#it’s enough just to force her to accept the mask that she so disowned after Fontaine’s plot

[kinoshi]

Basically, I bet you'll see

At first, I'm not quite what I seem

Every day is just the same

(Picking names, repeating faces)

Everything is show and tell

And things are played off somewhat well

Holding hands, we're rather bored

Nothing lines up anymore

The Chattering Lack of Common Sense

Это сигнатурка ��едотеп в масках, я уверена

Just... accept the mask

Пыталась написать небольшую предысторию, но так как я не писатель то,что вышло мне не понравилось. Как к этому все пришло-история умалчивает.

[deadrlngers]

actually realised i never spoke about how violante is a noble who also isn't, perfect excuse for lore dump of her sick sick childhood, tw for mentions of abuse

Violante's mother is a moon elf noble, lady Nalviel of house Waesphine, a powerful family of Waterdeep. The origins of the family's fortune come from textiles, specifically their trading, and later expanded into money-lending and, currently, into banking. Nalviel is the only heir of the main branch of the family, she's The heiress. Her father's aim, if not life goal, is to join the council of lords of Waterdeep and later become the open lord. He has been planning a marriage of convenience between Nalviel and one of the masked lords since the day his daughter became of age. Her father instead is a modest human trader from a small village near Baldur's Gate (where he conducts his small business), Erlan Riverstone.

The two meet when Nalviel comes to Baldur's Gate with a small entourage sent by her father to deal with some of the family affairs. They meet by pure coincidence around the city: Nalviel is drawn to Erlan for the excitement of having an affair with a commoner brings and a sense of freedom mostly, Erlan by the fact that such a rich lady of enchanting beauty could ever spare him a look. In a couple of weeks they decide to marry in great secrecy. Nalviel is naive and thinks that her parents will simply scold her but ultimately accept the union. She's always been spoiled, very much spoiled, and she's used to have everyone let her get away with most of her whims and tantrums, so she genuinely believes that marrying a commoner will be accepted as just any other of her desires. Erlan is ecstatic to say the least. I wouldn't say they were exactly in love, they both lived the story like it was a summer love, intense and fleeting, bound to end but Nalviel always had the tendency let things end by her own decision.

She leaves for Waterdeep again and brings her new husband along. Her parents reaction is far from accepting, they are furious, but no one knows about the marriage yet outside the family so they order to Nalviel to simply leave her husband (they would have him killed ofc) and never mention this whole story again so that her father's plan could still move along as planned. Nalviel is stubborn and at this point the whole story has become a simple childish desire, she wanted to win at all costs, so she tells them the other news: she's expecting a child (hiii fetus violante). Her parents orders still stand, but in addition they're asking for abortion too. Nalviel fights back and she's put in front of a crossroad: either forsake her foolish actions or become disowned, lose all her privileges and her birthrights, become an outcasts to the family.

Nalviel refused. Stubborn as ever, she was sure that her parents would back down and accept her back into the family and she believed so for months. She was sure that once her child would be born their hearts would soften and everything would go back to normal. It never happened. Instead her parents cut her off, told everyone in high society that she was dead to them, that they never had a daughter, her father took under his wing one of her distant cousins to become the new heir. They forced Nalviel and her new family into one of the minor manors of the family, run down and almost out of the city, there they are all confined by a pact: her parents would still give her a monthly revenue high enough to survive but she would never come back in society nor speak to them or call herself a daughter of lord Waesphine.

This is where Violante's family downfall begins. Nalviel ignored Violante most of the time during her early childhood, probably held her in her arms two or three times total after her birth. I'd say Violante always was a bit of a gloomy child, which is no surprise if you think not only of the people who lived with her but of the environment too (the manor was basically crumbling, dark and dusty and decadent, it could almost resemble a haunted castle where only spirits live. It was chosen to humiliate to Nalviel), but she was quite curious and playful as a kid. Her mother didn't stand her when crying or playing or talking in general so with time, after getting shouted at and beat, she began avoiding to speak altogether when her mother was around. Her only happy memory of childhood is her father reading her a book of fairy tales when she was little.

