The vampire lifts their hand, gently brushing Erich’s hair from his eyes. He spits in their face, this time, and is gratified by a flash of very real anger that briefly overtakes their constant amusement. They slowly wipe the spit away, then clean their hand - sort of - on Erich’s uniform. 

It’s so dirty they’re probably even less clean after that than they were before.

“Reported a desertion. Now I get fresh food.” They lean down, meeting Erich’s furious hazel eyes. “I’m so hungry, Fritz. All the time. Imagine being surrounded by schnitzel and cabbage as far as the eye can see, and you’re not supposed to eat your fill. Imagine how empty you would feel.”

“Fick dich.” 

“What, you won’t even curse at me in English anymore?” The vampire pouts, lower lip sticking out. He hates them more than he’s hated anyone during this godforsaken war. “Come on, you have to understand how hard this is for me, right?”

Erich ignores them, jerks his wrists again, trying to yank himself free of the ropes through sheer force. His back already is aching from being slightly bent forward, his thigh muscles stretched. He does the only thing he can think of - he slowly, with effort, drags his face along the wood and manages to turn away, and look the other direction. 

“Well, fine. I suppose you’ll be mad at me for acting like you all eat schnitzel and cabbage, too,” The vampire says behind him. He doesn’t dignify them with an answer. He fixes his eyes, instead, on a point in the dark roiling clouds in the sky, above the remaining trees. 

“The prisoners are well-positioned to witness,” A French officer states, speaking with a light, dancing accent but without the difficulty and hesitancy some of the regular infantry have. “You may feed when ready, Private Saathoff.”

That gets Erich’s attention. “Saathoff?”

“That’s right.” The vampire laughs, stepping up behind him. Their fingers move through the hair that curls, grown a little too long, over the back of his neck. He shudders with disgust at the intimacy of it. Their mouth moves close to his ear, but there is no heat of breath. Only the brush of lips. “Ich bin Deustcher, genau wie du.” 

“Nothing like me,” Erich grinds out with his teeth gritted together so hard his jaw is already aching. He presses his forehead into the rough wooden pole and closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath. 

If he’s going to die…

“Vater unser im Himmel,” he begins, halting. He hasn’t seen the inside of a church since he was fourteen, and that was twelve years ago now. Still, the words to the Lord’s Prayer come easily, more muscle memory than thought. “Geheiligt werde dein Name. Dein Reich komme, Dein Wille geschehe, wie im Himmel so auf Erden-”

“Zu jeder anderen Zeit hätte ich dich als Haustier behalten.” They use his hair to jerk his head back, and their fangs jam into his neck with a flash of sudden agony.

It’s a white-hot pain that races down his spine to the very tips of his toes, and Erich screams, the sound strangled and thin but still echoing, bouncing off of trees and tents and back into his mind, crashing like the shells that slam into the earth. 

Lukas jerks forwards as if to run to help him and is pushed back by one of the French soldiers, their expression set in a grim line. They have to twist Lukas’s arms behind his back to hold him as he shouts, angrily, that this isn’t fair, it’s against the laws of conduct. 

There’s laughter, at that, from their captors. 

The other prisoners grumble and shift uncomfortably, look at anything but Erich whenever they can, but they can’t escape the sound of his horror, of his pain. 

There’s no pulse of the much-spoken-of venom. There’s no numbness to drift in, there’s no fog to cloud out his awareness of what is happening to him. Every muscle of Erich’s body is tensed tight enough to snap the bones they wrap around, the veins standing out in his throat as if giving them a roadmap of where the food can be found.

He didn’t know vampires could choose not to use the venom.

He didn’t know they could make it feel like this.

When his scream dies, he can’t get enough breath to make another. All he can do is let out high-pitched, thin whimpers and cries. Spots dance before his eyes. Beneath the sound of his heart pounding in a sudden panic to push more blood faster to replace what is being lost, he can feel - can hear - a low rumbling sound against his back.

Erich has heard the rumors that vampires purr, and now he knows they aren’t rumors at all.

He can feel it right through his back, just barely. It’s a vibration that would be pleasant if it didn’t seem to be somehow making everything hurt even worse, waking up his nerves the way the venom is supposed to deaden them. Their hands are closed around his ribs, pressing the tips of their fingers rhythmically against them, as if playing a piano, as if he is dough to be kneaded, as if he isn’t human at all.

As if he’s nothing but a field mouse that found his way into the wrong house, and the vampire is the housecat who has waited too long for a living toy to torment.

There is no prayer, in pain like this. There is no thought beyond the body’s fight for survival and the mind wanting to flee from it, if surviving means this feeling will not end. There is nothing but the feeling of his blood being pulled forcefully out of his body, nothing but his nerves screaming to escape it, nothing but the bite of the ropes that ensure he can do no more than jerk in his bonds and choke on his agony.

It feels like forever - and like a moment - when their fangs pull free, their cool rough tongue lapping at the wounds to close them, purring against his ear with contentment. Their fingers knead into his skin a little bit longer, drawing the moment out as he slumps against the wooden pole he’s tied to. He’s only standing because of the ropes.

Pain rolls through him, breaking against the edges of his body from the inside, like the smaller waves after a storm falling onto a beach already strewn with debris. He slumps. His own breath is a rasping wheeze, taking far more effort than it should.

Nein, Erich, Erich stirb nicht…” Lukas’s voice comes from somewhere so far away, filtering through the noise in Erich’s mind slowly. He can’t even begin to form a response. His mouth won’t answer his commands. It only hangs open, panting, pulling in the chilly air over his tongue. He starts to shiver as the breeze hits the cold sweat in his hair and on his neck, cuts through his uniform somehow.

He doesn’t have enough blood left to warm himself.

Their tongue licks up his neck behind his ear, matting his own blood into his hair there, sticky and hot. It starts to cool and dry immediately in the cold air. Erich’s stomach twists.

“Oh, he won’t die,” The vampire coos, petting through his hair slowly. Their nails scratch at his scalp. “Not today.” Their mouth presses back against his ear. “Thanks for the meal, Erich. And for being so entertaining. Maybe I’ll find you after the war. I’ll buy you a beer… and some schnitzel.”

They push themself away from him, turning away to wipe a bit of blood from the corners of their mouth, and walk with a jaunty step through an opening that appears in the ring of watching prisoners, whose eyes follow them with apprehension and no small amount of fear. 

When Alain comes up to untie him, Erich simply collapses into the Frenchman’s arms as soon as he’s free of the ropes. Lukas is allowed to move up to stand at his other side, putting Erich’s limp left arm around his shoulders, while Alain supports his right. Erich lets his head fall into Lukas’s shoulder, hitching his breath as he forces down a sob. 

“Wh… why do you let them do this?” He asks, his English slurred with the exhaustion that means he is dragged with his boots carving paths through the mud back towards the tent. 

Alain is silent until Erich is dropped onto his cot, the hard frame digging into Erich’s back right through the thin mattress. He glances over his shoulder, the three of them alone in here for the moment, and then looks back. 

“It is believed that this is how we will win,” He says, and pats Erich’s hand. “My apologies. I do not believe in the monsters, but I am not the one to run this war.”

“None of us are,” Erich says, weakly. He closes his eyes. “We are only the ones who must fight in it.”

There’s a pause, and Alain’s exhale is audible in the quiet tent. “I will ensure you are given extra meat rations tonight, and I will find you some schnapps. Essaye de dormir, maintenant, si tu peux,” he says with soft regret lacing his voice. Then there is a shuffle of footsteps, and he’s gone.

Lukas shifts and sits with his back to the cot, in the same position Erich was in before. He swallows, picking up the abandoned cards from the game they’d been playing, looking over Erich’s hand. “You’d have won, you know, on the next hand,” He says in German, before he reaches out to grab the others’ cards and reshuffle the deck.

“Do I still get my… my winnings?” Erich can barely move his lips to speak. He’s so tired. So, so tired. He can feel his hands starting to shake, now that it’s over, the trembling moving slowly up his limbs, stuttering his breathing. 

“My share of the liquor? Not on your life.” Lukas pauses, and then his tone gentles as he looks Erich over again. “You know what... of course you can. You’ll need warmth. What did the bloodsucker say to you, anyway? I couldn’t hear.”

Erich thinks about the promise to find him after the war, about the way they spoke into his ear as if he were little more than a toy top to be spun at their command. In another time, I’d keep you for a pet, they had whispered, before they bit down. 

He shakes his head, slowly. “Lies,” He answers, and feels the softer-edged darkness of sleep begin to take him.

“Lies?” 

“I hope… I hope they were lies.”

For the moment, at least, he is too exhausted by the present to feel terror for the future.

-

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump @thefancydoughnut

[grellestan]

Not As Beautiful As You- Tamaki/Kyoya OHSHC Oneshot

“We’re going camping!”

Tamaki’s excited cry was met with the faintest ripple of acknowledgement. Seven glances were shot his way, but nobody stopped what they were doing or even praised- or more likely, disapproved the idea. Not even Honey paused eating his cake, just blinked and looked up at Mori with an eyerow raised.

The prince scowled at the blank room.

“I said, we’re going camping!”

Haruhi wearily turned towards him, raising her head out of her book. “Senpai, yesterday you said we’d go to the zoo. The day before that, it was paintballing. And last week, you were going on and on about… what was it again?”

“The Bahamas,” Kyoya chimed in, his glasses reflecting the light in a chilling fashion as he looked up. “Where you expect some of our members to get the funding for that is beyond me.” Haruhi winced at the pointed statement. Tamaki took zero notice.

“Oh please, this time is different! See, Kyoya’s family has just bought an acre of land, a forest with a simply beautiful lake flowing through it to build a campsite! Ah, it is most lovely there, almost as gorgeous as me!” Tamaki spun around, producing a rose from his lapel, just to embellish his point.

“We could even do it the way the commoners do! In a tent, with sleeping bags, as an homage to our own commoner!”

He looked around again, expecting some kind of a reaction, before sighing at the blank looks, and slumping to the ground to begin growing mushrooms. Kyoya stared disdainfully at him for a second, praying the idea would be dropped for not wanting to bother hs father by using the not-yet-opened facilities.

No sooner had he fell, however, a grinding of gears and a familiar, shrieking laugh pierced the air. Renge appeared from under the floor in a bright pink, glittery parka and canary wellington boots, clutching a tent bag and sitting on a camping chair. Haruhi did a double take, still not entirely used to the stunts that the club somehow found a way to both fund and pull off without failure.

“Ahahahaha! How foolish you all are for not heeding this idiot’s words! He’s usually a totally terrible excuse of a leader, but he’s onto something with this plan!” She brandished an umbrella from inside her parka, and pointed it at Kyoya. “Kyoya-Senpai! Don’t you see this could be a brilliant marketing scheme? All the outdoor photo shoots and camping brands you could be promoting in exchange for club funding?”

She was right- even Kyoya couldn’t shoot this down. The twins had already started to jump on the idea, joining Renge on her pedestal. Somehow, they were both already in hiking boots and waterproof trousers.

“She’s right.”

From the back of the room, even Mori had put in his twopence. Kyoya couldn’t deny it- it was a perfect way to generate some funding for the club. He gave a tired smile, and made some quick notes down on his clipboard. The whole room was looking towards him now, waiting for approval from the man. Kyoya drew in a long breath. “Fine, you lot. I’ll work my father and make him come around to the plan.”

His statement was met with cheers from the members. Haruhi glanced at everyone, still dumbfounded by how quickly situations at the club could change. How was the place even real, with this level of madness? She was lost in thought when she felt Kyoya’s breath on her cheek.

“Not to worry, Haruhi. I’ll add your expenses to your debt.” She rolled her eyes. He was never going to let that debt go.

The issue of tent-mates had occurred almost as soon as the group of loveable idiots arrived at the Ootori family’s luxury campsite. The twins had attempted to purloin Haruhi into their tent, insisting that they “definitely had space for all 3!”, much to Tamaki’s disdain. Haruhi had taken none of this, and stated calmly that she and Renge had already agreed to share together.

Really, Haruh enjoyed the twins’ antics and knew nothing bad would ever come of hanging out with them, but if Ranka had caught wind that her sweet daughter was camping out with filthy boys Haruhi would never hear the end of it.

After squabbling for a half hour, it was decided that the twins would stay in one tent, Haruhi and Renge in another, Mori and Honey would steal the luxury camper that Kyoya had planned on using alone, and he would be left in the last and smallest tent with Tamaki.

It wasn’t the worst arrangement, and it was only for a night. Kyoya couldn’t help feeling slightly bitter about his campervan, but it would be better for him to stay with Tamaki, however cramped, rather than incur the wrath of a sleepy Honey-Senpai.

It took them a further 3 hours to set up the tents, while Honey and Mori watched them all struggle from the comfort of the van. Tamaki had refused to use the pre-set-up tents that the Ootori family staff would provide, saying that he “needed the full commoner experience”. It went without saying that he would come to regret this immensely, having multiple temper tantrums when the flimsy tent material wouldn’t bend to his will. Renge and Haruhi were a surprisingly nimble and efficient tem when it came to the construction of their tent, and they ended up begrudgingly setting up Kyoya and Tamaki’s after a flood of begging and crocodile tears from the boss. Kyoya had refused to help with any of the tent-building process, under the grounds that it wasn’t his job after he had managed to wrangle the whole campsite for them to roam for pratically no fee. By no fee, he meant affordable for all club members besides Haruhi, for whom it was an unspeakable amount.

During the tent session, Honey and Mori had dug a pit and had started collecting firewood for a campfire. Rather, Mori collected wood, and Honey found sticks that were the perfect size for roasting marshmallows- “A total essential for the outdoors!” -and organised the snacks he’d stashed in his bag for that evening. By the time the tents were set up in a neat semicircle, there was a roaring fire and even wide logs for them to sit on around it that had been dragged around the woods by Mori.

Their campsite overlooked the still lake, and the moon reflected high in the sky above the friends. Fireflies buzzed around and glowed gold in the night, hovering just above the fire’s smoke, their light bouncing off the group’s faces. Their cheeks and noses were pink with cold and they were huddled under layers upon layers of blankets. Tamaki was sittig next to Kyoya, squashed against him penguin style, sharing the blanket and body heat. Kyoya couldn’t help but note Tamaki’s familiar vanilla cookie smell over the green, clear scent of the woods.

He inhaled before he could help himself, feeling a familiar swell in his chest. There was something about Tamaki, there always had been, from the moment they met and every minute since. He would never admit it- he hardly even let himself entertain his thoughts- but Tamaki was a beautiful, shining beacon radiating warmth and love for his friends, his family, the world. Kyoya privately wished he too could exude this kind of emotion, but more than that he wanted to absorb it from the blond boy. He wanted to soak in every part of Tamaki and then more. There was an unnameable emotion swelling within Kyoya with every glance at his friend, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to hide it for much longer.

He stood abruptly, shedding the blanket onto Tamaki. The feeling in his chest was too much; he couldn’t remain so close to the boy he was trying so desperately to ignore his love for.

“Excuse me- I think I may have to take my leave, everyone. Lots of budgetng to do.” He brandished his clipboard and gave a wan smile. Tamaki looked heartbroken.

“But Kyoya! We haven’t even finished the marshmallows, you can’t possibly pass up smores for work!” The blond boy protested. He knew how to get round anyone but Kyoya knew he wouldn’t be able to stand another minute by his side, feeling his warmth just centimetres away from his heartbeat.

“No, no. Please enjoy the sweets without me. Somebody has to take care of business in this club after all.” He scurried into the tent before anyone could try to stop him, leaving behind the chattering group and the glow of the fire.

Kyoya tossed and turned in his too-short sleeping bag for hours, listening to the crackling fire and sleepy laughter of his friends. What was he going to do? Why couldn’t he love some noble’s daugher and make his family proud? Why was he cursed to love those he would never be able to have?

These thoughts plagued him long into the night, and angry tears escaped from his eyes. He was a failure, a terrible son and an even worse friend to Tamaki for having such terrible feeligs towards him. Eventually, with his mind spitting thoughts that ricocheted round his head like bullets, Kyoya fell into a restless sleep.

“Okay everyone! I’m off to bed. Hopefully Mommy won’t snore!” Tamaki rose from his space on the log after swallowing down his sixth smore.

Honey was leaning against Mori, breathing deeply and clutching at Usa-chan, dreaming of sweets. Haruhi had long gone to bed, and Renge soon followed. The twins were soaked through, having thought it would be hilarious to throw each other into the lake fully clothed. They hadn’t brought towels, the unprepared idiots, so now they had to dry off next to the campfire before they were able to crawl into bed.

A sleepy chorus of “goodnight” echoed around the fire from the remaining group members as Tamaki slowly unzipped the door to his tent, trying his hardest for once to be quiet as to not wake Kyoya up. He’d acted kind of strange earlier, and Tamaki couldn’t help but wonder what could be going on for his oldest and dearest friend. Tamaki was hesitant to give time to the thought, but he was finding himself having different kinds of feelings towards Kyoya recently, just here and there. At first, it was just that he notced a little more than usual when Kyoya had cut or styled his hair differently, then it was that he was almost hyper-aware of Kyoya’s features and how beautiful he was- he looked chiseled, like a marble statue with his clear, glassy skin.

Tamaki shook his head to rid himself of the emotion filling his mind. Not the time or place, he thought to himself, especially given that he would soon be lying right next to Kyoya. As quietly and quickly as he could, the blond boy clambered into the tent, trying hard to fit his long legs and arms neatly into his sleeping bag. He lay his head down onto the pillow and tried his hardest to fall asleep, not wanting his head to buzz with what he didn’t want to admit was love.

Tamaki awoke with a start. There was a rumbling noise, and in his sleepy stupor he couldn’t work out what the sound could possibly be coming from… Ah. After a minute of frantically whipping his head around trying to find the sure, he realised it was his friend snoring. Wow, Tamaki thought. Kyoya snores like a pig. Maybe that would be grounds to try and detatch his feelings! He couldn’t possibly fall for someone so loud- nevermind, it was no use trying to persuade himself of feeling anything other than a swell of happiness whenever he was around Kyoya.

He glanced over at the black haired boy. He was beautiful- his face was softened by sleep, making him appear vulnerable and young, almost like a baby bird who can’t yet fly. The slight tightness in Kyoya’s brow that usually marked his face was dissipated and relaxed, and he no longer showed a air of uptight snootiness. Tamaki wanted to reach out and stroke the smooth skin of his cheek, run his hands through Kyoya’s silky hair. He resisted.

Unzipping the door, Tamaki softly padded outdoors. The sun wasn’t up yet, but it was definitely too light to be the dead of night anymore. He sighed, knowing that he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep that night. No matter, he would nap when he got home.

Tamaki wandered down to the lake’s edge, to where the water lapped at his toes and brushed his heels. It was cool and comforting, softly spashing at his feet. He considered for a second before stripping down to his underwear, the early morning half-light illuminating his toned shoulders and reflecting a shade of orange onto his chest. Tamaki stepped into the water, letting it swell around his knees and thighs for a second before dipping his shoulders under the golden water. He swam with a strong stroke into the centre of the lake, treading the water and watching the sky streak with pink, yellow and gold.

Back in the tent, Kyoya had stirred from his dead slumber. He could see that the door was flapped open, letting a breeze flow into the sleeping pod. He sighed and rolled out of his sleeping bag, pushing aside the door and following the footsteps down to the lake, twigs crunching underneath his bare feet. The coals in the firepit were still faintly glowing, and he stopped a minute to re-stock the fire and get the flames going again for when the others woke up. Once it was quietly crackling once again, he walked down to the lake’s shore, looking out across the woodlands. He could see Tamaki in the middle of the lake, his bare shoulders shining with water. No sooner had he arrived at the edge did Tamaki turn around and smile, yelling something that Kyoya didn’t quite catch across the water. When he didn’t respond, Tamaki made a wide beckoning gesture with his arms.

Kyoya hesitated a second, but reluctantly took his pyjamas off and wading into the lake. It wasn’t as chilly as he’d expected, just a still coolness that slipped over his skin as he swam to his friend. As he got closer, Tamaki sliced through the water towards him, grinning.

“Hey! I didn’t know you snore, I wouldn’t have shared a bedroom with you if I’d known! You totally woke me up” he raised an eybrow and smirked a little before falling into peals of laughter, unable to take himself seriously enough to smirk. Kyoya felt his cheeks redden.

“I do not snore, Suoh. Don’t project your faults onto me.” He deadpanned before smiling to show Tamaki he didn’t really mind the dig.

Tamaki suddenly looked past Kyoya, eyes shining. “Look! The sun’s rising! Isn’t it stunning?”

Kyoya turned. He was right- it was beautiful. The streaked sky was punctuated by the shimmering sparkle of the rising sun, a giant glowing full stop. He felt a hand on his shoulder, quickly followed by Tamaki’s chest resting on his back, chin on his shoulder.

Kyoya reddened again, but this time he felt bolder.

“It’s not as beautiful as you.”

Tamaki pulled away abruptly, and his stomach tied in a tangled knot of regret. Shit. Maybe he was too bold, thought Kyoya. He bowed his head and turned in the water, slightly raising his head to look at Tamaki’s face. The boy was wide eyed and pink cheeked, staring at Kyoya with his mouth slightly ajar.

“Tamaki, I-” Kyoya began to apologise. He was cut off by Tamaki’s tackled embrace, almost knocking him backwards into the lake. He could feel his friend’s- no, his love’s- hands gripping his back before rising to his jaw. Tamaki’s eyes were hazy and dark. He was beautiful.

“Kyoya,” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ve wanted you to say that for so long.”

He leant forwards. Kyoya could hardly believe what was happening, and leant into the kiss that he’d waited for forever.

It was perfect. The sun was high now, and the lake was still and crystal, and Tamaki’s lips were so soft, and his hands so gentle. Kyoya didn’t know how this would pan out after this moent had ended… But he’d cross that bridge when he got to it.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

On Doriathrin Isolationism

I’ve seen a fair number of takes in the Silm fandom on the topic of either “the Noldor are horrible imperialists” or “the Sindar are horrible isolationists”, so I thought it would be interesting to take a closer look at Doriathrin policy.

Firstly, how isolationist are they, following the creation of the Girdle of Melian? They still have close relations with the Laiquendi of Ossiriand, and some of them come to Doriath. They still have close relations with Círdan and are in communication with him. They’re fairly close with the children of Finarfin: Galadriel lives in Doriath, the others visit, Finrod is close enough with Thingol to act as an intermediary between him and the Haladin, and Thingol is the one who tells Finrod of the location for Nargothrond. The dwarves continue travelling to Doriath, and trading, and living there for long periods to do commissioned craft-work, through long periods of the First Age, even after the Nirnaeth - the Nauglamír Incident could never have happened if not for that. All these people can pass freely into Doriath. So we’re not talking about Doriath cutting itself off from the rest of the world, not by any means. We’re talking specifically about its relations with three groups: 1) the Fingolfinian and Fëanorian Noldor; 2) the Edain; and 3) the Northern Sindar.

Every time I try to write this post it gets really long, so here I’m going to focus on Doriath’s relationship with the first and third groups, other Elves, and leave the Edain for a separate post.

Doriath and the Northern Sindar

Thingol’s attitude towards this group is the least excusable, and something I wasn’t aware of until I got my hands on a copy of The Peoples of Middle-earth (HoME Vol. 12):

[Thingol] had small love for the Northern Sindar who had in regions near to Angband come under the dominion of Morgoth, and were accused of sometimes entering his service and providing him with spies. The Sindarin used by the Sons of Fëanor also was of the Northern dialect; and they were hated in Doriath.

Now, to be clear, Thingol is wrong about the Northern Sindar being shifty. They’re the ones more commonly described in The Silmarillion as the grey-elves of Hithlum. They make up a substantial portion of the people of Gondolin. They include Annael and his people, who raise Tuor. (Presumably others live in, or moved to, East Beleriand along with the Fëanorians, as the Fëanorians speak their tongue.) 

Here is what I think probably happened. We have statements in The Silmarillion that Morgoth captured elves when he could, and that:

“The Noldor feared most the treachery of those of their own kin, who had been thralls in Angband; for Morgoth used some of these for his evil purposes, and feigning to give them liberty sent them abroad, but their wills were chained to his, and they strayed only to com back to him again; therefore if any of his captives escaped in truth, and returned to their own people, they had little welcome, and wandered alone outlawed and desperate”. 

If Morgoth also captured some of the Northern Sindar - who, living closer to Angband, would be more at risk of this than Doriathrim, Falathrim, or Laiquendi - there could, as with later Noldor prisoners, have been some who were under his control and attacked and betrayed other elves. The Doriathrin Sindar, living further from Angband, might have been unaware of their capture, conflated this with deliberate and willful treachery, and so mistrusted the Northern Sindar.

That does not excuse Thingol’s attitude. He is stereotyping, and he is claiming kingship of all Beleriand while writing off a substantial portion of his own people, and this is unacceptable. One cannot claim rule of a people while simultaneously disdaining them and forswearing respinsibility for them. It is little surprise than the Northern Sindar largely joined themselves with various groups of Noldor and would have been glad of their arrival.

Doriath and the Noldor

This case is more complicated. I don’t like conflations of Thingol’s attitude towards the Fingolfinian and Fëanorian Noldor - or the Edain, for that matter - with anti-immigration sentiment. The basic concept of immigration is that you want to go to another country and live as a member of that country. When you enter an existing realm, claim its territory as your own, set up your own government, and justify it on the basis of “you’re not militarily able to stop us” that is not immigration. That is called an invasion, or annexation, or something of the sort. (Even if the realm in question is currently under invasion by enemies! Imagine if the British, after D-Day, had tried to annex half of France.)

(I will also note here that Thingol did not abandon the rest of the people of Beleriand prior to the Noldor’s arrival. The First Battle was the Doriathrim fighting alongside the Laiquendi. When Morgoth’s invasion became too large to fight on every front, the creation of the Girdle was the right choice. When assaulted by an overwhelming enemy force, the best, and indeed only militarily possible, option may be to withdraw as many of your people as possible to your fortress (as Thingol does - many of the Laiquendi and as many as possible of the grey-elves of Western Beleriand are evacuated to Doriath) and buckle down for a siege.) 

And the Noldor didn’t come with the Sindar’s benefit in mind. (As I have noted before, they were not even away of Angband’s existence. The Return was focused on fighting one very dangerous individual, regaining the Silmarils, and setting up realms in - if we’re being generous to the Noldor - presumably unoccupied territory. If we’re not being generous, the aim can equally well be read as setting themselves up as the rulers of the elves of Middle-earth. If their goal, or even a tiny part of their goal, was “rescue the Sindar”, then they could have pitched that to Olwë to get him on board - “help us rescue your brother from Morgoth” is a way stronger argument than “you owe us, you cultureless barbarians”.)

So, given that they’re annexing his territory without even considering that it might be someone else’s territory, it’s very understandable that Thingol isn’t pleased by the Noldor.  

On the other hand, Beleriand does benefit from the Noldor’s presence. Maedhros is quite correct when he points out that Thingol’s alternative to having the Nolder in northern Beleriand would be having orcs there [ironically, the Fëanorians do more harm to Doriath than orcs ever do, but that’s far in the future]. So given that the Sindar and Noldor have a common and very dangerous enemy, Thingol should at least try to work wth them. His deliberate isolation from the Noldor even prior to finding out about the Kinslaying comes across as prideful and petty. I am thinking particular of the absolutely minimal Doriathrin participation in Mereth Aderthad, when Fingolfin was specifically seeking to build a Beleriand-wide alliance, something that was in all their interests; and, addtionally, of not allowing the Nolofinwëans into Doriath. It automatically precludes any high-level negotiations or, just as importantly, any amount of in-person interaction that could lead to greater understanding. I can understand Thingol’s attitude towards Mereth Aderthad on some level - Fingolfin is in effect acting as though he is High King of Beleriand, something Thingol would resent - but it is nonetheless shortsighted.

It’s also worth noting, though, that acting with more tact and treating Thingol as King of Beleriand - as in fact he was throughout the Ages of the Stars - would not necessarily have posed any great difficulty or impeded Noldoran autonomy in decision-making in northern Beleriand. Notably, Thingol is on good terms with Finrod, gives him the location for building Nargothrond, and has no problems with him setting up a realm governing a large swath of West Beleriand. And yes, being relatives doesn’t hurt, but what stands out in this relationship is that Finrod treats Thingol with respect. He understand that Thingol knows more about Beleriand than him, and asks advice; when the Edain arrive, he’s the only one of the Noldor to consult with Thingol on his decisions (and that willingness to consult is what gets Thingol to agree to the Haladin settling in Brethil). And none of this prevents Finrod, or Orodreth after him, from having autonomy from Doriath in their decisions as lords of Nargothrond.

However, another interesting point is that Thingol’s early attitude towards the Noldor is not driven only by resentment of their infringements on his authority, but also by outright mistrust that doesn’t seem to be clearly grounded. Note that, after Galadriel tells Melian about Morgoth’s slaying of Finwë and theft of the Silmarils (which is well after Mereth Aderthad), Melian and Thingol talk, and Thingol says of the Noldor, “Yet all the more sure shall they be as allies against Morgoth, with whom it is not now to be thought they shall ever make treaty.” [Emphasis mine.] Which means that prior to this, he was genuinely worried about the Noldor allying with Morgoth! To paraphase The Order of the Stick, Thingol took Improved Paranoia several levels ago. (But he always seems to be paranoid about the wrong things. The Fëanorians are a threat, but not because of any possible league with Morgoth. Likewise, he is hostile to Beren because of dreams of a Man bringing doom to Doriath, but Thingol’s death and the first destruction of Doriath is instead set off by the actions of Húrin in bringing the cursed Nauglamír.)

So on the whole, neither the Noldor nor Thingol are behaving ideally in their early relations. After Thingol learns about Alqualondë, I find his hostility - especially to the Fëanorians - very warranted.  These aren’t some distant, once-related group of elves, these are his brother’s people! And “willing to betray and attack their friends” is not a quality anyone is looking for in an ally, nor something that is going to lead to trust.  

This also carries over to everything relating to the Leithian and the Silmaril. (Again, it is important to note with respect to the Leithain that Thingol states outright, after giving Beren the quest that he has zero expectation of - or desire for - Beren to obtain the Silmaril.  It’s a combination suicide mission and “when pigs fly” statement, and most people who say “when pigs fly” aren’t aiming at the invention of animatronic flying pigs.) In a theoretical world where the Kinslaying didn’t happen and the Fëanorians had no involvement in the Quest of the Silmaril, they might have had  a good shot at negotiating for it! (A much better shot than they had at getting it out of Angband, which they never even tried.) But of course Thingol would have no interest in handing it over to the people who, on top of the Kinslaying, also 1) betrayed his nephew and sent him to his death [that’s kind of on you as well, Elu], 2) kidnapped and attempted to rape his daughter; and 3) attempted to murder his daughter. And there should not be any reasonable expectation that he ought to do so! By their actions, the Fëanorians have forfeited any right to demand anything at all from Thingol, or from Beren and Lúthien, or from their descendents. 

(This is, in fact, the very point made in the Doom of Mandos: their oath shall drive them and yet betray them. Every Fëanorian action driven by the oath is counterproductive to them obtaining any of the Silmarils.)

Conclusion

In short:

- Yes, the Noldor are imperialist in their goals, but in they end they’re not ruling anyone who isn’t willing to be ruled by them. And the Northern Sindar who are part of their realms are people who Thingol had explicitly written off, which doesn’t reflect well on him.

- Doriath is not as isolationist as it is often portrayed and has close relations with many of the peoples in Beleriand. It also does participate in the wars against Morgoth (I’ll go into that in more detail in my Edain post). And they have valid grievances against the Fëanorians. However, Thingol’s deliberate snubbing of the FIngolfinian Noldor (and even before he knew about the Kinslaying), despite the evident benefits of planning a common defense of Beleriand, is selfish and petty.

[bellshells]

Nobody Can Know

REQUEST: Maybe something with George Weasley and a slytherin reader? He has a crush on her and Fred teases him for it, they start dating in secret but Fred tells their siblings and they all disapprove because they think she's evil (maybe because she's friends with Draco,Blaise etc) but she's actually quite nice but still a proud slytherin and fits all their attributes? If you even write for George that is?:) 

For @hinagiku0 x

Summary: This one got away from me. Reader and George enter a secret relationship that threatens the relationships of everybody close to them.  Warnings: Language, Fluff, Angst, Smut, slight praisekink!George. Everyone is of age. If the smut isn’t your thing, just stop reading at the bold text :)

Pairing: George Weasley x Slytherin Fem!Reader Word Count: 9k+ Part Two

This is my first reader insert, and I hope you enjoy it. Requests are open!<3

“That pathetic Weasley is staring at you again, (Y/N),” Draco whispered from his seat next to you. You whipped your head round in the direction that Draco was looking and saw the usual gaggle of Gryffindor girls fawning around the infamous Weasley twins as they tried to eat their breakfast. Although Fred was clearly enjoying the attention, balancing his spoon on his nose and earning laughs from his adoring crowd; George sat quietly by his brother’s side. His attention fixed quite intently towards the Slytherin table to where you sat sandwiched between Draco and Blaise, the latter’s interest quite firmly placed in conversation with Pansy Parkinson- but Draco noticed, and so did you. You offered George a small smile and tucked a lock of hair behind your ear as, with pink cheeks, George returned your smile. Draco looked incredulously between the two of you.   “Are you mad, (Y/N)? What do you think you’re doing?” He pinched your arm and you rubbed it with a groan.   “What?” You snapped, “I was just being friendly, a quality you clearly don’t possess.” Draco rolled his eyes and returned to his breakfast in silence, you continued to rub your arm as you shifted your gaze to once more meet with George’s. He was still smiling as Fred tapped him on the shoulder to leave, he stood and gave you a small wave. You were accustomed to feeling butterflies in your stomach whenever you looked at George Weasley and they fluttered with gay abandon as you watched him shoulder to shoulder with Fred leave the Great Hall with long strides.

  Nobody knew the way you felt about him and in truth, you had tried to tell yourself otherwise also. You knew if you were to tell any of your friends, your pureblood Slytherin friends that is, you would be met with nothing but disdain and you feared being lonely. The thought of being excluded from your friendship group was enough to keep your secret longing for George just that, a secret. Whilst you were a proud Slytherin and proud of your heritage and family name; the way your friends; especially Draco spoke about your classmates made you feel uncomfortable. You didn’t see anything wrong with being friends with half-bloods and muggleborns, hell, you wouldn’t be averse to being friends with a muggle themself if they were a nice person. But that too, you kept to yourself. You hoped that this prejudiced front Draco and the like portrayed was something he would grow out of, you knew that alone, he really was quite lovely. Having spent summer after summer visiting the Malfoy estate with your parents as a child, you came to realise that Draco’s parents buried him under a lot of pressure. The Malfoy name was weighted enough, and you knew Draco weathered his days carrying around his privilege like a heavy burden, terrified of putting one foot wrong. It was easier for him to act the part of willing crusader for the purification of wizard blood, than to actually think about the alternative. Your parents had instilled in you as you entered your third year that it was important for you to look out for Draco, keep him on the straight and narrow so to speak. That being said, you took silent solace in the time away from him. You were two years older than Draco and cherished your classes away from your childhood friend. But as the years had gone, you now in your seventh-year, and Draco in his fifth, you still felt compelled to stand by your promise to your parents. But being away from him meant you could interact with whomever you wished to, and for the most part that was George Weasley.

  You wondered whether he could hear your heart thundering in your chest as you took your usual seat next to him in Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall in her genius had chosen to separate Fred and George during their OWLs, so the seat next to George at the back of the classroom was always free, and you always took it. You reached into your bag for your parchment and a quill for George as he produced an ink pot and placed it in between the two of you. Another of your unspoken rituals, George never had a quill and in return for your consistent generosity, he shared his ink. He smiled in thanks as he took it from you, his fingers barely grazing yours in the exchange, yet it was enough to make your skin burn under his slight touch. You swallowed and shrugged your robes from around your shoulders, suddenly feeling very warm.

  Throughout the lesson, you exchanged few words with George. He knew you were struggling with retaining everything McGonagall was whizzing through, and you were grateful that he tried not to distract you. You were so worried about passing your NEWTs and you felt supremely out of your depth. With an exasperated sigh, you threw your wand onto the desk and thrust your head into your hands. You could feel George’s eyes on you and sure enough as you peeked through your fingers, he was frowning sympathetically as he poured a glass of water from the pitcher he had transfigured from a large leather bound book. A similar book sat on the desk in front of you, un-transfigured and mocking you.

  “Are you okay (Y/N)?” George asked softly. He offered you the glass of water and sat back in his chair.   “I’m never going to be able to do this.” You moaned and took the glass from George’s hand and took a tentative sip. “Tastes like Shakespeare.”   “Well that’s no good, it was bloody Marlowe!” He joked and picked up your wand and passed it to you. Begrudgingly you took it, but George didn’t remove his hand. Instead he placed it on top of yours and slowly guided your hand in the correct moment. You couldn’t keep your eyes from his face as he faltered in his slightly as his breath hitched in his throat.   “Well, something like that anyway.” George whispered, there was barely any space between you, and you were painfully aware of how close his body was to yours. You could feel the heat his embrace would offer if you were to lean back only slightly. Your chest heaved quickly as George’s gaze left your eyes and flickered down to your lips. You licked them subconsciously and George’s frown appeared again as he swiftly brought a hand to the back of his head with an exclamation of pain. You tore your gaze away from George as you both looked to the front of the classroom as Fred sat with a bag of boiled sweets, his arm raised above his head ready to launch another in your direction.   “Mr. Weasley!” A stern Scottish voice from somewhere near the front of the classroom brought every head in the room to attention. Professor McGonagall emerged from behind her desk and with a swish of her wand summoned the bag of sweets from Fred’s hand and clasped it in her own. “If you have transfigured your book into a pitcher, you can change it back again.” Fred groaned as he turned his back to you and George but not before shooting a wink in his brothers’ direction. George muttered under his breath as he relieved his grip on your wand and shuffled away from you. You could feel your cheeks warm as you took another sip of George’s water. After a few minutes of silence and you trying and failing to transfigure your book, George cleared his throat.   “(Y/N),” He began, “Would you like to meet me in the library before dinner and I can help you with transfiguration?”   “You want to help me?” You asked, he looked at you expectantly and nodded.   “More like I just want to put you out of your misery.” You giggled and gave him a wide smile.   “That would be wonderful, thank you George.”   “Shall we say five?”   “Sounds perfect.”   “Okay, brill.”   “Yeah, cool.”

    You paced back and forth in the Slytherin common room at quarter to five. Pansy eyed you suspiciously over a copy of The Daily Prophet and as you clocked her gaze as you paced towards the fireplace, she snapped it shut and threw it to the side.   “What’s the matter with you?” She muttered as she examined her fingernails.   “Nothing,” You replied checking your watch for the umpteenth time. “Just need to be somewhere soon.”   “Well piss off then, you’re doing my head in.” You threw Pansy a sarcastic grimace and picked up your discarded bag and made your way from the dungeons up the stairs towards the library.

  You were out of breath when you reached the large wooden doors and checked your watch, five minutes to spare. You looked at your reflection in the panes of glass and straightened your green and silver tie. You knew you were pretty, but at that moment you couldn’t help but pick out features of your complexion that suddenly filled you with loathing. You hoped George wouldn’t notice the spot forming on your chin, or the tuna you had for lunch, or the fact you had forgotten to run a brush through your hair before you left. You were too busy pacing. You pushed the heavy door open and began to search between the long lines of shelves to find a suitable place to meet with George. You began to move down a row of book lined shelves when you spotted two redheaded boys conversing in hushed tones. You inched closer towards them, careful to not let yourself be seen.

  “I’m just saying Georgie, of all the girls in school you had to pick her.” Fred whispered, George scowled and shook his head.   “You don’t understand, she’s different-”   “She’s a Slytherin, mate. And if that wasn’t bad enough, I swear she’s best pals with Malfoy!”   “Grow up, Fred. You don’t know anything about her!”   “And you do?” Fred countered coolly, he frowned at his brother and stood. “All I’m doing is asking you to consider all your options before you make any big decisions. Imagine what mum would say.” With that, Fred clasped George on the shoulder and went to leave, he caught your eye as you peered around the corner of the bookshelf and your heart froze as you knew you’d been caught.   “Alright (Y/L/N)?” Fred said cheerfully as he sauntered passed you.   “Fred.” You nodded in acknowledgment, your cheeks burning with shame. George pursed his lips as you approached him. He drew his fingers though his hair with a sigh as you perched on the edge of a nearby table. A heavy silence fell between the two of you as you waited to see if George would break it. You bit down on your lip. You shouldn’t have heard what you did, and you felt an immense guilt wash through you, but deep in the pit of your stomach was a little fire fuelled by hope. Does this mean George feels the same way you do?

  “George-”   “Did you hear much of that-” You and George said at the same time, you gave him a weak smile and he chuckled softly.   “(Y/N),” George began, he moved swiftly to sit alongside you on the table. His brown eyes searched your face intently. “I’m sorry if you heard- I mean, what Fred said…it’s just…” He fiddled with the frayed edge of his jumper; you had never seen George like this before. He was flustered and bashful and it made your heart swell. “I don’t really know how to say what it is I want to say.” He said finally. George stood and walked towards the big window that overlooked the courtyard. He placed an arm on the windowpane and leaned into it, his head flopped forward. You wondered whether you should say something, it didn’t seem like George was finished and in truth, you weren’t sure whether you would be able to articulate anything.

  “If I tell you something, will you promise you wont laugh at me?” George said, his shoulders slumped forward.   “I thought you loved to make people laugh?” You said casually, his head twisted in your direction a sly smirk nestled on his lips. He sighed once more and turned to face you.   “Yes obviously,” George said sarcastically, “But just for this one time, I need you to listen and not laugh. Okay?”   “Okay.” You agreed. George took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.   “I like you. A lot.”

  You felt like you had had the wind knocked out of you. George looked at you sheepishly, his hands once again finding the hem of his jumper. You blinked slowly, surely you were dreaming. You would wake up at any minute, the familiar sight of the green canopy around your bed would greet you and you would desperately try to return to your dream. And yet, you didn’t. No abrupt awakening, no fade to black, just George, lovely George waiting for you to say something.   “(Y/N?)”   “Yes. Lovely. Thank you.” You managed, you instantly cringed as the words left your mouth. Why did you say that? You had waited for as long as you could remember to get to this point with George, and instead of telling him you were completely in love with him, you thanked him. George’s hesitant smile began to fall, and your heart ached. “What I mean- George, is I-”   “No, it’s okay. Cheers for letting me say that.” George replied, he rolled the sleeves of his jumper up over his arms and stepped past you widely, his back to you in two short steps. Panicking, you grasped onto his wrist and stopped him short.   “Wait! Please wait!” You pleaded; George looked from your face down to your grip of his wrist. You let go immediately but moved rapidly to meet him. “I hadn’t finished.”   George shifted his weight awkwardly from foot to foot, he crossed his arms over his chest in anticipation.    “You really like me?” You asked softly, you hoped your face did not betray the sheer pandemonium happening inside your mind. George scoffed.    “Don’t take the piss out of me, (Y/N).”   “I’m not!” You protested. “I’m just a bit shocked George, that’s all-”   “I don’t think I could have made it any more obvious, and, not forgetting the fact I just said the words out loud. To your face.” He snapped.   “George, can I get a bloody word out please? Merlin, you can be so frustrating when you want to be.” You sighed; George raised his eyebrows. “It’s quite lucky that you like me really, because it turns out that I…like you…too.” You bit down on your lip, slightly anxious as to what George would say. The taller boy just stared at you, unblinking.   “Sorry, what?”   “I…like you, George? And I’m happy that you like me?”   “Right…well, okay then.”

  A laugh of pure elation fell from your lips as George’s bewildered look turned into one of joy. He embraced you in an instant, his hands found your hips as he pulled you close into him. The contact surprised you, it took you a moment to react, but soon enough you brought your arms up around his broad shoulders, reaching up on your tip toes. You couldn’t supress the grin that was so wide it made your cheeks tingle as George surrounded every part of you. His arms tight around your back and his chin brought down to rest against your head. You didn’t want to pull away, but the sound of a throat being cleared somewhere behind you caused the pair of you to spring apart. Madame Pince removed a book from a far-away shelf and raised a knowing eyebrow in your direction. You covered your mouth with your hand to conceal an involuntary giggle. George flashed you a brilliant smile and exhaled jubilantly.   “So, I suppose it’s time for the cheesy bit.” George smiled, his hand found yours with ease and he entwined his fingers with yours. “(Y/N), would you like to be my girlfriend?”

  “I would genuinely like nothing more, it’s just…” You averted your gaze, your cheeks growing warm once again. You contemplated your options, the boy you were absolutely mad for had just asked you to be his girlfriend and you were happy, of course you were. But you couldn’t shake the lump that appeared in your chest when you thought about having to tell your friends that you were with a Weasley. Not only that, the conversation you had overheard between Fred and George signalled that perhaps his friends held the same apprehensions.   “What?” George asked earnestly, he rubbed your knuckles with his thumb. You smiled at his touch and swept your eyes over his sweet features.   “I don’t think people would be very accepting of our relationship, George.” You said quietly, unable to disguise the trepidation in your voice. George smiled sadly and gestured for you to return to your perch on the table.   “I hate to say this, but I have to agree with you.” He said. “Not that I have anything against Slyth-”   “No, I understand. Believe me, I do.” You recalled all the tedious conversations with your Slytherin peers about the blood traitors that were the Weasleys. You shook your head to free yourself from the memory and sighed. “What do we do?”   “Well, I do have an idea…” George whispered, he wiggled his eyebrows at you suggestively and you laughed heartily at him.