Erlan tried to be a father at first but it didn't really last, especially because Nalviel hated to see him interact with their daughter. Erlan and Nalviel discovered that the love between them was a fleeting thing now that they lost all the privilege and riches for it, they began resenting each other soon enough. Nalviel hated her husband more than anything in the world but she did hate her daughter just that touch more. She used to say that Erlan was her second biggest mistake while Violante was her first. She resented her birth and Violante began resenting it as well.

Sometimes Nalviel just needed someone to let her anger out on and ofc her daughter was the easiest target. She would hit her for the tiniest of the slips, lock her into her room for hours, sometimes a full day with nothing to eat, she was also a cruel teacher - Violante knows how to play the lyre (other than the lute) but under no circumstance she's willing to play. Her mother would use a cane to hit her fingers or arms every time she played the wrong note which made her hate the instrument immediately. Violante spent most of her days avoiding her mother when possible, she would either sit somewhere in the library and stay there reading for hours or stay in her room. When she was a teen she began desiring of dying, that's when her infamous perfume story begins. She read about poisons, recognised the belladonna that grew in the garden and began using the berries for her perfume. It never really worked, cruel joke of destiny she developed a resistance to poison instead. She never stopped drinking them though, to her it was still a taste of death.

Nalviel's aim never changed, she wanted a way to return into the high society but never really succeded. Her parents threatened her a few times but they never managed to stop Nalviel from doing what she wanted. She began planning of marrying Violante off to some lord (smth Vio hated with burning passion, always lamenting how her mother was trying to get rid of her like she was useless wares) so that she could waltz back into noble life in some way, it was a difficult plan since Violante wasn't the most...amicable. Her mother teached her every single detail on etiquette, no one could say Vio isn't refined but that coldness in her usually frightened most of the people around. Plus there were quite some rumors surrounding her involvement with Ruven (bastard son of the fallen drow house DeVir) and the fact they were barely ever seen without one another since they were teens didn't help.

Violante dreamed of killing her mother, she wanted to see her suffer, she wanted to torture her. She hated her father as well: while he wasn't as terrible as her mother, Violante always resented his indifference. He was a prisoner just as Vio was under Nalviel but he never tried to stop her, nor he ever spoke up when Nalviel abused their daughter. Vio daydreamed of what she would do to them with Ruven. Kill her mother and maybe let her father live, gauge out his eyes after watching her torture and murder Nalviel so that he could sit in his blissful indifference for the rest of his days, then they would run somewhere together and be together for the rest of their days. It never turned into reality since Ruven attempted to murder Violante first: a sacrifice to sign a pact with a powerful entity. He chose to offer Violante's life. Vio killed him in retaliation and she was the one to form the pact instead. With Ruven's murder it's like the world came crushing down on her so Violante, shocked and dismayed, fled from Waterdeep to hopefully never come back

[blzzrdstryr]

Yan!Beidou x fem!reader

This drabble has been heavily inspired by @ddarker-dreams yan Beidou hcs and I am not a native English speaker so bear with me

CW: Childhood abuse, unhealthy relationship

Drop by drop the sea is drained - is what your mother used to say, when you acted disagreeable. There were plenty of instances, where your parents enforced a certain behaviour model on you - don't run, don't be rude, don't play with servants' kids. They wanted a proper lady, you were anything but. Once your goal was set - climb a tree for apples, skip boring manners lessons, or play with peers - you stopped at nothing until you reached it.

Being put in a corner, losing privileges and even whipping did little to deter you, just making you silent for a day or two, while you looked at your parents with angry and resentful eyes. With years you learnt to mask your grievances and indignation to avoid unnecessary punishment, but still you couldn’t bring yourself to agree with their ideas or become the person they wanted you to be. 

I am not the ever changing sea, I am a tall cliff standing amidst it, you once thought to yourself, when your parents decided to lash you twenty times more for disobedience and haughtiness, gritting your teeth and preparing for the incoming pain, I will continue standing.