     George held your hand as you walked briskly down the seventh-floor corridor, you threw a look behind you to see if you were still being pursued. Professor Umbridge stalked your trail, followed by members of the Inquisitorial Squad namely Crabbe and Goyle. Draco had begged you to join his fifth year friends in becoming member of Umbridge’s little crusade, but you couldn’t find it in your heart to agree. You had bullshitted an excuse about needing whatever spare time you had to study for your NEWTs and Draco, although suspicious, had accepted it. George tugged on your hand as he quickened his pace, your robes flapped behind you and you couldn’t supress your grin as you once more looked behind your shoulder. Professor Umbridge raised her hand and opened her mouth to speak just as George whipped you round a corner and shoved you into an empty classroom. You laughed headily as he pointed his wand at the door and locked it with a muttered spell. You smoothed your hands over your skirt and waited for George to approach you.

  “We really must stop meeting like this, Mr. Weasley.” You smiled, George wrapped his arms around you tightly and lowered his lips to meet yours. It had been three months since he had asked you to be his, and yet you still weren’t accustomed to his touch. It still sent electric pulses coursing throughout your body with every deft movement of his fingertips, and you shuddered as he moved his hand over your rump and gave it a hearty squeeze. George, who was always the more dominant one out of the pair of you nearly always arranged your meetings. While it had been three months since you commenced your relationship, it had been three months of scurrying around in secret and lying to your friends, and in George’s case, lying to his family. George deepened the kiss, his tongue pressed against your lips requesting entry, which of course you granted. Your hands found their way to George’s soft hair and you pulled on it slightly, eliciting a groan from him. You smirked into the kiss as George walked you backwards and hoisted you up onto a vacant desk, you wrapped your legs around him instinctively and he pushed his hips into you. He pulled away from the kiss breathlessly and grasped either side of your face in his hands. He studied you intently as he rubbed his thumbs over your cheeks.   “I love you, (Y/N). You know that, don’t you?” You pulled him into you again and ravished his neck with feverish kisses. That was the first time those words had fallen from his lips, you felt like you could melt at the sound of this boy telling you he loved you over and over again. You nipped at the skin there, feeling emboldened by his declaration of love. You didn’t know whether it was the excitement of getting caught or whether you were running on sheer elation, but you couldn’t get your fill of George.   “Georgie,” You whispered into his shoulder as his hands gripped onto your thighs tightly as he pushed his groin against your core. “You make me so happy.”   “I want to make you feel more than happy.” George winked as he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled your face towards his and crushed his lips against yours.

“George! What the fuck?!”

  A voice from behind you startled the pair of you as you immediately pulled away from George, instantly missing the contact. Fred stood agape in the open doorway flanked by Ginny and Ron each looking equally shocked. You looked at George who had flushed scarlet and had his gaze trained intently on the floor. Ginny let out a stunned gasp and turned on her heel and exited swiftly out of the room. Ron shook his head sadly at his older brother and followed Ginny, calling after her as he went. Fred remained still, his hands balled into fists and his knuckles white with fury.   “I thought we agreed, George.” Fred spat. He made a step towards his brother and squared up to him, their faces inches apart.   “No. We didn’t.”   “You lied to me. You said nothing was going on.”   “Fuck off then if you don’t like it. I don’t care anymore, Fred.” You watched in horror as George pushed Fred away by his chest, but quick as a flash, Fred caught George’s hands in his own and pushed him back harder.   “You’re a mug.” Fred muttered as he rolled his sleeves up and looked you up and down before chuckling darkly to himself and leaving, slamming the door behind him. A heavy silence descended onto the room as you shuffled down from the desk and chewed on your lip. You couldn’t help but feel guilty as you watched George sigh and run his hands over his face. You bent down to retrieve your bag and haphazardly threw it over your shoulder, you felt your stomach flip on itself as George looked at you tearfully. There was nothing you could do. George said that he didn’t care, you knew it wasn’t true. You were a Slytherin, a pureblood from a long line of wizards with dubious intentions and had long been affiliated with controversial families. There was nothing you could do in this situation to make it any better for you, or for George. You took George’s shaking hand in yours and gave it a tight squeeze before you let it fall back to his side. You quietly made your way out of the room and descended the many stairs towards your common room, the quiet of your dormitory offered you a much-needed solace. George made no attempt to speak or to come after you, and you were glad that he didn’t. He needed to speak to his family, he needed to speak to Fred.

  You tried not to worry about him, but that was easier said than done. You hadn’t told him you loved him when he had said it to you, but it seemed inappropriate to say it now. You hoped he already knew.

  Draco was waiting for you when you entered the common room. He stood with his arms folded over his chest with an impatient tapping of his foot, he reminded you of his mother. Narcissa was always scolding you as children for dilly-dallying, and with Draco’s long features, he looked just like her. “Where have you been?” He snapped. You tried to move passed him, you averted your eyes to the floor. Draco caught your arm and pulled you backwards. “Where have you been?” He demanded,  “And don’t lie.”   “Why? Are you spying on me now?” You countered, you shrugged out of his grasp and narrowed your eyes. He looked at you dumbfounded.   “Spying on you! I’m looking out for you, (Y/N). Or had you forgotten that we’re supposed to be friends?” Draco thundered, he inched closer to you, his grey eyes alight with anger.   “Friends don’t ambush friends when they’ve had a really shitty day.” You spat, you tried once more to move round Draco, but he blocked your path.   “Goyle saw you with the weasel, holding his hand. Do you not have any shame?” Draco paused as he tried to gauge your reaction. He hesitantly placed his hands on your shoulders. “(Y/N),” He said softly, “Tell me you’re not seeing him.”   “Move aside, Draco.”   “(Y/N) please, this is for your own good. I’m trying to-”   “Move aside.”   “I shall not. I demand you tell me everything that’s happened between you and that horrid muggle-loving traitor-” You snatched your wand from your robes and held it up to Draco’s throat, his eyes widened in fear as he instinctively took a step back.   “Not a single person in my family has ever taken orders from a Malfoy, and I don’t expect to start doing so now.” You said venomously. “I asked you politely to move aside, yet you feel compelled to irk me further on a day when you really don’t want to piss me off.” You stood unwavering, wand raised and watched unblinking as a bead of sweat trickled down Draco’s forehead. “Now, fuck off.”

  Draco nearly fell over his feet as he scurried into the shadows of the dark room. You continued your journey into your dormitory and pulled your jumper over your head as you flopped backwards onto your bed. Thankfully, the room was empty. You rolled onto your side and pulled your knees up to your chest. You felt peculiar, like you needed to cry and yet no tears came. Instead, you stared blankly off into the middle-distance, replaying the moment you were found by George’s siblings in your mind. The looks of abject horror etched on their faces. You wanted to find them, to try and persuade them that you weren’t the person that they thought you were. That with each passing day spent with George made you feel lighter and unburdened, that you thought that you maybe had a chance at real happiness. Not tainted with the pressure set upon you by your parents to find a nice Slytherin boy, maybe someone who graduated a few years ago and now has an up and coming job in the Ministry. His family name would be one rolled around with mentions of the Dark Lord, of course, and you didn’t want that. You were a proud Slytherin yes, you were cunning and ambitious and every other cliché;  but your ambition wasn’t to marry a boring man who would more than likely be sent to Azkaban; your ambition was a tall redheaded boy from Devon who made you laugh and filled your days with joy. You wanted lots of little George’s running around in a house with an abundance of windows that the sun could shine through. You wanted a large, comfy sofa that you could curl up after a hard day and know that the arms surrounding you belonged to him. You wanted a bed that could be the setting for endless nights of pleasure and a dining table scratched and wonky, that the family you made could sit and talk freely, not even sparing a thought as to who might be listening.

  You didn’t know you had fallen asleep until you were awoken by the sound of your dormitory door opening, and the two girls you shared with piling in after dinner. Almost comically, your stomach grumbled as you sat and rubbed your eyes wearily. You exchanged polite pleasantries with your dormmates as they started to change from their uniforms. You threw your cloak over your shoulders and pulled the hood up over your head. You ignored anybody that tried to accost you as you left the common room and crept to the kitchens. You had only done this a handful of times, you didn’t know the names of the House Elves that worked tirelessly in the kitchens, but you were always polite, and they seemed to appreciate that. You had tried to ask where the bread was kept so you could make yourself a sandwich, but with a few protestations from you, the little creatures had prepared a lovely supper for you. You wrapped your sandwiches and slice of Victoria sponge securely in a piece of delicate cloth, cradling the pear they had forced you to take in the crook of your arm. You thanked them warmly and hurried through the now darkening corridors. You knew if you were to be caught by Filch or Umbridge, it could spell a horrendous amount of trouble for you. Thankfully, you arrived back to your dormitory unscathed and now ravenous. You got into bed and closed the curtains that surrounded the frame and settled in.

  It was difficult for you to relax. You continued through the motions almost on autopilot, you undressed for bed and shuffled to the loo to brush your teeth before climbing heavily into bed. You scrunched your eyes closed and willed sleep to come, the steady breathing of your dormmates tormented you as you tossed and turned. Your concern for George was like a dripping tap, it vibrated in your head with every breath you took. You had waited so long to reach the steady happiness you had with him, and in one afternoon it had potentially been taken away. You tried not to be selfish, you tried not to think about your loss; the way Fred had looked at you both was an image you knew you wouldn’t forget in a hurry. But, you wished for nothing more than to be with George. You wanted to feel his sturdy embrace, his gentle kisses against your head and to hear his heart beating rhythmically in his chest. You simply wished for things to be different.

    Three days. Three days it took to receive word from George. The weekend trundled by slowly, with Professor Umbridge’s ever increasing list of banned activities; there wasn’t much left to do. You spent much of your time in your dorm reading, you emerged for mealtimes but kept to yourself, ensuring you were seated far away from Draco. Your seventh-year friends pleased that you had managed to shake off the younger boy. Embarrassed to speak to Draco after you had pulled out your wand and embarrassed that he knew about you and George, you were grateful for the space. You always kept your eyes on your plate or on whomever was speaking to you in the Great Hall, not daring to look over to the Gryffindor table, no matter how much you wished to. You could feel George watching you, it was almost like you had a sixth sense, you were constantly aware of his presence in any room you shared. But you didn’t look. Monday night, after a disastrous day and a near silent Transfiguration lesson, George slipped you a note as you went to leave.

(Y/N),

Please meet me after Quidditch practise this evening. I think it would be good to have a chat.

George

  So, that was it. Three days of radio silence for twenty words. You tried not to be annoyed, and quite successfully really, as your annoyance gave way to anxiety as you imagined the inevitable conversation that you would have with George. You couldn’t blame him for choosing his familial relationships over the one he shared with you, but you had began to think that if the time ever came for you to ever make that decision; you would perhaps choose the opposite. You loved him. But you wouldn’t be a point of contention. You prepared your gracious acceptance for his words, confident that he was going to end the relationship. Making it anymore difficult than it needed to be was the last thing you wanted to do, you craved a little normality. The only trouble was that George had become your new normal.

  You cursed to yourself as you wrapped your scarf around your neck as you made your way to the quidditch pitch. The Gryffindor practise was just about to finish, and silently you waited on the other side of the players entrance, partially concealed by a tall beam of timber. You chewed absentmindedly on the inside of your cheek, it was cold, and you felt very conflicted. One by one the players descended from dizzying heights and dismounted their brooms. Angelina Johnson gestured for her team to leave the pitch and you tried to hide further behind the beam until you could get George on his own. The redheaded twins were the last to pass you by, they spoke brightly to one another. You strained to hear what they were saying.

  “…promise you.” George said to his brother. “…not going to regret this.” The boys moved swiftly through the covered walkway and you hurried after them, your steps muffled by the grass underfoot.   “…must be amazing, eh Georgie?” Fred joked and wiggled his eyebrows, George threw his head back in laughter and out of the corner of his eye, caught sight of you.   “(Y/N)!” He exclaimed; George flung his broom over to Fred as he rushed to meet you. He seemed to struggle with what to do with his hands, they had reached out to you on impulse, but you stood unwavering. George’s arms dropped back to his sides. He cleared his throat, his brown eyes seared into yours. “Can you come with us, (Y/N)?” George gestured to Fred and he pointed through the players entrance into the direction of the changing rooms.   “Why?” You scrunched your face in confusion, “I’m not that kind of girl, George.” George’s face turned a very flattering shade of beetroot and Fred snickered, he reached for your arm and tucked it into the crook of his elbow.   “Merlin, no. Nothing like that.” George snapped; you fell into step with the twins as Fred pushed open the door to the male changing room. Inside, like a frightening family portrait sat Ron and Ginny, both stone-faced and waiting. You froze as you took in the scene, Fred moved to sit next to Ginny and Ron shuffled in his seat. George placed a hand on the small of your back and ushered you into the room, closing the door behind you.

  You stood awkwardly, every pair of eyes burned into each inch of your skin and you felt like you were on fire.   “Right.” George began, he offered you a quick smile as he pulled up two stools for the pair of you to sit on, opposite where the other three sat. “My brothers and sister have agreed to have a chat with you- with us, I mean, so they can see what you’re- I mean, we’re like. Together.” He gave you a pained expression, and you could see his pulse throb in his neck. He was nervous. Why was he nervous?   “Why don’t they just ask me?” You stated, your resolve hardening as you knew they were here to interrogate you, not to get to know their brother’s girlfriend.   “I’ve never known Slytherins to be that forthcoming.” Ginny said raising an eyebrow.   “Maybe you’re not asking the right questions.” You countered and the younger girl scoffed, she crossed her arms over her chest and eyed you suspiciously.   “I don’t think we need to ask any questions at all,” Ron said quietly, “Slytherin, friends with Malfoy in this day and age, all these rumours of dark wizards in well-known families coming out of hiding…says it all really. What else could we possibly need to know?”   “You know nothing about me and what? You assume I’m a Death Eater because of my house and my family name?” You spat, you stood to leave but George grasped hold of the sleeve of your robe and pulled you back to your seat.   “I’m asking you to please just get to know (Y/N). I’m not asking you to be best mates with her, none of us like Fleur, but we all just get on with our lives.” George tried to level, Ginny just rolled her eyes and Ron tapped his foot impatiently. “(Y/N), why don’t you tell them one thing about yourself, that they might be surprised to hear.” He put an arm around your shoulders and brought his lips to your ear and whispered; “Please darling, I really want this to work. It’s taken me ages to get them to agree to do this.” He paused. “I don’t want to hide anymore.” The earnest look in his eyes made your heart flutter and you sighed deeply. You nodded.   “Um. I’m crap at Transfiguration.” You murmured half-heartedly and Fred chuckled, smacking his knee with his hand.   “That’s no secret, (Y/N). Tell us something we don’t know.” He said boisterously. You racked your brain for anything you could say that might endear you to them. They didn’t have to like you, just tolerate you.   “My parents want me to marry as soon as I leave school. They’ve already started looking for potential suitors for me.” You said quietly, you felt George stiffen beside you and his arm tightened around your shoulders.   “Is that true?” He said softly, “Why didn’t you tell me?”   “I don’t like thinking about it.” You shrugged. Ginny leaned forward in her seat; her hand covered her mouth concealing any emotion she might be feeling.   “Why are you friends with Malfoy?” Ron probed; George hastened to shut his brother up when you placed an arm on his.   “No, it’s fine. I can answer, it’s fine.” Ron looked smugly at George before he returned his attention back to you. “My parents asked me to look out for him when he started school. I know he’s a bit of a knobhead, but when he’s by himself he’s actually quite sweet.”   “Bollocks!” Ron exclaimed loudly. “He called Hermione a m-”   “I know.” You interrupted, there was no need to be reminded of the awful words Draco had used toward Hermione Granger. You had heard all about it after the first time it had happened, and you didn’t speak to him for a week afterward. You hoped it might help him re-evaluate some of his choices, but alas, it did not. “I was really annoyed with him about it, and please understand, I would never use a slur like that.”

  Ron smiled at that. You had often wondered whether Draco perhaps held a deeper interest in Hermione Granger, of course he would vehemently deny it whenever the idea was brought up. Ron Weasley on the other hand, made his feelings abundantly clear. If not to himself, but to everybody else.   “Why should we believe you?” Ginny pressed, “Why should we think that you’d be a good match for George?”   “You don’t have to believe anything, Ginny.” You said softly, your gaze drifted to where George sat at your side. You felt tears prickle your eyes as you thought about how much he meant to you; how much you were willing to sacrifice for him. “I don’t have any ulterior motives for wanting to be with George. I’m actually endangering the standing I have within my family by being with anyone other than a pureblood Slytherin,” Fred winced at your words. “But it doesn’t matter to me. I hope you come to realise that I’m much more than my house. I’ve long lived by the mandate of if you’re nice to me, I’ll be nice to you; it’s really as simple as that.” The three siblings seemed to take in your words in silence, George gave your shoulder a squeeze and gave your cheek a chaste kiss. You frowned as you looked between the Weasleys, your heart pounded in your chest. Fred crossed his arms and sat back in his seat.   “Do you love him, (Y/N)?” He asked, it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room as Ron and Ginny inched forward in anticipation of your reply.   “With all my heart.” You answered and placed your hand on George’s thigh. “I love you, George.” You said with the most earnest look you could muster, George beamed at you.

  “Well isn’t this something…” You turned your head in the direction of the voice which came from behind you, Draco stood in the doorway of the changing rooms flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. The badges for the Inquisitorial Squad glistened at their breasts, the three Slytherins raised their wands slowly and pointed them in your direction. You stood immediately and faced the intruders with a hateful glare, removing your own wand from inside your robes and aiming in their direction.   “Following me again, Goyle? Crabbe?” You snapped at the two idiots, they exchanged uneasy glances and looked to Draco for reassurance. Draco only smirked at you; he extended his hand to you.   “(Y/N) come, you don’t need to be here when Professor Umbridge arrives.” Draco said slyly, you felt George tense next to you.   “No thank you, Draco. I’m quite happy here.” You levelled; you kept your wand trained intently onto Draco. The blonde boy scoffed and stretched his fingers out as though to reach for you.   “I’ll not ask you again, (Y/N), come here.” His smile appeared strained as once again he offered his hand. You looked between your housemates and George and his family and knew what you needed to do.   “I have no idea who you think you’re talking to, Malfoy. It certainly appears like you’re trying to command the last daughter of the (Y/L/N)’s, and I know you’re not that brave. Your pathetic little family means nothing to me, no matter how much money your spineless father throws around. So no, I will not go anywhere with you and your mindless goons.” You were breathless. You heard Ron behind you mutter a bloody hell and Draco’s face contorted into one of rage.   “Crabbe, Goyle.” Draco ordered, with a nod the two idiots lurched towards you.   “Impedimenta!” You cried with a flourish of your wand, like a shot Crabbe and Goyle were knocked off their feet with groans of pain as they hit the stone floor. George was by your side in an instant, wand raised toward Draco.   “Expelliarmus.” George disarmed Draco with ease and caught Draco’s wand in his free hand as it flew through the air. Goyle stood unsteadily on his feet and caught Crabbe by his robes and hoisted the smaller boy to his feet. They scurried out of the room and dragged Draco with them, the blonde-haired boy’s startling grey eyes didn’t leave yours.

  When the room was still and the sound of heavy footsteps disappeared, you turned to face Fred, Ron and Ginny. George’s arm snaked around your hip as you stood and bit your lip. Ginny was the first to step forward, she looked at you sadly and put her arms around your shoulders and pulled you in for a tight hug. You were surprised by the contact and it took a moment before you wrapped your arms around her back and embraced the hug. Ginny pulled back after a moment and turned to face Ron, who smiled at you and gave your shoulder an awkward squeeze.   “Bloody hell, (Y/N). I’ve never seen anyone stand up to Malfoy like that.” Ron said and looked between you and George.   “That can’t have been easy.” Ginny added, “We should leave though, if Umbridge is coming that is.” It was unanimously agreed to return into the main body of the castle, Ginny and Ron left first, you remained where you were. George still held fast to your waist and Fred stared at the floor.   “So? Freddie?” George whispered. “Come on mate, don’t tease me like this.”   “You were right.” Fred said, he brought his gaze slowly from the floor until it settled on your face. “She is different. And I’m happy for you.” George beamed brightly at his brother as he gave his consent. You couldn’t help but exhale and grin at the twins, George pulled Fred closer to the pair of you and pulled you both in for a crushing hug. You laughed as you were thrown about by George’s jubilant swaying, George kissed the top of your head and then kissed the top of Fred’s.   “Oh look, my two-favourite people in the whole world.” George laughed, Fred pulled away and offered his hand to you. You shook it with a smile.   “Suppose I best send an owl to mum, get her to knit another Christmas jumper.” Fred winked at you before he shook his head and exited the changing room. You looked up at George’s face with a confused expression and he simply shook his head. He turned you to face him and clasped your face in his hands.   “You love me then?” He said, his gaze dancing from your lips up to your eyes and back down again.    “I always have,” You answered, closing the distance between you and brought your lips to meet George’s. He accepted your kiss hungrily, not wasting any time in exploring your mouth with his tongue.   “I love you so much, (Y/N). The air I breathe wouldn’t matter to me if you weren’t by my side.” His hands drifted down your back and travelled under your skirt, taking firm hold of your bum. He squeezed it and gave it a playful slap; you felt a stirring deep in your stomach as George’s hands roamed over your body. Your hands tangled in his hair as you kissed along George’s jawline and down his neck. Feeling brave, you moved your hands under George’s quidditch robes and pushed them from his shoulders. He shrugged his arms free and let his robes fall to the floor with a thud, your robe was next, it joined George’s on the floor as he tugged at your jumper. You pulled it over your head quickly and connected your mouth with George’s for another searing kiss.   “I could be homeless,” You said kissing George’s neck, “Penniless,” Another kiss, “Hungry,” A bite, “And cold.” You trailed your tongue along his bottom lip. “But none of that would matter as long as you were mine.” He growled as he kissed you passionately, he pushed his hips into yours and you groaned.

  George broke the kiss suddenly; you were panting and the heat in your knickers was becoming to powerful to ignore.   “Fancy a shower?” He asked devilishly.

    The water ran hot over your shoulders as you kissed George desperately. He palmed at your breasts as you ran your hands down his shoulder blades, your fingernails scraped their way down his back, and he shuddered under your touch. His mouth kissed down your chest as he took your nipple in his mouth, he rolled his tongue over your stiffened peak and grazed it with his teeth. You moaned at the sensation and rubbed your thighs together, desperate for relief. His hand wandered down from your breast and fluttered over your core, your head rolled back as you whispered his name.   “God, I want to touch you so badly.” George growled, you smirked down at him. His hair now sopping from the water and fell into his eyes, you deftly moved the heavy red locks out of his face.   “Then touch me.” That was all George needed. He dropped to his knees in front of you, kissing down your chest and your stomach as he pushed you backwards until your back hit the cold tiled shower wall. George had charmed the door of the changing rooms and the communal showers now acted as your own sanctuary, you watched as he lifted one of your legs over his shoulder and buried his face into you.

  He licked your clit gently, and you hissed at the much-needed contact. His hands found their way around your thighs and held you steadily in place. He suckled on your raised nub and waves of pleasure coursed through you. You bucked your hips against George’s mouth, and he gave a throaty laugh which vibrated through you deliciously. He flattened his tongue against you and shook his head, the friction on your sex was almost more than you could bear, but George continued relentlessly. He pulled you even closer into him, his tongue following the shape of your folds until ultimately, it was inside you. He fucked you with his tongue as his nose brushed against your clit, he quickened his pace to match the gyrating of your hips and hummed into your centre as he worshipped you. You guided his head with your hands, sticking it in place as you felt your orgasm build.   “Georgie,” You breathed, “You’re going to make me cum.” He didn’t respond, he just continued in his devotion of your cunt. Pulse after pulse of pleasure electrified your body as you came hard and loud. George lapped at you like he couldn’t get his fill, allowing you to rub yourself on his face as you rode out your high. When he stood, you were unsteady on your feet and George grasped hold of your waist and grounded you. You lazily swept your gaze over his lean form; he was surprisingly muscly, and his toned abs glistened under the running water. George was painfully hard, you could see his cock twitching, like it begged to be played with. He kissed you then, full of the same hunger as before and you returned his desire by taking hold of his member in your hand and giving it a hard squeeze. George spluttered and thrust his hips forward into your hand. You looked up at him innocently as you smirked at him, his eyes half closed.   “Would you like to fuck me, Georgie?”

  He moaned into your shoulder as he lifted you up by your legs and wrapped them around his waist. George again pushed your back against the wall as he lined himself up with your centre. He looked into your eyes and gave you a gentle smile before you nodded, and he pushed himself into you. You both let out moans of pleasure at the sensation of him filling you to the hilt, George’s legs threatened to buckle as you adjusted to his length. This wasn’t the first time that you had been intimate with George, but this time felt different. He gazed into your eyes as he thrust into you, his brow furrowed as you moaned. He felt so good inside you, he filled you to the brim and then some and there was pain, but the pain was so delectable that you cherished it.   “Such a good girl,” George cooed as he thrust into you. “Such a good girl taking my cock.” With each delicious thrust from George, you could feel him as he bruised your cervix, he rutted into you shamelessly, a string of curses fell from his lips as he tried to silence himself by biting down on your shoulder.   “Oh God George, I love you.” You whined, you felt like you were on fire. “I love you; I love you; I love you.” You eyes fluttered closed as you bounced on his cock, you felt that same stirring in your stomach start to build, George could sense it too as his thrusts became more desperate.   “The way you stood up to Malfoy really turned me on.” He grunted. “Such a good girl standing up for your man.” He suckled on your neck, no doubt marking you. “Good girls get rewarded.” His hands around your thighs would leave marks, you knew, but you didn’t care. Your orgasm built steadily, the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the space and echoed around you, wet and hot. You came at the same time, he moaned loudly as his cock twitched inside you and filled you deep with his hot load. Your walls tightened around him with your orgasm, milking him to utter completion. George breathed heavily as he gently set you down. You captured his lips for a kiss, different than before, more tender.

  You dressed hurriedly and scurried through the castle careful to not be seen by Filch or anybody else. He walked you down the steps to the dungeons, stopping only when you came to the entrance to the Slytherin common room. Elated, you threw your arms around his shoulders and kissed hm deeply. George chuckled and pulled back to look at you, his thumbs stroking your cheeks.   “Goodnight darling, I hope you dream of me.” He said softly, in the near blackness of the dungeons you could barely make out his features. You pecked his lips once more and turned to enter the common room, you stopped just before you stepped over the threshold and turned back.   “George?” You whispered into the darkness, you hoped he was still there.    “Yes?” His unmistakable voice replied.    “I love you. You mean everything to me. I know there’s nothing that we can’t do if we’re together.” You whispered, you could feel a tear threaten to fall as you thought of all the people that were going to find out about your relationship and what you had to tell them, what you stood to lose.   “Exactly my darling, I’ll be there by your side. Forever, I promise.” You heard him chuckle, “Well, maybe not in your Transfiguration exam. You’re on your own with that one, I’m afraid.” You rolled your eyes and took one last look into the blackness, just about to make out his figure.   “Goodnight then, I love you.”    “Goodnight, (Y/N). I love you too.”

[so-small]

Connor Murphy x Reader: Dear Other Hansen: Part 1

words: 1,643

warnings: fight, slight harassment by a pervy football player

It was the first day of your senior year and your mom was giving the same speech to you and Evan that she gave every year. Growing up twins you shared everything: your anxiety, your interest in nature, your love-hate relationship with Jared, and your clear disdain for this speech. 'This year would be different, it's a new start- a clean slate. She's so proud of you already.'

"Oh and Evan, (Y/N)? I made you an appointment with for today, I'll come buy and pick you guys up after school. Make sure you guys have letters to yourself, the doctor expects you to have some." 

"We have an appointment for next week though, mom?" Evan questioned, worried that he overestimated the amount of time he could put off writing his letter.

"I thought you could use something a little sooner. I love you guys! Have a good first day, and remember if you guys need anything at all, call me. Bye," with that she was out the door.

Evan looked to you, and then down at his hands. "(Y/N), I still haven't written anything..."

"I know," you sighed, running your hands through your hair, "I haven't either. We were supposed to have another week." Procrastination. That was another trait you shared. You were well aware that it would only make the task at hand more daunting, but sometimes it was just more convenient to watch TV than do work.

"And we still have to take the bus. It's our senior year, and we're the only seniors who still have to ride the bus. Everyone is going to think we're losers."

"...What if we just walk?" You suggested, to which Evan responded to by nodding vigorously. You grabbed your stuff and the two of you began walking.

It was warm outside, but cloudy. Evan and you were talking about the normal stuff. He was talking about working at the park, and you were talking about hanging out with Zoe- another thing you had in common- who you had befriended one day at the mall at the beginning of the summer. You had been at American Eagle, trying to find the perfect outfit to boost your confidence. Zoe had seen you, said hi, and proceeded to help choose the cutest outfit you had ever seen. Ever since then, Zoe and you were good friends. Evan always loved hearing you talk about her, because he felt like he knew her better when you did. 

Finally, you arrived at school. Evan walked over to talk with Alana and then Jared, trying aimlessly to get them to sign his cast. Zoe had came over to you as soon as she saw you arrive to school, upset about the morning she had "-and then he finished the milk! Dry cereal was not how I wanted to start my first day back."

"Maybe he's just on his man period?" You didn't want to admit it, but Connor always intrigued you. He never looked like he was the same guy who Zoe complained about, or the rumors that spread across the school. He just looked out-of-place, which is how you felt most of the time. He didn’t look like he could be that much of a dick. Back in grade school, you had been in bed with the flu when Connor presumably threw a printer. After hearing little Evan cry for three hours after school about it- not because he was scared or even angry- because the teacher was printing out a coloring page for him, and he never got it. 

"Then he would have been menstruating since he was twelve-" Zoe was interrupted by hearing Connor yelling. She turned the corner to see him screaming at Evan and Jared scurrying off. "Oh no."

"Why are you laughing? Stop fucking laughing! I'm not the freak! You're the fucking freak!" Connor pushed Evan down and ran off sulking.

Zoe and you rushed over to Evan to make sure he was okay. You'd talked to her enough about Evan for her to know that he wasn't going to take this well. You were freaking out, both worried about Evan and horrified that he had already been pushed on the first day. The bell rung and Zoe went her separate way, while Evan rambled on, "-and then she introduced herself to me! Did you see that? It was so magical. Well, it would have been if I hadn't screwed it up."

"You'll be okay Evan. She's a sweet girl, she's not going to judge you. Especially since Connor was involved. What class do you have?"

"Stats, what about you?"

"English, see you at lunch or something?" You hugged Evan as tight as you could headed to class.

---

When you arrived to class, you took a seat in the back corner, relieved that you were in your favorite teacher’s class this year. Mr. Sinclair was half way done with the syllabus when Connor Murphy walked in. He walked to the back of the class room, but there were only two seats left. One by the captain of the football team, Derek, and the other next to you. He choose to sit next to you.

Not long after Mr. Sinclair was done with the syllabus, he announced that there would be a group project. “Your partners will be your table buddies. You will choose a book, and make a project on it. I emailed the requirements, but keep in mind that the books need to be appropriate. Derek you can join whatever group you.”  Mr. Sinclair then let everyone start working on the project. You were sitting with your hands cupped on the desk, staring down at them. You didn't know what to do. Sure, you'd seen Connor around at the Murphy's house, but he never really said anything more than the greetings his mom forced him to say. Other than that, all you knew about him were the rumors, what Zoe said about him, and that he'd hurt Evan earlier that day.

"(Y/N), right?" A voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You nodded, recognizing it as Connor's voice. "You're related to the kid with the cast and the polo?"

"-Evan, he's my twin." You didn't know why he was asking this. You’d been in the same grade level and classes as Connor since kindergarten, and even if you never personally spoke to Connor, you were sure he already knew these things.

"So you're going to go ask if we can just separate projects," You couldn't tell if this was a question or a command. "I mean, you're brother thinks I'm a freak, so why would you want to do a project with me."

"Evan does not think that, I promise."

Connor's voice got louder, "Yeah? Then why was he fucking laughing at me with Kleinman earlier?"

Your heart began race, and you began stuttering. Your face must have shown traces of anxiety because Connor's angry gaze softened slightly. He reached his hand toward your hand, but he was blocked by a figure.

“What do you think you’re doing, Murphy?” 

“Go away Derek.” The same amount Connor’s eye softened at the sight of your anxiety, they hardened when he saw Derek. 

“Were you going to hurt her?”

“Go. Away. Derek.”

“No can do. I’ve decided to be (Y/N)’s partner.” Derek slung his arm around your shoulders as you stiffened.

Connor was visibly getting more annoyed by the minute, “That would mean that your my partner too, go find a different set of partners.”

“Babycakes wants me here.” A smirk spread across his face. You were growing more uncomfortable, and were silenced by shock and disgust.  “No, she doesn’t. Neither do I, so don’t make me-”

“Make you do what? I’ve already decided. (Y/N), call me when you want to meet up for the project, sweetie.” Your face grew ten shades of red as you involuntarily grabbed onto Connor’s arm and scooted closer to him. Connor took one look at your shaky, nervous frame and lunged into action.

Connor drove his fist into Derek’s face, and Derek did the same. It was a blur as you gaped at the two men fighting, feeling a panic attack coming on, and before you knew it they were being pulled apart by Mr. Sinclair and two other teachers who had been called in. The teachers escorted Connor and Derek to the office. Mr. Sinclair pulled you outside the classroom and sat with you until your panic died down, “Are you okay, Ms. Hansen?” You nodded. “Did Mr. Murphy hurt you?” 

It took a moment to process what he said. “Connor didn’t do anything, Mr. Sinclair. Derek was making some,” you sighed, “comments about me that made me feel creeped out. I think Connor saw I was uncomfortable and tried to defend me.” 

Mr. Sinclair pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ms. Hansen, if what your saying is true, we need to get you down to the office so they don’t blame this on Connor.” Mr. Sinclair took you to the office just as the principal was getting ready to suspend Connor and release Derek. Mr. Sinclair reiterated what you had told him, and you confirmed it. Derek protested, trying to say that you were making it up.

“Very well,” the principal raised his hand to stop Derek, “Ms. Hansen has never given me any reason to not believe her. That, and last year three students came forward about you, Derek. I’m afraid I have no choice but to suspend you for a week and put you on probation from football until further notice. Connor, I’m going to let you off with a warning, and send you home for the rest of the day. Tomorrow, I will trust that you will not do this again, or you will be suspended.” Connor shook his head, and left without another word. 

---

A/N- I’m not sure how long this series is going to be, but we’ll see. 

[moldisgoodforyou]

Damn I loved jealous rafe that was so hot... could we maybe get a really really REALLY jealous Sophie?? Obviously only if ur down for that, I adore your writing but want u to take care of urself drink ur water & be happy most importantly :)

hi I really appreciated the last half of this message thank you :) I’m not quite sure this is really really REALLY jealous but it’s still a lot of jealous! 

__ 

Colin’s sister, April, was hopelessly in love with Rafe. And Rafe had no clue.

She was a freshman and a film major, so Colin introduced the two so Rafe could give her advice on classes. She texted him at least once a week, usually more. After Colin brought her to their tailgate in November and Rafe was nice enough to make her a few (watered-down) drinks, then drop her off at her dorm, she was convinced Rafe felt the same way toward her.

The texts became constant enough for Sophie to notice, always seeing April’s name popping up on Rafe’s phone. April had taken the liberty of saving her phone contact for Rafe, as April 💛. Sophie didn’t want to be the jealous, imposing girlfriend straight away, so she did her best to ignore it.

As Rafe and Sophie were hanging out on the couches at Delt, she saw three texts pop up on his phone in a quick succession, and he swiped them away just as fast as they had came in.

Sophie leaned over, curious. “What’s my name saved as? In your phone?”

“Uh.” He took a moment to think, then scrolled through his contacts and showed her. “Just this.” She tried not to visibly react when she saw it, just saved as Sophie Flint. “That’s it?”

“Well, yeah, I just kept it from when you saved it at the bar for me, remember? Does it matter?”

“No, uh, it doesn’t. Never mind.” She forced a smile and settled into his side and he returned to absent-mindedly playing with her hair.

“Why, what’s mine saved as?” He asked, reaching for her phone. She held it out of his reach. “Just Rafe.”

He grinned. “Not love of my life, Rafe Cameron?” She scowled and grabbed his hand, moving it back to her hair. “Definitely not.”

_

The next time April was brought up, Sophie was watching a movie with Rafe in his room, both of them sprawled out on the couch.

“Hey, dude. Me and April are gonna go grab dinner, you wanna come?” Colin asked, grabbing his wallet from the dresser. He gave Sophie a friendly smile. “Oh yeah, you can come too if you want, Sophie.”  

“Nah, we have plans to go meet up with Soph’s roommates. Tell her hi though.” Rafe declined. Sophie stayed uncharacteristically quiet, tucking into Rafe’s side. “Will do. She’ll miss seeing you.” Colin waved and headed out.

Rafe glanced down at Sophie, rubbing her arm. “You good, Soph?”

“Sure you don’t want to go hang out with her?”  

He looked confused. “No. Thought we made plans to grab pizza with Allie and Julia, was I wrong?” She scowled, just slightly. “No, we have plans. Never mind.”

“Okay...” He didn’t press the issue further, just turning up the TV volume a little more. After a while, she turned in her seat, sitting further away from him. “This movie’s kind of terrible, isn’t it?” He frowned. “But it’s Anna Karenina, I thought you liked Keira Knightley.”

“She cheats on her husband.” Sophie shifted again, putting even more distance between them. Rafe reached out and tugged at her ankle, trying to bring her closer. “Hey. You said you liked this movie.” She shook her head. “Never said that. Maybe you’re thinking of someone else.”

“Fine, maybe.” He slid his hand up her leg, but she flinched away, drawing her knees up to her chest. “Soph, what’s the deal?” He pulled his hand back.

“Nothing, what’s your deal?”

“My deal? I don’t have a deal. You’re acting weird.”

She crossed her arms. “I’m not.”

“Sophie.” He frowned more. “Baby, come on.”

“Don’t call me that. You know, I’m gonna just go to dinner with the girls alone. You can go with April.” It was a test, and he didn’t know it. She paused before getting up, glancing over his body language.

He shrugged. “Okay, been meaning to catch up with her anyways.”

Sophie huffed. “Fine.” She grabbed her phone and stood, not giving him a second glance as she left.

_

The next time, Sophie was lying with Rafe on his bed, James in his. This was a fairly common occurrence, with Sophie comfortable hanging around his friends.

“Bro, did you see what April was wearing last week?” James asked, tossing a  tennis ball from his bed toward Rafe. He caught it one-handed, sitting up a little to toss it back to James. “No, was she at our party?”

“Yeah. Can’t believe she wore that dress, some guy was hanging all over her.” He frowned, shutting up the second Colin came in. Sophie raised her eyebrows. “What’s so wrong with the dress?”

Colin cocked his head. “What dress?”

“None of your business.” James snapped back, shooting Sophie a dirty look. She frowned, confused and a little hurt. “Don’t be rude.”

“Hey, knock it off, you two.” Rafe admonished, loosely curling his arm around her shoulders. She shrugged him off, annoyed, and swung her legs off the bed. “I’m gonna go, need to study.”

Rafe frowned and took her hand. “Thought we were going to study together?”

“Yeah, well, you thought wrong.” She replied, a little more snippy than she needed to be. “Soph, come on.” She ignored him as she gathered her things and left and James whistled, shaking his head. “What’s all that about?”

Rafe threw the tennis ball hard at him, nailing his leg. “You were being an asshole.” James yelped, tossing it hard back at him but Rafe ducked away. “She was - you know!” He argued, gesturing at Colin. “Still not cool, man! Text her and apologize.” Rafe shot back.

“What the hell am I missing?” Colin glanced between the two of them, thoroughly confused. “Shouldn’t you go after her?”

“Nah, she doesn’t like being followed after a fight.”

“Have you two fought since getting together? Like you used to?” James asked.

“Well...no.” Rafe paused. “But this isn’t about us, this is your fault.” He glanced at Colin for backup. “Right?”  

“I still have no fucking clue what you’re on about.” Colin replied.

“Doesn’t matter.” James dismissed it, sending Rafe a glare and effectively ending the conversation.

_

Sophie tried distancing herself from Rafe, somewhat, as jealousy built up inside of her. She had him come over before they had plans to go out while she got  ready. His attention went back and forth between her and his phone the whole time and Sophie was already regretting inviting him over as she saw April’s name popping up on his screen.

“Rafe, which one?” She turned to him in just her bra and jeans, holding up two tops. One blue, one yellow.

He didn’t glance up from his phone. “Uh...the black. You always wear that one.”

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and anger as she ditched both, opting for a sweatshirt instead and flopped onto her bed. He swiveled around in her desk chair, confused as he eyed over her messy bun and flat iron still plugged in on the counter. “You’re wearing that to go out?”  

“Why, is this not good enough for you?”

“No, it’s fine. I just thought...” At her glare, he raised his hands in defense. “Never mind. You ready to go then? Colin is seeing one of the bartenders and said she could snag us free drinks if we showed early.”  

Sophie sat up quickly, looking like she was about to cry. “You don’t want to go hang out with the girl blowing up your phone?”

“Huh? Soph, what are you talking about?”

“April?” She bit her lip, avoiding his gaze.

He laughed, loud. “April? You’re serious?”

“Oh, good, laugh at me, that feels great. I feel like you’re cheating on me and you’re fucking laughing.”

It took him a few moments to process before he crossed the room in two big strides and grabbed both her hands, squeezing them. “I’m not cheating on you, Sophie, I would never.” When she glanced up, he continued. “April is Colin’s freshman little sister, she texts me for film school advice. That’s it.”  

“...Oh.” She breathed out, wanting to shrink back into herself and disappear. “So when James was talking about what she was wearing...” 

“She’s practically like our little sister now too, James is just protective.” Rafe clarified, reaching up and swiping his thumbs over her cheeks to get rid of a couple stray tears. “Don’t cry, Soph, it’s okay.” 

“Fuck, Rafe, I’m so sorry.” She laughed softly, a little shaky. “She was just texting you all the time - and the heart next to her name in your phone, I just -” 

“Ah, shit. Yeah, I see what you mean.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then over both her cheeks, then the tip of her nose, making her giggle. “I’ll change it, promise. Look, I’ll introduce you two tonight, you’ll see.” He tugged at the hem of her sweatshirt. “Still want to wear this?” 

She shook her head and reached up, giving him a short kiss.  “No, I’ll go change. I’m sorry. Again. I should have just asked.” She paused. “In my defense, it didn’t help seeing a text saying ‘thanks for last night’ with the kissy face emoji. Especially when I knew you were out with the guys the night before.”  

“I dropped her off after she got trashed at one of our tailgates.” Rafe replied, shaking his head. “But you know what, I see where you’re coming from.” 

Once they made to the bar, Sophie followed him in and over to his group of friends all crowded in a corner. April, who looked extraordinarily similar to Colin, grinned when she saw Rafe and threw his arms around him, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Rafey, hi!”  

He turned red, leaning away from her kiss but gave her a short hug back. Sophie raised her eyebrows at him and held back a smile and an I told you so, but he could tell anyways. He wrapped his arm around Sophie’s waist. “Hey, April, this is my girlfriend, Sophie.” 

“Girlfriend?” April repeated with a hint of disdain. “Rafe, you didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend.” 

James snorted into his drink watching the exchange. 

“It’s only been official for a little bit.” Sophie clarified, placing her hand possessively on Rafe’s chest. 

“Oh, so it’s nothing serious.” April brightened. “Rafe and I have known each other for months now, we’re pretty close.” She told Sophie, leaning over the table to give Rafe an eyeful of her chest. Colin tugged her up by the back of her shirt right away and Rafe dug his fingers into Sophie’s side a little, painfully aware of the situation now. 

“I’ve known him since high school, but thanks.” Sophie shot back a sweet smile. “You might have more luck hitting on someone your own age, by the way.” 

April turned bright red and took a long sip from her drink. “I’m not - I wasn’t -”  She stammered. 

“It’s fine. I can see where you’re coming from.” Sophie raised her eyebrows and gave Rafe a kiss on the cheek. “I’m going to get another one, anyone else?” At no response, she turned on her heel and left. 

“You’ve been hitting on Rafe?” Colin questioned April, disgusted. She just scowled and left the group to go find her friends, thoroughly embarrassed. James elbowed Rafe with a grin. “She’s possessive, huh?” 

“Yeah, shut up.” He grinned back, ears turning red. 

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.3}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 5k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

Lunch break came and went, and so did the second half of the conference. Robin and Snape continued doing what they had been doing for the most part of the day, quietly criticising the many misconceptions, mistakes and missing pieces of the other people's lectures, but they wouldn't be as tactless as to publicly bring it up in the discussions. All corrections and truths, as well as all snarky comments and crude jokes were kept exclusively between the two of them. The handbook, or rather the immense knowledge that was compiled in it by now, wasn't supposed to become known, especially not around here in these circles, and thus Robin had to refrain from correcting mistakes for the most part anyway. Only when she was asked for her opinion specifically – which actually had become an almost usual occurrence at this point – did she speak up at all. But of course the conference wouldn't have been the same without Kenneth Crowe, nor without his not so subtle attempts to mess with Robin once again.

"May I remark, Miss Mitchell, you haven't commented on my presentation yet, and given your inclination to comment on absolutely everything, that does surprise me now. So please enlighten us, what brilliant conclusion did you come to this time?" He asked her during the discussion to his lecture, his tone so pointedly hostile and sarcastic that a few people frowned at him in confusion. They must've been living under a rock for the last two years if they had missed this growing one-sided rivalry.