In the end, they failed at molding you into the perfect daughter and you ended up disowned, once you publically broke off the engagement arranged years ago. Seems that their desire for perfect reputation in high society was stronger than whatever remains of love they still had for you, their child. A mix of horror and relief washed over you that day, you were free to do as you please, but had nowhere to return to.

That's how you found yourself in Liyue harbor doing odd jobs - working as a translator, performing on instruments, teaching other noble kids; skills that you acquired in your former rich life were now used to get by. And then you had the misfortune of catching Beidou's gaze. 

You were playing an erhu at Heyu teahouse that day. After Liu Su finished his tale of Guhua Brotherhood and left the stage to rest his throat, you took his place, ready to play on the strings of the instrument and hearts of your listeners. It produced a sad yet hopeful wordless tale of love, as your fingers of one hand were flying over the strings, while the other masterfully directed the bow. Some visitors closed their eyes, some gazed into the distance with a faraway look, too consumed by their thoughts and feelings, but Beidou’s stare never left you for once.

She looked just like Liu Su’s stories portrayed her: gorgeous and terrifying and you were almost enchanted. To you. Beidou looked like a hero straight out of fairy tales: with steel hard muscles, skin coarse from sea winds contrasting with surprisingly silk soft hair and a great claymore strapped to her back, a legendary captain just waiting to slay unimaginable levianthants and discover unknown lands.

She approached you, right after you finished and full of praise and mora to gift. Her loud, boisterous voice described every little detail of what she liked in your music, enough to make your cheeks feel warm. Beidou even joked at the end, that your mastery of the music was alike to the beauty of Xi Shi, enough to make fish forget how to swim and sink below at the first notes of your erhu, and even promised that she will attend your every performance when she is on land.

And Beidou did hold her word, her intimidating figure seen in the audience as you played on erhu or guzheng or pipa, ready to shower you in compliments and gifts. It was charming at first, but then the constant attention started to feel tiring, yet you still entertained her, as you felt bad for receiving countless treasures, enough to provide you for years, just for playing music.

To be honest, it wasn't that she was bad company, her straight-forward and honest nature was what drew you in, captain was everything people in your former life were not. Her laser focus on you was what initially bothered you - eye following every movement and she always remembered the littlest thing you said, something that made shivers creep up your spine. 

Despite that you still followed Beidou when she offered to show you the Crux. She boasted about all the adventures and battles she had, while her crew intently observed you. You paid them no mind, thinking that they stare because you were an outsider to their ship. 

The Crux suddenly moved, creaking and swaying on the waves, as all anchors were lifted - you almost fell from the sudden rocking, but Beidou caught you in time, confusion written on your face. You treated it all as a tasteless joke at first, after all Beidou was known for her eccentricity, but it wasn’t. Harbour was getting smaller and smaller as the ship headed into the open sea where your cries of indignation could be heard by none who would help. 

In the first weeks you cried and shouted at her, tearing your now shared cabin to shreds, constantly defying and testing the captain. You prepared yourself for the violence she will lash out and punish you for defiance, for not being the person she envisioned you to be, but she didn’t. It would be better if she matched your expectation, making it easier to hate, to defy, to continue standing strong, but she surrounded you with love and care instead.

Beidou is a great wave, overwhelming and unfairly strong, inescapable and insatiable.

Now you are locked up in her cabin, a spacious room filled with treasures Beidou acquired during her travels, and you feel like one too - the most beloved yet meaningless trinket, meant to be possessed and hidden from others’ eyes. She spends the whole night with you, keeping you close in the inescapable hug, as her breath fans your neck she’s nuzzled in.

You still lash out at her when you are awake, albeit with less spite and fire in each insult, as if your determination started to slowly wash out. Beidou doesn’t seem to mind it, as she still forces her love in you, smothering and drowning your entire being with unwanted affection. In this regard she looks like the owner of a wild cat to you, kissing and hugging you, when you still thrash in her hold, hissing and clawing at her face.