"Never give a green cat a flamethrower." Robin replied in perfect neutrality an instant later, looking him dead in the eye from all the way across the room. Admittedly, she had come prepared for such a situation this time around, and that left her feeling a lot more in control of the situation than she had in the previous years. Next to her, Snape raised an eyebrow and tried very hard not to look too amused by what he certainly guessed was coming.

Crowe however openly scoffed at Robin, rolling his eyes in a condescending manner, before crossing his arms over his chest. "Matters certainly get more ridiculous every single year; I won't even honor that statement by questioning it."

"That would be the point." Robin gave him a polite little smile, and multiple people in the room quietly snorted against better judgement. "I'm glad you agree with me on the issue. Some matters simply aren't worth to be commented on."

A few jaws dropped, Crowe's being one of them, but he stayed pointedly quiet in return and instead seemed to ignore Robin entirely from there on. Just what she had wanted. That settled the issue, and the afternoon continued on quietly until the last lecture was over, upon which the crowd assembled in the front for the usual picture to be taken. Unlike last year, Robin didn't have to convince Snape to partake, and they found their place easily just like everyone else did. After that however, Robin was asked to stand for a second photograph all by herself, which obviously was a usual procedure for the people who gave the lectures. She wasn't particularly fond of the idea, but it would've taken more time to argue herself out of it than to get it over with, and thus she simply shook her hair out of the bun it had been in and stood still.

"Smile for me, would you?" The photographer asked, and Robin tried to somewhat smile without looking stupid. But obviously he wouldn't have her not-smile. "No no no, smile with your entire face, like you actually mean it!"

"The others didn't have to smile either." She scoffed, thinking of how all the men before her had been done with the picture within seconds, and without a comment. "So why do I have to? Just because I'm female doesn't make me a dress up doll."

"I'm sure your smile is lovely, sweetheart." He reasoned and gave her a look that annoyed Robin within a second. "They say a woman's smile is the most enchanting thing about her, you know…"

"That is the best you can do? Not very creative, is it?" Snape remarked from just a little off to the side, raising an eyebrow at the photographer, absolutely unimpressed. "I would rather say it's the mind that enchants, but what would you know about that, right?"

Robin couldn't help laughing at the comment, at the sheer sass in it, and even just at the expression on Snape's face. Before she knew, her photo was taken and the grumbling photographer packed up without another word to either of them. Well, at least she was smiling like he'd wanted her to, even if she had looked behind the camera rather than into it.

What followed was the usual: endless smalltalk and conversations, being handed over from one person to the next, and having to tell people as politely as possible that her life wasn't a topic she would give them information on. But unlike last year, Snape stayed by Robin's side the entire time and thereby made the whole procedure a lot more bearable. He obviously didn't have the same reputation here as he did back at Hogwarts, but even without knowing exactly who he was, his height, scowls and generally dark appearance sufficed to keep people at a distance from both of them. For the most part at least.

"So you are the famous Miss Mitchell…" A man perhaps a little older than Snape approached them in a slow saunter in the very moment Robin's previous conversation came to an end. She had noticed how he'd kept throwing glances at her throughout the evening, but only now he actually approached her, in obvious disdain that Snape still refused to leave her side. Perhaps that's why his eyes and focus stayed exclusively on Robin. "A true honour to meet you at last."

"I'm Robin Mitchell, yes." She replied, after not finding a name tag on him anywhere. "But I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

"Jacob Crowe." He smiled way too brightly, bowing in an exaggerated manner. "You already know my brother Kenneth, unfortunately. But let me assure you that not everyone in our family is quite as ignorant as him."

"Nice to meet you, then." Robin made herself return a polite smile even though his forcefully charming demeanor made her rather want to scowl. At least Snape's hand was still securely resting on her back, had been from the start of these torturous conversations, and she found herself leaning into him the slightest bit more on instinct now. He surely wouldn't mind… just for the duration of this uncomfortable situation.

"I must say, your presentation was quite enchanting." Crowe gave her another look that was probably supposed to be dashing, but only did the very opposite. "A fascinating story of research and intellect, told by the most fascinating woman I have ever seen. Logically, I was clinging onto your every word."

"Yes, that much was obvious." Snape taunted with the inevitable scowl, glowering at Crowe before Robin had to come up with a reply on her own. It was the first and only time he had gotten himself involved in any of Robin's conversations this evening, and good gods he couldn't have picked a better time.

Crowe glared right back at him, making a face that was in no way inferior in its hostility to that of his brother. "And you are…?"

"Tired of hearing you speak when you clearly have nothing to say." Snape replied in a cutting voice that was filled with boredom and disdain alike, and yet he tugged Robin even closer to his side ever so gently. Always the contradiction.

Crowe glared at him for another moment, then turned back to Robin with a still somewhat irritated expression that he however tried to cover up with another smile. "You are a remarkable woman, Robin… It would be a true joy to get to know you, to hear more about your research and life. But then again, you seem to be spoken for already."

"As a matter of fact, I generally only speak for myself." Robin replied calmly, but yet in a tone that made abundantly clear what she thought of his advances. "And I am here to speak about research, not about my personal life."

"There's no harm in combining work and pleasure, my dear." He gave her another almost suggestive grin, obviously misunderstanding her previous statement. "I know for a fact that you are quite exceptional in one, and I would love to find out about the other."

"Good evening, Mister Crowe." She got out more or less politely, then turned on her heels and pulled Snape towards the doors with her. He seemed no less eager to finally leave this place, which made it more of a common hasting than either leading the other really. However before they could get far, another group of three men stepped into their way. They at least acknowledged Snape with a nod before focusing entirely on Robin.

"Miss Mitchell, I was wondering if you could tell us a bit more about the Siazella you found on accident. I have never heard of it before, which should be surprising enough at my age! How on earth did you know what you were dealing with?" The oldest in the group got right to the point, smiling in a curious and friendly manner at least, and Robin still had to suppress a sigh. She just wanted to leave… but that would have to wait. If Dumbledore had already set her up for the lecture, he surely would expect her to answer the professional questions as well. At least these men actually seemed sincerely interested in her research.

For another twenty minutes Robin elaborated on the Siazella and her knowledge of it, careful to leave out her handbook nonetheless, and once she also had answered any follow-up questions, the three men finally wished them a good night and let them be at last. Two heartbeats passed, and then Snape and Robin practically ran out the doors to avoid getting held up another time. Only once they had rushed all the way through the hallways and down the first flight of stairs, they finally slowed down a little, which left Robin both breathless and amused. Somehow, fleeing from the crime scene together had a charme in itself.

"I'm glad it's finally over…" She sighed as they walked down the elaborate staircase that –as everything in the wizarding world, it seemed– was merely lit by an astonishing number of candles. "The day was more annoying than I remembered it to be, and a whole lot more exhausting. I'm glad it's just you and me now."

"I wonder why I ever attended this pathetic event in the first place." Snape grumbled to himself in return, his scowl coloured by the barest hint of a pout. "A room full of idiots who speak nonsense and pride themselves in entirely irrelevant matters. I could have the very same in the Slytherin common room."

Robin let out a snort, which however was followed by an almost affectionate smile. "You attended because of me, I would say."

"So did everyone else, obviously." He drawled, rolling his eyes in complete disdain once more, much like the expression he had given the younger Crowe.

"Are you jealous?" She couldn't help asking in a teasing tone, quirking an eyebrow at him in amusement. Yeah, maybe teasing him when he was annoyed wasn't the best idea.

"Whyever would I be?" He scoffed immediately, a little too immediately, and definitely much too defensively.

"Because unlike back at Hogwarts, I am the one with a reputation here." She grinned in return, choosing to let go of what she had originally been insinuating in favour of a more universal interpretation, then couldn't help laughing at her own thought. "Usually you're Batman and I'm Robin. But here I'm Batman and you're Robin… which you're probably not used to being. But I can assure you that I definitely couldn't have done any of this without you, so perhaps it's not the best analogy."

He rolled his eyes again, but couldn't help the small smirk tugging on his lips. "Poor analogy indeed, especially for you. As far as I remember, you are the heroic type who saved a girl from almost certain death, twice in a row."

"And you are far braver than you give yourself credit for! I mean, you're spending a great deal of time with me, that's gotta take some bravery to go through with willingly." Robin smirked up at him, raising her eyebrows in humour as they made their way through the almost empty entrance hall in complete ignorance of everyone who was still present.

"If I was any kind of brave, I would have cursed all those men up there the second they dared to gawk at you in such a lewdly manner." He said once they were finally out in the dark street again, and his words sent an immediate shiver through Robin. But she also reminded herself that he probably, no, definitely didn't mean it in the way her mind so desperately wanted to believe.

"That wouldn't have been brave but just rash." She replied with a small smile, calm and reassuring, even though her heart was racing. "Take Crowe, for example. He was only sweet-talking me to get information on my personal life. And as much as I wanted to hex him myself, it just would've looked like I have something to hide."

"How can you be so rational about people mistreating you like that?"

"Practice." Robin shrugged with an actually humoured smile. "And I had you with me the entire time; what bad could possibly have happened to me?"

"I feel honoured by that assessment, but still, you take their crude behavior far too lightly."

"I'd rather say you take it too seriously. You said yourself that it's just a room full of idiots and creeps, so why should we waste a thought on them?" She gave him a pointed look to accompany the statement. "It's over now either way, and the only idiot you have to deal with is me."

"Yes, but that is an entirely different matter. You are my idiot."

"I am?" The grin was on her face before she could help it, and his words burned themselves into her memory to haunt her in her mind for all time to come.

"Obviously." He quirked an eyebrow at her in a way that made her grin even more, and only then he allowed himself the tiniest smirk in return. A moment passed in silence before he spoke on. "It is fairly late already, and knowing you, you will most certainly want to look into another theory tomorrow morning."

"We don't have to! I mean, if you'd prefer to… to take a break, we can continue any other time really. If you've got something else to do, I absolutely understand that. I mean it's been two weeks, and I haven't even once asked if I was keeping you from anything, and really it's been quite rude of me to just blindly assume that you would want to waste your entire holidays on me, but since we never really discussed it, you know, I just-..."

"Breathe." He cut in with a still subtly amused expression. "Tomorrow is fine."

"Good…" Robin said and let out a long breath at the same time indeed. Really, if she was exceptionally good at anything, it would have to be rambling. Or overthinking. "Tomorrow morning it is then."

"The cliff?"

"Always lovely meeting there. Eight as always?"

"Very well."

"So… time to say goodnight, I guess."

"Indeed."

And yet, they both remained standing a step apart on the dark sidewalk, looking at each other expectantly while neither wanted to be the first to go. After half a minute, Robin started smiling, then grinning, and finally straight out laughed at the situation and at how silly they both were being. This wasn't the first time this had happened, but it never ceased to amuse her, nor amaze her that he seemed to be as reluctant to part ways as her.

"Coffee?" She finally asked with a soft smile.

"Yes."

… … …

Finding a place to have decent coffee after eleven at night was surprisingly easy in London, but for the sake of being a little more subtle than going to the Leaky Cauldron or any other establishment where either of them surely would be recognized, they settled for a random muggle pub that wasn't too crowded nor too loud, and where hopefully nobody would ask questions about Snape's choice of clothing. He'd been very much right in that regard, muggles didn't take too kindly to people in robes, but since Robin looked mostly normal, they merely received a few odd glances. Admittedly, they could simply have gone back to making instant coffee somewhere far away from people, but real coffee was a tempting change for once. Thus they found themselves sitting at a small table in a corner, and Robin couldn't help enjoying the anonymity of a crowded place as well as the bliss of doing something so very ordinary with Snape for once. If one looked at it that way, they had never actually spent time in public together, so this was a welcome new experience that came with very welcome tingles no less. Before long their orders arrived, and the overly cheerful blonde waitress reminded Robin of something she had almost forgotten about after everything that had happened that day.

"Oh fuck…" She groaned under her breath, sighing at the realization that her evening had just gotten a whole lot longer than anticipated.

"Huh?"

"Oh, nothing really." She sighed again as she returned Snape's inquiring gaze and rested her chin in her hands, elbows propped up on the table. "I just remembered that I still have something to do when I return… home tonight."

"Doesn't look like it will be a pleasant task. Chores?"

"If that's what you wanna call Cas, then sure." Robin laughed, especially when he rolled his eyes in return. "I'm supposed to help her with something, and I don't know if I can. At least not in the way she would like me to."

"You have always been exceptional at keeping me in suspense." He sighed, then took a sip of his coffee and motioned for Robin to go on already. After briefly considering it, she did.

"I said something on the train ride home, about how a well written letter can be a great way to connect with someone if you can't see them for a while. And well… she wants to write to Simon without being cheesy or boring."

"And she wants you to write it for her?" Snape quirked an eyebrow at Robin in doubt. "That would defy the entire purpose of such a letter, wouldn't you say?"

"Obviously it would, and that's why I don't know how to help her! She didn't specifically ask me to write it for her, just to help her in any way I can. Give her some inspiration, or pointers maybe… You got any idea?"

"I'm afraid I have no experience with this kind of matter. Most letters I have written throughout my life were related to my work in both content and form. Don't you have received or written something of a similar kind before?"

"Obviously not! I've only ever written to you, to be honest." Robin shrugged, stirring her coffee with a spell before remembering where she was and quickly taking the teaspoon instead. "But I'm supposed to be the knowledgeable one and help Cas out. It's my job to know better than her."

"That is what I thought about you for a certain amount of time." He mused with a not-smirk. "But I gave up at some point in your third year."

Robin chuckled, sipping her coffee as well, before setting it down with a sigh and a new determination. Without another word, she summoned a piece of paper, a pen, and Cas' book out of her backpack, then placed it on the table in front of her with a thud. "You're helping me with this. If I don't know what I'm doing and you don't either, we better be clueless together."

"I had feared you would suggest that." He sighed dramatically, giving her a teasingly annoyed glance nonetheless. "But I would be a poor excuse of a friend if I let you down in times of despair."

Smiling, Robin pushed the dreaded book closer to him and kept the paper to herself. "Here, look through that for anything useful. Cas loves this book, it's full of sappy teen romance."

"And you would know that because…?"

"She sneakily made me promise to read it, so I did. I had to."

"Of course she did…"

"Now you just sound like Dumbledore."

"Insult me and I'm gone." He drawled in bad neutrality while flipping through the pages, and Robin had to snort. Neither of them seemed to be on good terms with the headmaster today, not after he had put Robin through giving a lecture without even a notice.

"The book really is quite terrible. I got it over with in the first week of the holidays, but I barely made it out alive." She remarked as she brainstormed what she knew about letters, love, Cas and Simon, but her thoughts kept coming back to the book as her only point of reference.

"What is it even about? I cannot tell from the glimpses of bad dialogue thrown at me here."

"Oh, you know… stupid stuff." Robin replied evasively, but even to herself that answer was a poor excuse, if anything. She hadn't written it after all, nor even read it voluntarily. But secretly enjoyed it a little more than she would ever admit. "This eighteen year old girl who falls madly in love with some guy who's new at her school. Ridiculous, really… They don't even know each other all that well, but still hit it off after just a few weeks of unreasonable conflict. It's the least romantic thing ever, they don't even seem to care about each other as much as they care about themselves. They go through all those firsts together, which admittedly is quite adorable, but then they ruin it all again by being so flat and shallow and vain that you just wanna smack them in the head the entire time. If anything, that book is a test of patience."

"Certainly sounds like it, yes… The writing is poor, the plot too as it seems, and the dialogue is an abomination in itself."

"Yeah, you could say that." Robin snorted with a smile.

"Perhaps we should treat it as a negative example for the task at hand then." He suggested. "Tell me, what exactly is bad about the way this is written?"

"Well, the entire thing is just so exaggerated and blown out of proportion... It feels unnatural for people who have known each other such a short time to be quite so over the top with their emotions and declarations." Robin started, and at the same time Snape plucked the pen out of her hand and pulled the papers on the table closer to himself.

"Do go on." He said as Robin stopped speaking to frown at his doings, and then gave her a look that left no room for argument beyond his words.

"Uh, alright… as I said, it's exaggerated, and just too much. Then the author also relies way too much on the use of straight out saying 'I love you', as well as just kissing and making out, to indicate the sentiments between the characters. The emotions should rather be obvious between the lines; if you have to directly say them to be understood, you're doing it wrong. Not that saying it would be bad, I don't mean it like that, it's just… it shouldn't be said just because it needs to be. At least not when they're already in a relationship. Their love should be the driving force of everything that is said, not the direct message itself, and-..." Robin cut herself off before she could start rambling again, and focused on moving on instead. "Then, as I said earlier, they seem to not even know each other. You could switch out any of the names on the pages, and it wouldn't make a difference. They should be playing on what they know and adore about each other, even if it's not much yet. Just… lending a book to someone who loves books will be a much more meaningful gesture than getting them a bouquet of roses, for example. People really shouldn't be afraid to go for the unusual kind of gestures and gifts."

"That makes for a decent list of don'ts already, which is a point to start. So tell me, what would you like to read instead of the negatives you pointed out? You already mentioned a few ideas for improvement, but perhaps you can think of more. Start from the negatives you created, and envision their counterpart."

Robin gave him a partially annoyed, partially desperate look, but he merely quirked an eyebrow and waited for her to continue. Insufferable idiot… but his idea to make her talk on the basis of the stupid book was helping more than anything she had come up with herself. Sighing, Robin gave in. What would a teenager want to hear from their love interest? What would Cas enjoy reading if she already enjoyed the stupid book so much? Damnit… this was difficult. "I don't know… I'm not good at these things, I can't imagine what a teenager would want to read."

"If Cassandra would have wanted to write by the standards of a teenager, she would have asked one of her mutuals. But she asked you, so you might as well advise her from your own perspective."

"Fine…" Robin sighed, and hid the heat on her face behind her coffee cup. What had she enjoyed hearing from Snape, in letters or in conversation? Or rather what would she enjoy? Damnit, she should have allowed herself to dream about this more often. "I think it is of major importance how much you let someone see of yourself. Allowing them to know you better than anyone else, giving them the chance to understand you in a different way by showing them more than just the big picture. Learning about the small and random moments in someone's life just has an entirely different level of intimacy to it than learning about the big things. I mean sure, it's the big events that shape a life, but it's the small things that shape the person and give them their colour. If I had to choose, I would always choose the colour, because it is what makes a person truly who they are, and not just the sum of bad or good things that have happened to them. The sky doesn't need a shape to be beautiful either, but it's the colour that makes one fall in love with it."

For the moment that followed, they both stayed quiet. Robin sipped the remainder of her coffee, and Snape finished writing whatever he was noting down of her words and thoughts. Perhaps she shouldn't have let herself get so deep… perhaps she shouldn't have asked him for help in the first place. But then she would be sitting in her tent by herself tonight, listening to the same old records she had put on every night since taking the player, and drown in sorrows over how little she really knew about love, and about people. No, this was much better indeed. Before long, Snape pushed the piece of paper across the table towards Robin again, and she smiled when she saw the perfectly organized list of things to avoid, and things to do instead. Copying it would probably be the best idea, to send it to Cas in her own handwriting. But Robin was keeping the original for sure.

"I think that should be a decent reference for anyone to write by." He said calmly, and finished the rest of his coffee while leaning back in his chair. "Cassandra would have to make a real effort to mess it up now."

"You should never underestimate Cas' ability to mess things up… Especially the easy ones." Robin grinned at him for a moment, until she managed to tone it down to a sincere smile. "Thank you for your help with this. I think we did pretty well for two people who didn't know any better."

"You shouldn't thank me. It was you who said every single thing that is on this list; I merely wrote it down in an appropriate format."

"And you made me say them in the first place!" Robin objected, almost finding herself as amused as nervous by the fact that the statement was only too true. He was the only reason she knew what truly loving someone felt like, even if it left her no wiser about being loved in return. But she knew that he appreciated her quite a lot, at least. Who else could say that about themselves, huh? In a way, that was a status as exclusive as it could get.

"Perhaps we simply make a good team no matter how impossible the endeavour." He suggested calmly, and gave her a not-smirk that had her melting within seconds.

"We most certainly do."

______________________________

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[scribble-blog]

Black Cats and Robinettes- a Role Reversal AU

Next

Thanks @silverwhiteraven for giving me such a lovely prompt to work with!!! Find it here if you’d like to take your own stab at it!

Some side notes: In this AU I picture Adrien as our wonderful spotted hero! With Damian as our wonderful Black Cat. Chloé absolutely has the Bee Miraculous a la Adrien, but never exposed her identity (somehow) and fights beside them regularly. Marinette is the biological daughter of Bruce, and has been raised by him since she was a baby! Dick is very protective of her, as are Bruce, Alfred, Jason, Steph, Babs, Tim, Cass, etc, etc... how she functions as Robin when none of them want her near crime is hilarious I bet. (We all know she’s got a will of titanium and none of them can stop her from doing anything she wants to.)

Damian stared coldly around the room, watching as Césaire fawned around Rossi like cheap desperate paparazzi to a B list movie star. While Chloé and Adrien kept to themselves, icy facades disdainful, the stumbling pack of idiots they had been forced to travel with seemed to orbit her as always, presenting themselves for her approval as she spun low after lie.

He’d tried, long before, back when the Liar had only just started at their school, to show them the truth. A common courtesy, as no hero should let people be swindled they way she got them- but as soon as they made it clear they preferred to follow her blindly instead of believing the facts he presented, he’d let them go.

How Rossi has managed, with her mean intellect, to actually secure them the trip to Gotham he would never understand. Presumably, the entirety of the actual work rested on the shoulders of Césaire, Lavillant, and possibly Lahiffe, but he had no intention of asking to find out.

Truly, he’d had no intention of being on the trip at all, but Sabine and Tom has insisted that he join the school trip and spend time with his peers.

They’d been the best things to ever happen to him, when they’d adopted him six years ago. It was difficult now to tell them no for anything.

No, Damian Dupain-Cheng would never deny them anything they asked of him. When Talia had realized her... partner had lost the Black Cat Miraculous she had hoped he would pass on to their son, to him, she’d killed him for the slight and left Damian in the nearest city. Apparently, his genes were too “sullied” for him to actually bear the weight of being Ra’s al Ghul’s heir, without the promise of the powerful object falling into the League’s lap. It was her last gift to her son that she let him live.

They’d found him his very first day. Sabine’s sharp eyes had noticed him picking the pocket of a woman outside her storefront, and when he’d tried to retaliate when she grabbed him-

Well. She’d won his respect, and some of his fear. And they’d put him in the bedroom at the top of their home, and somehow...

He’d never left. And he’d gotten the last laugh against his mother for it, when Master Fu had chosen him for the very Miraculous Talia had conceived him for.

He shook his heads away front the thoughts as their tour guides, he assumed, approached. Surely it was them, because every other person in this lobby had been studiously avoiding the group. He heard Rossi mention her ‘best friend’ Maria Wayne one more time and resisted laughter. She couldn’t even get the girl’s damn name right.

“Welcome to Wayne Enterprises, everyone,” the taller guide said, gesturing openly for them all to gather up. “My name is Richard. Together with Marinette, one of our interns, we’ll be guiding your tour today.”

He motioned to the much shorter girl, who appeared to be their age. Damian gazed curiously, watching as she flinched away slightly from their focus before stilling, and then looking up, proudly, an easy smile on her face. Her blue eyes practically sparkled.

“It’s a pleasure to be able to join you today,” She said in perfect French, and Damian felt gleeful as her eyes darted towards Rossi with the slightest visible distaste. “Richard can understand French, but doesn’t speak it quite as well, so I am here to act as a translator when needed. I believe the notes for your group mentioned that some of you are not yet fluent in English. I will be available during the tour for any possible questions you have that aren’t as easy to articulate in English.”

Her eyes finally met Damian’s in her final sweep, and he tried not to let his breath catch. She was pretty, yes, but the force of her gaze was intense and it made Damian’s heartbeat stutter. Fuck.

Richard stepped forward again. “Alright. If you all have your guest passes-“

The tour was fun and genuinely engaging, though he noticed several people uncomprehending as they couldn’t quite catch Richard’s words, and no one had been brave enough to speak to Marinette except for Chloé. She’d asked several times for the girl to clarify a point in French.

Which the girl did, cheerfully. It was always some part of information that sat on the edges of Rossi’s many lies, nothing to call her out entirely but enough that the Liar was spending whatever seconds she wasn’t panting after Richard she was glaring at Chloé and Marinette indiscriminately.

They stopped for lunch at the building’s cafeteria, and Damian quickly got his own food, sat down and Chloé and Adrien joined him. They weren’t quite friends- but they kept together in solidarity against the rabid pack. The silence as the age was as normal as the court Rossi held over at the table she’d chosen.

And then another tray joined them.

“So,” Marinette said in beside him. “I had a question for you three, since you seem- sharper than most of your classmates. Does she always-“ she gestured one hand loosely towards Rossi. “Do that?”

“Lie like her life depends on it?” Chloé sneered. “Sadly, yes.”

Marinette looked out over at the full table, growing rambunctious as Lila laughed at something or other. “Hmm. Well. Perhaps I can put an end to it. Also,” she reached across the table, the motion surprising Damian. “Why didn’t you tel me you two would be here! I could’ve made plans! You could’ve stayed with me instead of whatever hotel you guys had to rent out 15 rooms for.”

Adrien chuckled, meeting his eyes. “Damian, let me actually introduce you. This is Marinette Wayne, who we’ve been friends with since every fashion week since our parents first started dragging us to them.”

Marinette- Marinette Wayne looked at him, and then blushed as she offered her hand to him. He took it, shook once. “Damian Dupain-Cheng.” He hoped his heart wasn’t beating out of his chest.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Damian,” she said kindly, and he knew he had a crush. Her eyes darkened and a grin stole across her face. “How would you like to help me prove to the people in your class that that girl is lying once and for all?”

And he knew he was in love.

TAGLIST: @ash-amg

[fallenrepublick]

Could you do a Thrawn x reader where the reader gets fatally hurt on a mission? Maybe they weren’t supposed to come along but they snuck along anyways? I’m in the mood for some angst!

Oh, anon, you don’t know what you’ve unleashed here on this day...

I’ve been nice to you all, given you angst wrapped in little bows of fluff, ending things on good notes for the sake of your emotions. But no, not this time.

Behold, after all this time..... an angst fic, with no resolution.

Warnings: Just fighting ;)

Trust, one of the many aspects that relationships rest on to succeed, is differently earned depending on the type of person you seek it from. On this, most can agree. Some people, mostly those who’ve not often been betrayed or still cling to hope that their loyalties are not misplaced, trust easily. To earn their trust is an easy thing, and sometimes their naivety brings about their downfall, only for them to pick up once more and do the same thing all over again. Other people are more difficult to get through to, their jaded personalities and stubborn perspectives creating a sort of barrier that only those who prove their loyalties may find themselves on the right side of. And then… there was Thrawn.

Skeptical by nature, he wasn’t one known to “trust” others. Ask anyone, and they’d say the only thing close to it was being expected to complete a task, and nothing more. All things considered, it made sense, and many of the imperial officers in those positions didn’t seem to have the best track record on performing the way they should have been, and he had little reason to go outside professionalism and develop any close friendships.

That was the way everyone else saw it, at least. As his personal advisor and the one he explained, “maintains the most consistent and viable amount of common sense” in comparison to your colleagues, he was never found without you. And this, he found, made it much easier to love you.

Amongst others, you were at his side out of necessity, providing input and suggestions where it was needed in relation to the task at hand. Amongst each other, you were at his side out of a desire, his attachment to you clear, and admiration for you present in every moment he watched you move. It was a language only the two of you knew, and it was the way you wanted to keep it.

Which was why, when Thrawn announced his closest upcoming mission and who would be coming with him, you were shocked, and almost hurt, that you were not a part of it. You couldn’t share this sentiment among the officers that crowded the room, but Thrawn noted your silence throughout the rest of the meeting. He had little time to act on it, though, for once you were alone, you made your displeasure known.

“You’re leaving me here,” you said accusingly, crossing your arms in disdain. “You never leave me here. What is it?”

Thrawn sighed, and standing from his chair, walked around the curvature of his desk to where you stood. “This mission is… different, darling,” he explained, voice gentle and patient, despite your unwavering displeasure. “There are many reasons I chose not to have you come.”

“Oh yeah? How different? What reasons?” You leaned forward, bringing your face close to his as a sort of challenge.

“When combating Jedi, there are many unknown factors,” he said simply, maintaining your eye contact, practically answering your challenge. “To allow you on that battlefield would not only be an unnecessary risk, but it would also be irresponsible. I trust you to take care of things here in my stead.”

At the time, you had agreed, the last part of his admission to you instilling a small amount of guilt that you couldn’t help but give in to. But when the day came for him to leave, his figure receding into the cavern of his ship, it was almost on instinct that you climbed yourself in as well, holing yourself up in a utility closet that seemed to have the least probability of being accessed by any of the crew members.

The distance travelled proved considerably smaller than what you were anticipating, and after about three hours of you wondering if you had just made a bad life decision, the ship left hyperspace, approaching a planet that, from your position in the closet, was all but unknown to you.

The sounds of the crewmembers outside your door scrambling across the floors as they attempted to prepare for landing sent a surge of anxiety through you, and it took all you had not to simply leap out and reveal yourself. Instead, however, you waited, listening until their steps were but faint echoes in the distance, before you opened the door and stepped out, the silence of the now-empty ship providing a momentary peace before you left to face whatever immense danger Thrawn had wanted to protect you from.

The ramp was still lowered for easy access if an escape was necessary, and you tread down it carefully, attempting to prevent the soles of your feet from clanging against the metal too loudly. Far off, fire was being exchanged, and the lights from blaster bolts illuminating their surroundings suggested the combat to be more intensive than if they were simply combating a group of rebels. No, Thrawn had been right. They were Jedi.

Jedi, surely not the type that were spoken about in stories of the past. If that were the case, the troopers would not be lasting this long. These Jedi, or whatever you’d call them nowadays, were fools tricked into believing they could measure up or make a difference. That being said, a laser sword is still a laser sword.

Making your way around the buildings of the damaged village, you spotted Thrawn amongst the chaos, blue skin a dead giveaway against the glow of red that was raining from the blasters of the people among him. He had a plan. He always did. But the fact he hadn’t told it to you made your heart utterly sink, and the strange inkling that something would go awry seemed to grasp hold of your mind relentlessly as you watched the conflict play out.

You had to help him. You wanted to help him, and at this point, you had come too far to simply stand around and watch this happen. Him seeing you was the least of your worries. So you crept behind your territory, ducking behind blockades as needed and finding shielding behind the environment as you progressed further down the front. And as such, it was inevitable that Thrawn saw you.

His expression changed within an instant from frustration to abject horror as he watched you approach, dust and dirt clinging to your normally crisp uniform and speckling your face. Pressing his back up against the barrier, he turned his attention to you fully, pulling your arm towards him so that you were on your knees at his side.

“What,” he hissed, anger lacing his voice. “Do you think you are doing here?”

“Normally, you trust me with information,” you began as he turned periodically to send a few blasts back to the rebels. “But you dodged telling me basically everything about this mission. I’m here to find out why.”

“That’s it?” He was growing increasingly more frustrated, and even as you turned with your own blaster, taking multiple shots at your enemies, it was clear you were not going to be here long if he had any say in it. “I gave you an order.”

“Not formally.”

You noticed him bite the inside of his lip to keep himself from saying the thing on his mind. Even then, though, you could practically hear it.

You’re lucky I love you.

Across the battlefield stood the two Jedi, the ones it seemed everyone nowadays was hunting. That didn’t stop you from leaning out and aiming straight for them, which in turn, did not stop them from blocking your blaster bolt and redirecting it straight through your side.

It was a shock, to be sure, the initial contact of the bolt sending a surge through your body as you fell backwards, the concrete hitting your spine and making the wound sting even more than it already did. Remaining still, the pain subsided, only for it to shoot through your body once again if you tried to move.

It was then that you noticed Thrawn had dropped his blaster entirely. Sliding his hand under your neck, he raised your head slightly, bringing it to rest on his legs as he knelt at your side. You could hear him saying your name, an urgency in it that only made you more afraid at what had happened. It was difficult to process, though. The sounds around you had dimmed to white noise, and you were left with only the voice in your head and the hum of Thrawn’s voice, indistinct, but identifiable.

“Darling, look at me,” he directed, his hand holding your cheek to turn your face. Your eyes were clenched shut, a strange instinct as you tried to numb the pain or at least block it out. “Please, open your eyes, look at me.”

His pleads echoing in your ears, you obliged him, if only for his reassurance. As you did, he called a lower officer, ordering him to bring a medic now. The Jedi were no longer a priority.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be alright.” His eyes never moved from yours, constantly monitoring how well you were keeping your consciousness. It was not very well.

“You’ll be alright, just stay awake, please…” HIs impatience was growing. The medic hadn’t yet arrived. “Just look at me. Stay awake. Please. Please.”

[prismatales]

Fragile

Word Count: 2K

Bingo slot: Crying in the rain.

Pairings: Kirishima Eijiro x Reader.

Tag/Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, Comfort, TW: Depression.

Summary: He’s always thought of you as somebody incredible, strong, and reliable. Until one fateful day, he finds out not everything is as it seems.

Here’s entry No.2 for @bnhabookclub ’s bingo event, and weekly prompt challenge “Please, don’t do this.”! Thank you @pixxiesdust and @wakaoujisenhime for helping me out with some parts of the plot! ❤

The day Kirishima met you, it was during the entrance exam; Watching you take down robot after robot with the aid of your super speed quirk. That look of pure determination as you kept dashing around the whole place, wrecking havoc upon the machines, was something memorable in his eyes. 

You could say, it was like love at first sight.

So when the first day of class finally comes, and he walks into the new classroom, finding the same girl that caught his eye during the exam, sitting at the other side of the room while getting to know their classmates, he was over the moon.

And he didn’t think twice about approaching her right away, befriending her instantly much to her initial confusion, and yet she accepted his friendship with open arms. After all, there’s no such thing as having too many friends!

You may be absent-minded sometimes, but that doesn’t change his opinion in the slightest. He’s always thought of you as somebody incredible, strong, and reliable. Until one fateful day, where he finds out not everything is as it seems.

“Hey, y/n!” He calls out to your limp self, laying face down on the couch with a facefull of cushion. “We’re having a study session with Bakugo, do you wanna join us?” 

Your head barely moves an inch to glance at the two guys standing at the other side of the common room. Kirishima’s smile is so bright, it could easily light up a whole room. Bakugou however, is terribly quiet. His eyes narrow suspiciously, like he knows something his friend doesn’t.

“Thanks guys, but I’m not feeling so good…” You smile weakly at them, lifting an arm to give them a thumbs up. “Good luck though! I heard this exam is going to be a hard one!” 

They both watch as you get up from the couch, and start heading towards the girl’s side of the dorms with slow strides. Something unusual from your regular hyper self.

“She’s hiding something…” Bakugou grunts, eyes still narrowed as he watches you walk away. Kirishima only raises an eyebrow at his friend’s attitude.

“I don’t know man,” He rubs the nape of his neck with disdain, “Maybe she’s just sick?” But the look his friend gives him says otherwise. “I’ll check up on her after we’re done studying.”

Both males head to Kaminari’s room,where they meet with the rest of their study group. During the whole time they spend studying, Kirishima’s thoughts can’t help wandering back to you, and he starts thinking that maybe Bakugou’s right, and there’s something bothering you.

“You’re thinking about her, aren’t you shitty hair?”

Everyone stops in their tracks to look at the red head sitting on the floor. The rest of his friends have a teasing glint in their eyes as soon as they heard the word “her”. 

“Ooooooh! Does somebody have a crush? Who is it, Who is it?!” As always, Mina’s the first one to ask, as the rest of the group keep staring intensely at Kirishima, more focused on the guy’s crush instead of their calculus homework, much to Bakugo’s annoyance.

The blush spreading across Kirishima’s face is so bright, that it almost makes his hair look dull in comparison. In a nervous fit, his quirk ends up activating on its own, and he unwittingly ends up breaking a pencil in half, much to his friend’s hysterics.

“It’s nothing like that! I’m just worried about y/n!” He drapes a hand over his mouth, realizing he just blurted out exactly what his friends wanted to hear. Judging by the spontaneous chorus of ‘Oooooooohhhh!’ that can be heard all across the room. 

His next words however, make everyone quiet down in an instant.

“You know how cheerful she is, right? Well, she was really quiet when we found her, and she said she wasn’t feeling so good, but...ugh! I don’t know!” He closes his eyes in frustration and runs a hand through his hair, completely messing his spikes out of frustration. 

“Most people would call that a crush, dude.” He looks back at Sero, who’s sitting in front of the small table right in front of him. “If it makes you feel any better, maybe you should talk to her.”

“Besides, you do have point.” Mina places a finger on her lips as she remembers something. “The other day the girls and I had a sleepover, but y/n also said she wasn’t feeling so good and locked herself in her room.” She turns back to the group of boys looking at her with eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “And she never turned down a sleepover before.”

“Did you forget what happened the other day during training practice?” This time it’s Kaminari who turns back to look at his frustrated friend. “She was so distracted she almost got hurt, and don’t forget how Aizawa scolded her for that. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so dejected before.”

“Maybe you should go talk to her, you two are really good friends, aren’t you?” 

For an instant, Kirishima doesn’t move from his place, thinking about his friend’s words. But after thinking it over, he stands up and with a determined look, he starts heading to the door. “Alright! I’ll go talk to her!” He looks back at his friends with a smile “Thanks guys!” 

Walking through the hall, the slight ‘taps’ on the window slowly increasing their pace eventually catches his attention, turning in the direction of the noise, Kirishima notices the sky has become darker, gray clouds letting out a downpour that quickly drenches everything outside.

And when he sees a certain someone standing outside, trembling, and getting soaked by the rain, with their back turned on the dorm’s building. Worry and panic begins to seep through his whole body. So he begins dashing towards the main entrance. he doesn’t even pay attention to the class president yelling at him to stop running in the halls, and finally, he pushes his way out of the dorm. 

Just to find you looking up at the sky, not caring in the slightest about being soaked to the bone by the cold, harsh and heavy downpour. Completely focused on the dark sky to even bother listening to the voice coming up from behind.

“What are you doing outside in this storm y/n?! You’re going to catch a cold if you stay here any longer!” 

He doesn’t even care about being soaked too. Approaching your unresponsive self, and placing a hand in your shoulder, slowly turning you to face him. But what he sees, makes Kirishima stop in his tracks and it sends a chill through his body, even stronger than the frigid droplets falling down from the sky.

That glimmer of joy, that used to fill those beautiful eyes he fell head over heels for, with life...it was all gone. Taken over by pure suffering, strong enough to feel like a punch to the gut from Kirishima’s point of view.

“H-hey, what’s wrong? Are you alright y/n?” This time he grabs you by the shoulders, holding your numb self in front of him with nothing but concern.

And when the only thing that appears on your face, is a heartbroken smile filled with anguish. His eyes become wide open in dread, and the panic becomes evident.

“It’s all pointless….isn’t it?” 

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing with my life...I just...I don’t trust my head anymore!”

You don’t struggle in the slightest when he pulls into into his strong arms, hugging your shaking body closer to his with a strong, but delicate grip. It feels so nice, being held closer to someone like this. It could almost melt all your worries away if they weren’t pulling you down with the strength of a thousand bodies. 

“Listen, I may not know what’s going through your head right now. But you’re an amazing person, one that deserves the world and more.” Kirishima can feel the weight of your face burying itself on top of his shoulder, nuzzling itself against him in search for warmth, at the same time the rest of your body begins trembling against his.

“Please, don’t do this.” The meek, broken whimper being muffled by his shirt is almost unrecognizable from the cheerful voice he loves so much. “Don’t give me false hopes. It’s not worth it.”

He can’t stand it, He really can’t stand just staying there, listening how much you hate yourself, while he does nothing. The grip on your body becomes tighter, and his hand brushes the back of your head in comfort.

“And you expect me to leave you hurting, all by yourself? That’s not a manly thing to do.” He pulls away softly, holding you at arm’s length to take a pained look at those heartbroken eyes and quivering lips. 

The rain makes a good job at hiding the flowing tears. He can only guess that’s the reason you’re standing outside this storm to begin with; To let everything out, without the risk of alarming anybody.

“Come on. Let’s get you inside, you’re going to get sick at this rate.” 

Carefully, Kirishima guides you by the shoulders, towards the dorm’s entrance. He notices there’s nobody else around anymore, so he takes advantage of it and guides you towards the bathrooms.

When the both of you go inside, he helps you sit down in a small bench before starting to look around for the spare towels. 

He sighs with contentment once he finds a pair of brand new, fluffy towels. Turning back he sees you sitting still in place. And at least, your eyes don’t look like those of somebody who lost all hope. Right now, they’re just full of exhaustion.

Delicately, he dries your face with the towel, before wrapping it around your teetering shoulders. The second towel, he uses it to start drying your head with gentle movements. 

“Look y/n, I know you’re hurting. But I want you to know, that you have people out there who genuinely care for you.” His hands keep tracing circles with the towel, trying to dry the your hair as much as he can. “If you ever need someone to make you feel safe, I’ll always be there for you.”

Satisfied with his work, he lets the towel rest on top of your head, brushing some loose strands of hair covering your cold face, tucking them to the side and away from your eyes.

“You tired?”

“...Mhm.”

“Alright then, let’s get you to bed, but first you gotta change out of those clothes, don’t want you to get sick, okay?” 

You only nod in response. In return, he pulls you up by the wrists and walks you all the way to your room, rubbing your shoulders reassuringly along the way. Though when he feels your head rest on his shoulder, he can’t fight back the blush spreading all over his face.

“Well, here we are!” His hand grabs on the doorknob to push the door open, allowing you to step inside. Kirishima can’t help looking at the room nervously while staying at the doorway. Considering he’s looking at his crush’s room, and they’re not even dating to begin with.

“I’d help you get changed, but I don’t think that would be manly of me. Haha.” His awkward chuckles pulls out a tiny smile from you, much to his surprise.  

“It’s okay. I’ll take over from here...and Kiri?” 

He looks back when you call him. And when you approach to give him a small peck on the cheek, the gesture leaves him frozen in place.

“Thank you.” 

That night he walks back to his room, touching his cheek with a lovestruck smile on his face. It’s only after he already changed out if his damp clothes and gets ready for sleep, that he realizes he completely forgot about his study session with his friends.

@bnha-ra @bnhabookclub @gallickingun @godtieruwu @hanniejji @mysticalite @samanthaa-leanne @savagetrickster @shoobirino @songsforbnha @sugacookiies @t-amajiki @unbreakableeiji @undead0relived @wesparklebitch

[catnaples]

HAIKYUU: SLYTHERIN EDITION

Ooh, I like this idea. I’ll be doing this in four different parts, so when I finish each I’ll link the houses! I started with Slytherin because that’s my house! I hope y’all enjoy!

Piggy-backing off of this post

SLYTHERIN // RAVENCLAW // GRYFFINDOR // HUFFLEPUFF

SET IN AN AU WHERE THE READER TRANSFERS TO HOGWARTS AND IS IN THEIR 5TH YEAR AND UP

♥ Sugawara would have his eyes on you the second you stride into the great hall with the other transfers. He knows that despite the sweet look on your face, it didn’t necessarily mean you would be sorted into Hufflepuff. People didn’t expect him to be sorted to Slytherin either. His eyes are only on you while you stand and wait your turn, and he can’t help but admire how silky your hair looks, how perfect your skin is. When it’s finally your turn to be sorted and the beaten up hat calls his house, he’s cheering louder than the others. He’s the first to welcome you too, being a prefect and all. Of course, he plans on spending the rest of the year getting to know you even better.

♥ Tsukishima hates the sorting ceremony. It’s such a bore to him, watching all of the fresh, childlike faces wandering into the great hall every single year. But this time, you caught his interest. Most of the transfers looked pretty boring, but you. You stood there with your chin raised high and a proud look on your face. He knows immediately that you’ll be sorted into his house. While he waits for your turn, he examines all of your little quirks, the little looks you shoot at your peers when they do something you don’t like. He has to admit, you seem quite interesting to him. When you’re finally sorted and you’re making your way over to the long table, a space right next to him conveniently opens right up, silently inviting you to join him. As Tsukishima watched you examine your new classmates with slight disdain, he knows that it’ll be an interesting year.

♥ Kenma never pays attention to the sorting ceremony. He expected this year to be no different, until he hears those around him excitedly whispering about new transfers. Expecting to see a crowd of foreign 11 year old's, he’s shocked to look up at the chair to see you sitting there in all of your glory, a bored look on your face. He finds himself staring at you the entire time as you get sorted, stiffly walk over to your new table, and sit down quietly. Next to him. He doesn’t mind it however, and for once finds himself distracted from his magical puzzle game as he pretends to not pay attention to you. Throughout the long dinner, however, he’ll warm up to you, and you to him. He’s thoroughly interested in getting to know you.

♥ Oikawa loves showing off to anyone who will give him the chance to. When he finds out that this sorting ceremony will consist of new transfers, he’s ecstatic. Spotting you at the very front, with your bright smile and friendly nature, he expects you to go straight to Hufflepuff. He still intends on flirting with you, expecting you to be shy and reserved, easily flustered. What he doesn’t expect is for you to immediately be sent to Slytherin, an irritated look on your face when he tries to shoot a corny pick-up line at you. Throughout the entire dinner he tries as hard as he can to impress you with his looks and his quidditch skills, and no matter what your eyes remain everywhere except for on him. He doesn’t mind a little bit of a fight though, it’s what makes it fun.

♥ Sakusa is like Kenma in the sense of really not caring about the sorting ceremony. Most of the time he simply hides in the common room alone during meal time so that he can put something delicious onto his plate with the flick of his wand. This time is different however, the headmaster requesting that he come to dinner to take part in welcoming the new transfers. He isn’t initially interested in you when you’re sorted and arrive at his table, however you’re scoffs and eye rolls at Oikawa are enough to catch his eye. Factor in the way that you shift uncomfortably away from the large group in an attempt to avoid the germs and loud voices, and he starts to realize there may be more in common than he initially thought. He may not approach you during the dinner, or even afterwards in the common room that first night. But you’ll start to notice his interest as the year goes on and he starts spending more time around you. You’re too interesting for him to ignore at this point.

♥ Semi would tease all of the transfers and first years that walk near the Slytherin table, unable to help himself. Of course, he doesn’t expect for you to bite back when he makes a particularly snide comment about your crooked tie. As soon as you make it known that you have a temper, he’s all about it. He likes that fiery attitude of yours, combined with the fact that you’re easily one of the prettiest at the table. As the dinner goes on he finds himself breaking down that aggressive wall as you both take turns roasting each other, eventually calling the headmasters attention to you when you send an especially nasty roast towards him about his hair. From there on, he’s practically glued to your side as you both wander the halls, causing trouble for those around you.

♥ Yahaba is like Oikawa at first. He see’s you up front waiting to be sorted and his mind goes straight to “Ooh, pretty lady, me want.” Of course when you get sorted into his house he thinks it’s too good to be true. He’s so excited to finally swoop in and woo you - that is until he realizes that you’re not having any of that. Every time he leans across the table to say something cheeky you’re glaring daggers and frowning, sending a smart comment straight back at him. It takes him a few days later to realize that the last thing you wanted was the cheesy pick-up lines and the distractions from your schoolwork. That’s when he finally lets his true self show, which is a laid back guy. He intends on getting closer to you, even if he has to wait all year.

♥ Kyotani is incredibly rowdy at the Slytherin table, often times resulting in a few points being taken from the house here and there. Whenever you get sorted to is table, he ignores you at first. You look sweet and quiet, you don’t roll with the crowd that he does. Until he says something pretty raunchy and you speak up, your voice loud and playful. Within seconds the table is getting more rowdy and you’re at the center of it all. He may not smile at you or try to bring you magic flowers like the other guys, but he’ll stick closer to you, maybe even directly next to you in class or at lunch. He won’t admit it, but he’s kinda....well....

[auroraawrites]

blood is thicker (sirius black x reader)

gif not mine! all credit goes to the owner

requested by anon: Hello! Can i request a sirius black x reader imagine where the reader has a lot of problems with her parents but doesnt want to bug sirius with her problems (since his parents are worse then hers) so she distances herself from him. And then sirius finds out and confronts her with fluff at the end. Thank you!

warnings: emotionally abusive parents, slight angst

author’s note: sirius black is definitely one character that i’m gonna love till the day i die. thank you to the anon who requested this! it made sense for this oneshot to be about a gryffindor reader so i hope you don’t mind!

(everything on my blog is my own writing. please do not plagiarize my work nor repost it anywhere else without my permission. all rights reserved)

---

stupid, insolent child, the letter had read when you were sorted into gryffindor house. disgrace to the family. unworthy of the pureblood status. 

that was six years ago. you’d done your best since then to hide your pain all these years. the snide remarks and cold atmosphere only had to be endured for the two months of the summer break you spent at home with your family. besides, compared to some of your other friends, notably your boyfriend sirius black, you had it easy. 

still, it was difficult to shoulder the pain by yourself. was it too much to ask to have a family that loved you? one that didn’t meet your eyes with disdain and anger? 

sighing, you stared hard at the carpeted floor of your living room, trying to ignore the pointed remarks that filled the air as your parents discussed the state of the wizarding world with your great aunt who had come to visit from romania. it’d been a nightmare from the moment she arrived at your family home. when you didn’t meet her eyes, you were a weak, disgrace of a child. when you did finally did raise your head, it was to stare into the angry eyes of an old woman and listen to her flurry of insults at you. nothing you did was enough. 

“and those blood traitors,” the word cut through the air like a knife, “just as bad as the mudbloods.” she had been repeating the same point for over an hour now, the remarks obviously made about you. 

willing down the angry retort that sprang to mind, you continued to stare at the patterned swirls of the dark coloured rug, wishing you were back in hogwarts. just two more weeks and then you’d be back in your real home. 

---

the two weeks came and went in utter misery. your great aunt had stayed for nearly its entire duration and you were surely glad as you stepped onto the hogwarts express to be rid of your family. 

echos of your relatives words followed you through the corridors of the train as you finally arrived at the compartment you usually shared with your friends. sirius’ unmistakable laughter trickled into the hallway as you stood outside, a hand hovering about the handle. you were being silly and overdramatic. if sirius could laugh after having spent an entire summer with his family, you had absolutely no right to make a fit out of the petty words of your aunt. 

taking a deep breath, you plastered the most cheerful smile you could muster before entering the compartment with a flourish. yells and cheers of welcomes met your ears as you took in the scene in front of you. sirius sat in front of james, who sat beside remus. peter, as always, was squished in the corner seat, staring at the rest of the group with admiration and longing. 

waving out a hello, you took your seat beside sirius, unable to meet his lips with your own in your usual manner of greeting. his kiss fell instead, against your cheek as you cast your gaze downwards. you could feel him frowning beside you and was glad when james grabbed his attention back with talks of the pranks they were going to pull this school year. 

the train ride passed with little attempts at joining the conversations from your end. memories of the summer replayed over and over again in your mind. you wished you could just be normal again. 

that night, you barely touched the food on your plate, and instead pushed the mashed potatoes and beans aimlessly around your plate. unknowing to you, sirius had noticed your odd behaviour and as you stood to leave, he followed behind, cornering you in a dark hallway. 

“y/n,” he called from behind you. jogging a little to catch up with you, he fell into step beside you. “is something wrong?” 

should you tell him? it was so silly that you were feeling hurt when he had it much worse. so, you shook your head and shot him a feeble smile, “just tired.”

you were about to push past him towards the common room when he caught your arm and pulled you back, “don’t lie. you’ve been out of it since you boarded the train. did something happen with your family? you can tell me.”

the word family triggered the fresh onslaught of memories in your mind. echos of the insults that you had endured through the summer suddenly rose to mind. you shook your head, “it’s nothing really. i’m overreacting.” you couldn’t look him in the eye. 

“whatever it is you can tell me,” he said, gently. his thumb was now drawing soothing circles against the skin of your hand. 

taking in his ernest expression, you gave a slight nod and started hesitantly in retelling what had happened over the summer. it was like the dam had broken inside of you and the words tumbled out of you in a heap. and though he didn’t make a sound, you could feel him getting angrier as he tensed beside you, his tender expression deepening into a scowl. when you had finished explaining, your cheeks were damp with tears. 

without a word, he pulled you into a tight hug, his arms wrapped tightly around your body. “it’s really just me being a bit dramatic,” you tried to say, your words muffled against the fabric of his robes. 

pulling back, he held you at arms distance, “y/n, you listen to me. it’s not a crime to ask to be asked to be accepted for who you are. for what it’s worth, you’re one of the strongest people i know to be able to take something like that and still come out standing.” 

a hiccuped laugh escaped your mouth as you returned to your position in his arms. blood might be thicker than water but your real family were those who accepted you as you are. 

[theholycovenantrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, MAL! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF DAMIEN WARD.

Admin Cas: At long last, our Antichrist is among us! Mal, your application left me totally enamoured by the vicious, wicked, and beautiful creature you placed before us. As you pointed out, Damien is a being of halves — half human, half divine, half animal — and yet, nothing in his life has even been done in halves. You breathed such life into him, made him so much more than his epithet or his Vice. The way you used the Prophecy that still lingers, even as it’s been fulfilled, and injected that into your future plots was just so exciting! And, I have to admit, when you mentioned the way that he tugs at his gloves as a threat, as a flex of his power — well, that just felt so DAMIEN. I can’t wait to see what you’ll do with him, and I’m beyond excited to see what ruin he wreaks on the dash! Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Mal

Age | 25

Personal Pronouns | They/them

Activity Level | I’m a full time student and have other general life obligations, but I’m generally fairly free on the evenings and weekends. In numbers I’d estimate my activity at probably a 6/10. 

Timezone | EST

Triggers | REMOVED

How did you find the group?  | I came across one of your beautiful promos in the lsrpg tag, if I recall correctly.

Current/Past RP Accounts | Jove

IN CHARACTER

Character | Damien Ward 

What drew you to this character? | I had Damien’s bio lingering in the back of my head since I first read it, and then Admin Rosey kindly suggested he and I might be a good fit for one another, and I sunk my teeth in. The image of eight year-old Damien standing over a body with wolves licking blood from his hands stuck in me like a fishhook. He’s half-mortal, half-divine, half-wild creature. I am reminded of classical Greek heroes, defined by transgression, made great and made beautiful by the same things that make him monstrous. 

He’s in a position with so much glimmering potential on the horizon. He’s fulfilled his purpose, in a sense, and yet the world remains rebuilt beneath him. Is it enough for it to lift him up as it has? He was not built for times of peace, and here he is living in one. This can only go on so long, and how could I not adore a character surrounded in so much tantalizing possibility?

Also, I am such a sucker for the fascinating family dynamics that surround him. His own mother, who willingly took Lucifer himself into her arms, could not bear the sight of what they’d made together. Damien was made for wild, inky shadows, to be at home among bloody-mouthed beasts. And yet, when hell opened it’s maw to swallow him whole, he found family. An Antichrist who is loved, who might wrestle with his sister like a wolf-pip and turn his face upwards to face the judgement of a mother, and care what she sees. The thought must have been so utterly foreign to Damien as a child, whose mother could not stir a single response from him, for whom he could never find reason to twist his mouth into a smile. And yet he offers Azazel everything she asks for, he listens attentively to his father and learns to craft words of bright silver. It is a remarkable thing, that one could look into Damien’s wild, inky darkness and learn to love him. Perhaps the only thing stranger is that he has learned to love back. 

Also, he’s evil and sexy and I love him.

What future plots do you have in mind for the character? | 

THE FORTUNATE SON | The family dynamics surrounding Damien are stunning, fire-forged and battle-tested, yet razor thin cracks grow along their obsidian surface. They are bound so tightly together, love each other with terrifying ferocity, yet even the closest of bonds can snap when struck from the right angle. They are all caught up in tantalizing possibility, but the crack most likely to become a fissure runs in a sharp, direct line straight from Damien’s ambition to Judas’. 

Damine knows what his pseudo father is: The Great Betrayer. Damien is not blind to the fact that he is a dangerous man to share power with, even an invisible crown. But he took Damien in when he was a hollow and wild thing. The first creature whose eyes Damien found recognition in was a wolf. Judas was the second. Damien has killed with them both. Sons rising up against their fathers is one of the oldest stories in the world. Damien has already lived it, once. In dark, seething moments, he wonders if he may have to live it again. Is Judas, like the wolf, not a creature of his nature? Is placing his trust in his hands not akin to placing his head in the mouth of the beast? And yet... neither has failed him thus far. 

(And yet, he thinks with a secret tenderness he knows may curse him, he loves them both.)

I can see either Damien or Judas turning against the other should the right leverage be applied to their deep yet delicate bond. A war between them would be a terror wrought upon the world and upon themselves. Conflict between them would be devastating and delectable, both to the characters and the world around them.  It might seem nearly inevitable, two ambitions like theirs poised so keenly for conflict, and yet I just as easily see them united should they find another common enemy. Damien’s sights may turn towards Judas should he find himself unable to resist the ache in his jaw to destroy, yet should he be given something else tantalizing to gnash his teeth against, Damien may always find himself choosing the latter. 

SEVEN DEVILS | Outside of his found family, the Vices, each carefully hand-picked for their own strains of terror, are Damien’s closest allies upon this earth. Though even then, loyalty, let alone trust, among demons is a dangerously fickle thing. Even the best of the creatures of hell are a ravenous, power-hungry lot, and Damien is not nearly foolish enough to think none of them might hunger for the power he wields as their self-appointed leader. Raum is the only among them he can truly trust, she who he plucked from obscurity and gave grand purpose, she who is the closest being to him not called family. Yet he chose each of his Vices for a reason, and each of them has unique value to him. I see him trying to craft an individual loyalty with each of them, tethering them all one-by-one to his ambitions.

This is not to say I can’t see him failing in this lofty task, no matter what he might think of his silver-tongue and the bone-chilling power of his mere presence. Damien is perfectly capable of overestimating the power of his own thrall, or of being too caught up in the affairs of his family to hear the whispers passed between them, or countless other faults that may make him vulnerable to those in his inner circle. I would love to explore what may happen should one or more of the vices turn against him, their united front fracturing. Damien believes that he is the one who raised them high, who granted them their lofty titles, and that he has every right to cast them away should they fail him, and I can all too easily see such a move back-firing spectacularly. 

The seven of them create a complex web of loyalties, and as much as Damien prefers to think himself the clever spider at its centre, he is just as capable of being caught up in it as any of the others. 

LIVING IN THE AFTERMATH | Perhaps more of an internal development than an interpersonal one, but I’m deeply interested in exploring how the events since Lucifer was vanquished continue to affect Damien. He never found a father in the Morningstar. The word family will forever evoke Judas, Abbadon, and Azazel before the woman who birthed him and the man who sired him, but the Devil’s blood still runs in his veins. So much of what he is, as acerbic a thought as it may be, is owed to the circumstances of his birth. 

Seizing hell and sending Lucifer careening upward, outcast from the realm he once ruled, was the first step to ridding the Antichrist of his father’s shadow, but it would prove to be far from the last. Three hundred years longer, Damien had to wait with a pernicious, buzzing anxiety, for the last of the Morningstar’s light to finally fade from his eyes, and that too would not bring the end of his influence. Though he did not stand in the way of the search for the bodies of God and his Morningstar, speaking of the affair left his tongue dry and bitter in his mouth. Their time had come and gone. All that was left of them was dust. And besides, if mortal and demonkind so desperately sought what was left of the Morningstar, all they had to do was turn their eyes to his progeny. Lucifer’s blood thrums through his veins, yet they seek his crumbled remains instead? It defies Damien’s understanding. 

The Heretics and their precious Sanctus Terra (a name that to this day he can’t help but feel a petty disdain for) only exacerbated his frustration. Going to war with them was delightful, yes, crushing their ranks between his teeth brought a dark kind of satisfaction he hadn’t felt since he’d seized the Morningstar and ripped him from his throne. Damien could have waged war for centuries, never tiring of the taste of mortal blood, of flexing his power against their generals. But too many others were not so inclined - and it was with disdain (and a fair bit of pressure from those around him) that he agreed to set the war aside to establish the Holy Land. His beloved Azazel being made Moon - though were it up to him, he’d have given her the whole piece of land to her to do with what she pleased - at least served as something of a consolation prize. Even on this so-called neutral ground, the power of his family has made itself known and respected. 

Still, his resentment for the place has not entirely faded, and while he’s willing to at least tolerate most of what it has to offer, some of its residents make that ire come bubbling up to the surface. Namely, Estienne, who in all their lofty arrogance and sly demeanour has come to be emblematic of everything Damien hates about the place. Estienne is but a pale imitation, thinking a touch of plague-given divinity makes them his equal, who seems to seek a dynasty with his own sister not unlike the one Damien has with his. It’s petty, Damien’s disdain, yet powerful. I see Estienne managing to push all of Damien’s buttons, and as much as Damien would like to forget about them entirely, they remain a thorn in his side, with more influence over him than he would ever care to admit. 

CUT FROM THE CLOTH OF FATE | Damien was born swathed in prophecy. Destiny’s shadow has hung over him and lingered behind him for the entirety of his existence. The Antichrist, born to eat the world. And he’s done it, hasn’t he? He has torn the Morningstar from his throne and bit out his throat, he has brought Hell itself to the surface of the earth. Civilizations have fallen to his wrath, cities crumbled under his touch, the world as it was once known torn to pieces and turned to dust. Yet what is destruction wrought when revival follows it like a shadow? 

I see Damien at something of a crossroads. In one sense, his prophecy is fulfilled; he took the world between his teeth and crushed an age to it’s bitter end. Half the world is his in all but name (though Judas’ shadow lurks around every corner, he too crafting himself an invisible throne), but contentedness can not and will not come easily to Damien. Something stirs within him, something yet to be named, perhaps even recognized, but its roots have already taken root in the core of him. Restlessness stirs in his hounds, power festering from underuse, and a quiet, dull ache grows in the set of his jaw. He was made to destroy, not to rule, but he cannot deny that there is something delectable about the word ‘king’.

I see him in quiet, solitary moments turning the prophecy over in his mind. What is one meant to do, once he’s swallowed the world? There are moments he regrets letting it regrow so quickly, giving him so little time to bask in the ruination of his making, and there are moments when he wonders if his prophecy remains unfulfilled, still dark and beckoning. Every moment spent with Nerissa pulls it from him, makes his hands itch to rip off his gloves and feel ruin blossom under his touch once more, this time with no rebirth to follow. There are times still, when he thinks he ought to tear apart the prophecy itself with his teeth, render it as meaningless and obsolete as the ashes of the Old Testament. His father was a king. Perhaps it is time to claim a different kind of birthright. 

I can see Damien turning his sights on The Holy Land and Caelum (and maybe - if those lands have somehow fallen to his wrath - Infernum itself) hungry for destruction at whatever cost it may come.  Just as easily, I can see him looking to his invisible throne and the crown of shadows growing on his brow, and decide that it is time to make them something more tangible. I’m not sure Damien himself knows exactly what he wants, but I know it would be utterly delightful to see which direction the story and the other characters may push him in, and find out. 

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes. But if Damien is going down, he is going down in one hell of a blaze of glory. 

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation | The dark, beautiful thing about Damien is that if he were asked this question, I’m not sure he could give you a solid answer. Oh of course he wouldn’t say as much, his lips would twist up in something not quite a smile, and from his tongue he’d create something lovely and argent, perhaps ask what the earthquake’s driving motivation is to turn a city to dust, or what drives a pack of wolves to tear the stag limb from limb. It would be long after his shadow had ceased to fall upon you, after your bones had warmed from his chill, that you would realize he answered only with questions. That is, if he answered at all, and did not instead slit your throat for the presumption. 

Damien is, above all else, inevitable. The trajectory of his life has forever been defined by what he is more than who. The line between them blurs beyond recognition. Damien is a force of nature, a wild animal, and a fatherless son all in the same breath. He is a creature of ferocious instinct, who knew that he thirsted for the sweet, metallic taste of blood long before he knew why.

All this is to say, Damien’s motivation is a fractured thing. One might call the thing driving his heart to beat and his hands to rend destiny or instinct or hunger, but in a word, I would call it ambition. Damien was born with grand purpose, with a dark, insatiable thirst. He was going to kill the world. Now he’s done just that, in a sense, chewed up the old world and spit it back out, only to watch his pseudo-father carefully tend to the remains. Something new has blossomed from Damien’s destruction and perhaps, were he anyone else, that would be enough. 

Which path to carve forward remains unknown, even to Damien himself, but one thing remains certain: this is not where his story ends. He did not overthrow the Morningstar to live an idle eternity, to bask in even the chaotic peace of Infernum. He balances on the line between ‘prince’ and ‘king’ and yet is permitted to openly call himself neither. He looks to the north and sees wide swathes of earth that do not yet know his destructive trust. All the while, something inside him grows, inky shadows spreading where he stands. So many highs he has yet to reach, so many ways to wield his power against the world. 

What does Damien want? The answer swirls like a storm building inside him, shapeless and impatient. If he really must name it, I believe he would choose a singular, all-encompassing word: MORE. 

Character Traits |

Vicious: Full of vice. Is there a word that more completely sums up all that the Antichrist is? The word may conjure the traditional vices, but it is also a word for the wild, fierce cruelty Damien is capable of embodying so completely. He is vicious in that he is wicked, but also in that if he proclaimed he was raised by wolves one might believe him. Damien is a sharp, dangerous thing, and he bears each vice with pride, but none more than his self-appointed title: wrath. 

Volatile: In certain environments, such as his childhood, one could be easily be mistaken in thinking the Antichrist scarce feels anything at all, cold and distant as he might be. The truth is something else entirely. It might not show on his face until the ice inside him has whirled into a blizzard, but without his gloves Damien’s power would act on its own accord. Damien feels deeply, quickly, and to those who know him well enough can seem almost childish in the changes of his mood. Especially now, when the path before him is so unclear, and Damien finds himself all but itching for his next direction. 

Aloof: Cold is the first word that many think of when they encounter Damien. He walks into a room like the winter chill blowing in. And how fitting it is, that the distant, aloof child of the Morningstar could make even the fires of hell seem cold. Damien is a singular creature; he prefers to stand apart from most (with few exceptions made, for family and to an extent, the Vices). And how could he not, the only half-demon known to walk the Earth? 

Eloquent: Damien came of age under the wing of Judas, the silver-tongued betrayer. He has learned to weave words from the best teacher one could desire. Yet, the Antichrist himself is not a creature of lies by his nature. He may employ them should they be needed, but Damien prefers those who look upon him to know exactly who he is. He barely spoke a word the first eight years of his life, silent as a shadow. Now, every word is chosen carefully, the beauty of his words a sharp contrast between the dread he invokes. 

Passionate: How irritating he finds it, that language so often describes passion as a fire. Damien is a creature of ice and shadow. Passion, for Damien, is a blizzard, whiting-out everything in its path, a glacier, slow-moving and unstoppable, or the nocturnal beasts coming out of hiding at the fall of night, inevitable as it is fearsome. When Damien cares, he cares deeply, and with terrifying ferocity. 

Dauntless: What does the Antichrist know of fear? Damien has never met an obstacle he did not hesitate to rise to meet, not even the Devil himself. As a child he looked down into the fiery mouth of hell and he found himself a home in its fires. Damien is bold, welcoming a challenge, particularly in battle, and does not do well with idleness. 

In-Character Para Sample | 

There’s something wonderfully fascinating about watching the effects of his presence before the affected even knows Damien lingers close by. Even creatures of hell can react like prey animals under the unseen gaze of a wolf, a mysterious chill creeping up their spines, hairs standing on end as they twist their necks in search of the source of their unease. The corner of Damien’s mouth ticks upward at the sight. It’s a rare thing in these languid days of peace, that he gets a chance to flex this particular muscle, lingering in the shadows of Infernum’s ever-ostentatious decor in a dark corner of a busy room. It will not last, the effect of Damien’s presence can only go unnoticed for so long. Sooner or later, the cold will seep deeply enough into someone’s skin to dismiss as a figment of imagination, and he will be given away. He’s only managed to escape notice so far because slipped in from a side-door, treading quickly and silently, and took a vantage point half-covered by a heavy velvet curtain, and, far more significantly, because the room’s attention is fixed on none other than Judas himself.

It’s a rare gift that Damien’s pseudo-father possesses, that silver-tongued charm that makes one believe that no matter what you may have heard about ‘The Great Betrayer,’ this time, you can trust him. Damien understands the mechanics of it, taught from Judas himself, exactly how to weave your phrases, the rise and fall that leaves a room full of creatures as wild as demons hanging on every word. Still, he has so few moments where he gets to watch Judas in his element while unobserved himself, watching with a hint of fondness as he sways opinions word by word. Typically, he would delegate one of the Vices, or perhaps someone below them, depending on the importance of matters, to keep an eye on his parental figure in his stead. Like Judas before him, Damien calls attention to himself by simply walking into a room. The dynasty that Judas, Abbadon, Azazel, and himself have carved out for themselves may not call themselves royalty, but the subjects of Infernum address them as if they wore crowns and carried sceptres all the same. Their power - much like what Judas displays now - is nameless, but it is palpable. 

As much as he enjoys the light thrill of watching from the shadows as Judas works his political machinations, he did not come here just to watch. No, Damien has matters to discuss with his father of sorts, but the opportunity to glimpse him working his schemes unnoticed is not something he was about to turn down, even if the moment might be brief. Unfortunately, there’s nothing especially interesting about the conversation, mere political minutiae Damien rarely has the patience for. Judas reaches a pause and Damien watches a nearby demon shift uncomfortably on her feet, and Damien’s time to linger has come to an end.

“Judas,” he says, stepping out of his shadow-y corner. He cannot pretend it doesn’t bring him some satisfaction, the way the energy of the room so instantly changes. Eyes flit between Judas and himself, unsure where this goes next. There are precious few, who could get away with such an interruption, Damien one of them. He could wait, but why would he? He, too, wears an invisible crown. He, too, demands the attention of all that look upon. Sometimes, he thinks Judas ought to remember that fact. “My apologies for the interruption,” he says coolly. His expression betrays nothing, Judas likely the only person in the room who realizes that Damien has nothing especially urgent to say. Still, the room has come to a standstill, everyone else willing to wait on their two kings. Damien stands still as a sculpture, and watches with silent satisfaction the entire room stills with him, letting the long moment pass. 

“A moment of your time?” 

Extras | 

Headcanons | 

Though he adores the infernal terror of Azazel’s hellhounds, Damien has his own hunting dogs - a pack of wild wolves that came to him almost unbidden. He dotes on them, a reminder of the first wild creatures whose eyes he ever saw himself reflected in, but they are from domesticated. Though they may seem docile under Damien’s touch - lounging at the foot of his imaginary throne - but they are wild, vicious things, far quicker to show their anger than their master. The first sign of Damien’s displeasure is often not a hint in his body language, or even a look in his eye, but the low growl of the wolves at his side.

Serpents and birds of prey flock to Damien as hell, seeming to crawl out of the woodwork when he’s around. He’s open to their presence, but doesn’t dote on him the way he does his wolves. Still, it isn’t unheard of to see Damien with a hawk perched on his shoulder, or with some venomous snake casually curling itself around his ankle. 

Usually, Damien doesn’t mind his lack of wings. It sets him apart from his demonic kin, a reminder to everyone around him that even in the realm of Infernum, he is something else, otherworldly no matter where he might make his abode. That only changes when - for whatever reason - he is in need of fast transport, and must rely on some other demon’s wings. He will not, under any circumstance, admit this out loud, and does what he must with all the animalistic grace that eternally characterizes his movement, but it is - to be frank - rather embarrassing. 

Sometimes, as a threat, Damien will tug on the fingers of his gloves. 

Pinterest

[sennextheassasinkingoflight]

Redemption, My Love

Chapter 8 update Cross posted to AO3 Rated Explicit Important tags: In depth tags warning can be found on AO3)  Lancewain, Slowburn, Found Family, Eventual smut, Warnings for abuse (emotional, physical, mental) of a child, Rape/ Non Con, Self harm, and the rest of the tags that come almost implicitly with an Lancelot/Weeping Monk centered fic.  Side note: Everything happening with NImue and Merlin and the Fey takes place at the same time as the events from chapters 1-6. 

++++Arthur++++

Arthur is locked in discussion with the Red Spear. It is vital they become allies, he knows this, without her and her warriors the Fey would have been wiped out today. There would be none of them left in this group. He would have failed to protect them as Nimue requested.  He must convince them that the Fey are worthy warriors, capable of returning the support of the raiders. For now the most important aspect of discussion is the vulnerability of the beach. If a storm blows in or the tides change, they could be trapped here. Tonight, remaining on the beach is their only option with so many wounded, but tomorrow they must find a more formidable location. Perhaps they can go back to the woods. “We should send scouts at dawn. Then we may burn the dead. When the scouts have returned we will move our injured.” “Aye.” The Red Spear agrees, then continues, “ Supplies will be short with so many mouths to feed. What would you recommend for it?”

“We should ration, immediately. Send out hunters into the woods to bring back whatever they can to offset the difference. And send those who can pass for humans into the nearest town with funds to buy what we can.”  He stands firm beneath the intensity of her gaze. He could swear it's as if she is looking through him, or perhaps she is looking into him. Setting his jaw he forces himself to meet her gaze and finds himself captivated by the angles of her face and the odd jewelry she wears. Shouting pulls him from his distraction and he turns to face a young boy running towards him. “Arthur! It's Nimue, she’s returned with Merlin and Morganna. Hurry, she's been injured!” He follows the boy across red sand, feet pushing against a malleable surface, slowing him as he attempts to reach his lover as quickly as possible. When he turns to call an apology to the Red Spear he finds that she is keeping pace with them. The boy slows to a halt and pants just ahead of him. Pushing through the crowd he comes to a stop, nostrils flaring as he inhales and chest rising and falling quickly.  He watches as Yeva sends Pym to gather something for her and ushers two boys carrying Nimues limp form into a tent. The Moonwing casts a glance and Merlin and despite her obvious disdain for the man, nods, then shakes her head and enters the tent. Pym passes by him and he reaches out grabbing her arm in a vice-like hold. She meets his eyes and he loosens his hold minutely. “Will she be alright?” “We don’t know yet. I have to go and help.” She pushes his hand away and  moves quickly towards the tent. Not quite a run but far from a walk. Her red hair flies freely in the breeze where it has fallen out of its braid, and for a moment he is taken back to the first moment he met these two girls, singing in Hawksbridge. That day feels so long ago. “The girl they carried into the tent. She is Queen of The Fey?” “Yes.” “And is she more than that to you.” He nods, throat to dry from lack of water to speak, and constricted with fear to function. Frantic voices draw his attention and he glances towards Merlin who is speaking urgently with his sister. His feet drag in the sand as he makes his way to their side. “Morgana what happened? Why are you dressed like that?” “It’s a long story Arthur. Nimue was shot twice by Iris. There wasn’t… we couldn’t do anything. She fell off the edge of the walk and into the waterfall. Arthur, we barely found her. She’s freezing cold, cold as death.” “Yeva, is skilled. She will heal Nimue. I am certain.” Merlin suggests, voice shaken but firm in its conviction. “What about you? You're thousands of years old. You're her father. Why don’t you do something?”  Morgana snaps back at him furiously, face drawn tight, and arms wrapped tightly around herself. “ I have not practiced my magic in almost two decades. I'm not sure I can help her. Even if I was certain I wouldn't do more harm than good, Yeva will not let me work beside her. When she is done I will do my absolute best to repair any remaining damage. For now, we must be patient.” The wizard says, inclining his head and leaning heavily on the sword pushed into the sand. His staff gone missing in the fray. Arthur bares his teeth, ready to say something else, to argue, start a fight, but it leaves him just as fast when a hand rests gently on his bicep. His sister looks up at him and he pulls her into an embrace. “Are you hurt?” “No. No I am not. But I have done something I fear cannot be undone.” She trembles in his arms and he can do nothing more than pull her closer, he never could shield her from the world, and now less than ever. He wants to help, but without knowing what has happened he cannot. 

“Morgana? Morgana, what is it?” “Later my brother. Later. For now let us worry about Nimue.”  He mutely agrees and looks between the two as he formulates what needs to be done next. The next thing is the only thing he can think of at this moment or he will go mad. There is so much to consider, so much still to do. Instead he begins to lead them towards the center of the camp. They linger a moment looking at the healers tent before he speaks. 

“You two must be hungry. Let us get you something in your stomachs and dry clothing.”

 None of them will sleep tonight. Not well at least, even with dry clothes and full bellies. So, as they sit around the fire in silence, waiting for whatever news the morning may bring, Morgana and Merlin take their turns explaining what occurred at Uther’s camp. Morgana tells him about Nimue’s plan for her to flee with the sword and how she decided to come back. He listens as she tells him and Merlin about how she had met the widow, and that she had killed her. As he listens to his sister speak, the belief that she is hiding something from him rears its ever present  head and settles low in his gut. Their relationship is tenuous at best and he knows it, so he does not press for clarification or more answers. Just listens silently, idly drumming his fingers against his leg and casting furtive glances at the tent whose walls hide Nimue from them. Neither Pym nor Yeva nor the others have come to tell them anything. Eventually Morgana stops speaking and Merlin begins to explain what Uther has done. “Guinevier, The Red Spear, should hear this as well. She and her troops have agreed to help us, if we in return help them against Cumber’s men. It seems we have a common enemy in him, and now Uther as well.” “And the Paladins?” Morgana inquires looking between them and towards the direction of the raiders. “The raiders have been sacking their camps as repayment for raiding the cities before they get a chance. It is to our benefit.” He offers a small smile to his sister. “Nimue left you in charge, did she?” Merlin adds, looking into the fire. “Yes. She did, is there a problem with that?”  He raises his eyebrow in question and stares at the exhausted looking man. “No. I just find it curious is all.” He aches to slap the smirk off his wine drinking grin. Instead he sends someone to fetch the Red Spear. As they wait the sounds of the camp fill their ears. It is the sound of a war camp. The moans of the injured surround them on all sides in the dark of the night. The chill of the sea breeze billows the tent walls around them and carries the sound of death up the cliffs and over the fields. Whetstone on steel is a comfort against the cries of the heartbroken and injured. Morgana shifts to his right and he turns. “You wish to go help them?” “I would be more useful trying to save a life than sitting here worrying.” She agrees as she stands and disappears into the shadows. Merlin shakes his head and drinks deeply from the goblet in his hand.

When the raider joins them the three discuss the political game they have found themselves in. The Fey have their backs against a wall. If the Paladins, Uther, and now Cumber have sided with each other against them their only real hope is to side with the Red Spear and her raiders. Even then, there is little guarantee that any of them will survive.  

++++Pym++++

Even inside the tent it is cold. She shivers against the breeze and watches as Yeva sets up to begin working. She swallows away the tightness in her throat and approaches cautiously. “I want to help.” “Get her hair dry and get her out of these clothes. The last thing she needs is to catch cold.” The Moonwing bites out as she turns half way around to size Pym up. Half blind eyes meet hers and she wonders how this woman can still see to be a healer. Jumping at Yevas sudden proximity over the table she starts to unlace Nimues bodice with trembling fingers. It takes far too long to undress her friend and get her covered by blankets. Yeva works around her with little difficulty. She is grateful for that small mercy. If she were in the way she isn’t certain she could live with that. For now she stands at the head of the table they’ve laid Nimue on and towels long chestnut locks. 

She doesn’t take her eyes off Yeva as she works. It is inspiring to see old hands, twisted with time and tipped with talons work so delicately with the skin beneath their touch. The shoulder is the most logical place to begin as the arrow has already come loose but Yeva ignores it, looking instead at the bruising forming on Nimue’s head, and sides. She runs her hands over the young Fey’s arms and legs, feeling for broken bones, then down her ribs. “Feel this.” She speaks, low and raspy and Pym jumps again, not having expected for such a request to come from the matron. She extends her shaky hand and Yeva takes it, presses it against Nimue’s ribs and slides it up and down letting her feel just how real the damage is. “She must have hit a lot of rocks when she fell.” The whisper falls from her lips unbidden. It’s stupid. Surely, Yeva has already thought the same thing, but instead of telling her off the woman looks at her and asks, “Why do you think I haven’t started with the arrow wounds?”  With hesitation, Pym considers the options carefully. She isn’t really certain, but there is not a lot of blood which means she should be concerned about infection. “They aren't bleeding? So, it gives you time to look for other injuries?” Yeva meets her eyes and gives a nod. “Now what should we do first?” “Why are you asking me? You're the healer.”  Frustration fills her voice and she tries her best to keep it out but can’t. Her friend is dying and Yeva is standing there asking her questions instead of healing her. “You wanted to help. I am teaching you.”  The old woman answers calmly, turning her back to the girls and reaching for several supplies. Indignant, Pym comes to stand by her, crossing her arms and jutting her chin out. “Well then teach me something!” The glare Yeva sends her way makes her spine tingle, slowly she steps back and lets her arms fall to her sides. “Sorry.” She looks to the ground. “Do not apologize to me. Do better.” The woman says thrusting a bowl half filled with water at her. “Clean the wound on her shoulder.” “Shouldn’t I add something to the water?” “I already have. Now go on.” She doesn't waste another moment to do as instructed and sets about cleaning the wound as best she can. It isn’t very deep into the tissue of the shoulder but she can see the edge of the bone when the debris has been cleared away. “Yeva, I can see the bone of her shoulder. And the skin is hot to the touch.”  The Moonwing healer looks up from her concentration on the arrow lodged in Nimue’s stomach and lets out a long sigh. “Prepare a poultice of yarrow, beeswax and pepper for now. Apply it thickly and wrap it.” Moving away from the table, she finds the ingredients she needs on the table, the flickering light of the candles dancing ominously at the periphery of her vision. Focusing on her task she wills away the tears seeking to fall from the corners of her eyes away and mixes the ingredients. When she turns back around to apply the salve to the wound she finds Yeva cleaning the one on Nimues abdomen. This one does bleed. A lot. She knows from her time on the raider ship that the arrow was keeping the wound sealed. Applying the mixture to Nimues shoulder she watches the matron wipe blood from the entry site and flush the wound out with a mixture of herbs and water. When done she packs the wound with yarrow leaf and applies the rest of the poultice to the outside of the wound and wraps it tight. 

“We cannot stitch these, they are puncture wounds and there is infection in them. We must leave them open to drain. We will check them twice a day. Keep them clean and dressed until she is well. Until then we must keep her warm, and when she wakes keep her from pain as much as possible. Her lungs will ache, as will her leg.” “Her leg?”  The look Yeva gives her could curdle milk, still she does not look away. “What is wrong with her leg?” “It is broken.” “What can we do?” “Thankfully the bone does not need to be set. We must keep it still, until it has mended itself. Go and get the supplies for a splint. You know what's needed?” “Yes.” When it is done, the bone splinted, the wounds wrapped, Pym sits beside Nimue. She holds her cold hand in the darkness of the tent and weeps, keeping vigil until she falls unconscious with the first rays of morning light rising over the sea. ++++Percival++++ “What do we do?” He casts his eyes forward to The Green Knight, then turns to look up at The Weeping Monk. He can feel his blood run cold at the thought of being captured. He remembers the smell of hot iron and burning flesh, old blood and vomit that lingered in the tent he found Gawain tortured in, the one Lancelot rescued him from, and his heart hammers in his chest at it. He remembers the sight of blood, old and dried and cracking, splattered on every surface. The way Gawain looked, bloodied and half dead, slumped against the ropes in the chair. He blinks. Head spinning, he tries to settle his stomach. Someone is speaking but it's like they are miles and miles away and he can barely hear them screaming over the rapid pulse of blood in his ears. He feels like he’s drowning. He closes his eyes against the onslaught of noise and it makes it so much worse. He feels like he’s falling over. “Percival! Percival.” 

There is commotion around him and his right shoulder hurts as if someone has wrenched it behind his back but he can’t bring himself to open his eyes just yet. 

“Squirrel? Are you alright? Squirrel.”

He blinks and looks up at The Green Knight and The Weeping Monk, hand on his side and face screwed up in pain, both standing over him. He swallows and tries to take a deep breath as he attempts to sit up. “Careful,” Gawain says, voice steady and calm, though Percival can see the worry creased between his eyes. The Weeping Monk, looms over them both like an ominous statue, watching, he turns, takes a deep breath and winces. “They’re getting closer.” He says turning to look back at them. “Sorry,” Percival starts, looking between them as he runs his sleeve over the sweat on his brow, “What happened?” The shouting in the background grows louder. “We will talk about it later. We need to go. Come on, up you go.” Gawain pulls him along and he climbs up on the mare. He watches him turn to Lancelot. “You said five or six?” “Yes. But it's not exact. It’s never been exact.” “If we need to engage can you fight?” “Yes.” “Alright. We will try to slip away unnoticed. If that fails…” The Weeping Monk nods at him solemn and dark beneath his hood and they both return to the saddle. 

  “Are you going to give him the sword?” He whispers as he leans back against Gawain. He raises an arm up to block a low hanging branch, and The Green Knight does the same. “If I have to.” The response is breathed against his ear as they lean low. “Left!” Lancelot calls from behind, Gawain glances over his shoulder and Lancelot has already cut to the inside, putting himself in the lead. They follow another trail into a valley.  Gawain hot on his heels. When they reach the center, Lancelot breaks off and pulls his horse in a circle. It almost seems like he is looking for something. “Why is he circling like that?” “I don’t know yet.”  

The Weeping Monk comes to a halt facing them, both horses stepping side to side in excitement. 

“The woods are teeming with Paladins. The only way I don’t smell them is directly behind us, and that direction is about to be cut off.”  Percival swallows and tries to keep himself calm. The Green Knight tightens his hold on him for a moment before releasing him. “Then you recommend we fight our way out?”

Lancelot only nods, eyes never leaving Gawain's face. Percival inhales sharply and looks around the spot they have found themselves in. It’s not very defensible. “We need to get up higher.” He says automatically. Both the men with him know this, but he can’t help himself. They should be moving. “You’re right.” Gawain inhales sharply behind him and they fall into unmoving silence. “What are you waiting for, we need to go.” He feels Gawain shift behind him. “Here.” The Weeping Monk eyes the sword for a moment, before nodding slowly. Once the blade is in hand, they climb the otherside of the valley and lead the horses into a thicket. “Percival. Stay here with the horses. Do you understand?” The firmness in Gawain's voice is almost frightening as a heavy hand lands on his shoulder. “Yes. Green Knight.”  He nods urgently and tightens his hand on the hilt of his knife. 

Lancelot whispers something softly to Goliath and hands him the reins. “We should cut back across the valley and take them by surprise.” He watches as Gawain stands and meets the monks eyes again. The two stand at arms length to speak, they can’t give away their location now. “How many now?”  Lancelot adjusts the sword on his belt. “The initial six behind us, another four ahead, and two or three to the right.” “And further this direction?” Gawain points south. “A camp, from what I can tell. Too many to be a scouting or hunting party.” The Green Knight opens his mouth to say something but the monk moves quicker covering it with his hand and using the other to push Gawain further into the brush. Gawain retaliates quickly drawing a knife and pressing it against the others ribs poised to pierce his heart. Lancelot doesn’t flinch. Percival watches in horror as it unfolds to fast for him to help. When they’ve come to a stop barely a foot from him, Lancelot removes his hand from Gawain's chest and holds up an open hand, defensively and tilts his head to the opposite side of the thicket. Gawain, eyes wide, does not move the knife, but gives a slight nod. Lancelot takes a single step backwards and they listen in silence for what seems an eternity.  “Good catch today?” Someone asks. “Good catch? Those are the scrawniest rabbits I’ve ever seen. Barely fit for a stew.” Another supplies gruffly. “At least I caught us something” Another paladin says followed by laughter.  Lancelot tightens his grip on the sword hilt and Gawain does the same, dagger still not lowered, attention caught between the possible enemy and the certain enemy. Percival swallows, they can’t see how many there are. It would be reckless to attack now, but as time drags on the voices grow quieter again. He takes a deep breath. Looks between the two who are watching him and nods. He’s okay. He’s okay. He repeats the line over and over again in his head until he begins to believe it. “What if we wait till nightfall?” He whispers when there have been no signs of the paladins for a while. “Horses could give us away any minute. We need to move.” Gawain murmurs into the air between them. Lancelot nods once in agreement. Slowly the three of them start for the exit of the brushwood. Gawain lets Lancelot lead and Percival doesn’t understand why, but he trusts the Green Knight to know what he is doing. They make it back to the other side of the valley they had crossed before anyone speaks again. “Well then, Monk?” “It’s getting hard to sense their locations. It’s all bleeding together. Two of the groups must have come together here.” Lancelot says turning in a slow circle.  “I do not know which way is safest.” He shakes his head at them. “We need to continue southwest. We should press on, get as far from here as possible before nightfall.” The Green Knight states firmly. There is no room for either of them to argue, not that they would have anyways. The monk mounts his horse and follows beside Gawain in silence. Percival keeps his eyes peeled as they move slowly through the woods. He thinks they should be moving much quicker. 

Eventually they pass by a small stream and rest for a moment. It's at the edge of the woods. The sun is beginning to fade from the sky. Percival drinks deeply from the clear stream and stretches. He feels a little better, still uncertain, still sick to his stomach, and ignorant of how he got on the ground earlier. But the pounding in his head has stopped and while he hates to admit it he hopes he never has to see a paladin again for a very long time. “Should we keep going?” He finally asks when the horses have been fed, watered and tethered and the other two have had a moment to sit. “We will be too exposed in the field.” “We’re too exposed here.” The Weeping Monk counters, softly, voice low enough it would be easy to miss in the commotion of a camp. 

Gawain shakes his head in frustration. Even Percival knows The Weeping Monk is right. “What are the paladins doing all the way out here anyways?” Squirrel asks, trying for casual, but the waver in his voice gives him away and he shrinks under the appraising gazes of the warriors to either side of him. “Search parties most likely.” Lancelot responds offhandedly taking a sip from a waterskin. “Not a main camp then.” “No. More likely, it is a base they spread out from, but it would have no more than 15 or 20 men. Three to five forming a party.” “Hunting Fey.” Percival looks at the ground, even he flinches at the venom in Gawain's voice, but Lancelot does not shy away, “Yes.” The admission slips from his mouth like ash thrown in the air. Percival stands abruptly, panic flooding his body with adrenaline. “What about our prints?” He looks desperately between the two men who also make their way to their feet. They share a knowing look. In its wake Percival feels a stab of betrayal low in his gut as he looks up first at the Green Knight and then at The Weeping Monk. How dare they share something with each other and not him? Hasn’t he known Gawain longer? Besides that, they are supposed to be protectors and they’ve left him vulnerable. They are supposed to protect the fey. Protect each other, now. Protect him. “Percival.” Gawain starts, kneeling to look him in the eye, he pulls away from the hand that tries to rest on his shoulder and inhales harshly. The ring of steel forces him to turn, Lancelot stands facing them, sword in hand. Gawain is too slow. Percival feels a burn like fire across his face as blood soaks his hair and clothes. The ground meets his face and he rolls, instinctively getting to his feet. He turns and draws his knife from his belt but he can't see through the blood in his eyes.