Unintentional comparison with a pet does nothing but produce dry and humorless laugh out of your lips - deep down you are scared.

You feel it in your bones, how there’s less and less energy in you to fight back - nothing you did was of any use before, so where is meaning in further resisting? You noticed how you sometimes let Beidou have her way with you and how you started to eye the skilfully made erhu she left to you in hopes that you will play once again.

You are a cliff, standing among the raging sea, proud and alone - there’s no one on this cursed ship that will help you - and Beidou is the waves, slowly chipping away at your will.

Water wears away any stone with time and looking at yourself you can’t help but wonder when will you accept that you are nothing but treasure to be kept.

[lightsaberupmybutt]

These Violent Delights  - Darth Vader x FemReader

Yer idk why I wrote this either. I’m not ashamed though. And if you read this you’re just as bad as I am for writing it. No more said . Enjoy

Word Count: 1377

Warnings : explicit, brief mentions of smut but nothing too heavy, bit angsty, mentions of violence (but if you’re here then I’m sure that doesn’t put you off), kinda out of character (I've tried, but darth isn't a shagger, not canon anyway) 

There was not a day that went by when you didn't consider yourself the stupidest bitch on the planet;  scratch that the universe 

You were aware that what you were doing was so dumb that even you couldn't reason it logically. 

Its not like you didn't have options, theres plenty of suitors out there who would be more than happy to take you up on the offer of a night with you.

With this knowledge in mind, you still always fine yourself in the company of possibly the most dangerous man (if you can even call him that) to ever exist.

You wish you'd had the excuse of knowing him before he was vader, wish that you could say your attachment was purely based on your remnant memories from days gone by; but that just wasn't true. You only knew this being, Vader as him dark self - and that was enough for you to always come when he called.

To compare you attachment to a drug addiction felt cliche and incommodious; after all you didn't need his attention to survive, but you still craved it for your own enjoyment

it kept you up at night sometimes - you conscience weary with the fact that the rest of the body it was trapped in responded so positively to the touch of a murderer. These internal battles were common, besides, there wasn't anyone else you could exactly go to to ask advice from. The knowledge of your nightly escapades to Vader quarters was not exactly friendly gossip you could share with your friends, or even your family. It was a clear unspoken rule that secrets of this magnitude that involved the ex jedi were not something he encouraged to be passed around - not that you really wanted your family knowing. They would disown you, you would disown you. You understood just how vile your actions were     

so why did they feel so fucking good?

You had been with men before, plenty of men. Maker, some of those men had the bodies of gods, so handsome that anyone would look upon them and believe they were too good for this world. But nothing compared, nothing even came close. It was one thing to enjoy someone, romantically or exclusively sexually , but it was another to be on the same level as someone. And you weren't quite sure why or how, but the only person you had ever felt that for was the destroyer of worlds.

You'd caught his eye while he and a small fleet of his stormtroopers were overseeing the work your village was putting into one of the many imperial excursions.

You'd love to say you hadn't been like everyone else and feared him instantly, that your backbone and feisty nature had meant you had always been able to feel no intimidation by his power - but that would be a big fat lie. The first time you saw him you genuinely thought you might poop your pants right there and then; all black cloak and metal. and then when you notice that he had noticed you too, when he asked your name, you personally accepted that maybe this day would be the day you died.

but it wasn't, and so it began

At first the imbalance of power was obvious, you feared him more than you had ever feared anything before. You'd heard the stories, you knew just how fast he could destroy you and how nobody would intervene even if they could if he decided this way your time to go. 

He kept his distance in this time, while somehow also always letting  you know he was around. you hear him, his breathing somewhere just beyond your viewpoint. A flash of black out the corner of your eye while you walked through the streets. Just teases of his existence. Just enough to peak your interest. 

It worked, he never had to come to you. You came to him.

Because above all else, your curiosity outweighed everything else, even you survival instincts.

It was easy to be drawn in, you found. In everyones brain theres a soft spot for bad people who only act kind to you. That only show vulnerability to just you. You wanted to feel special, and he made you feel like the most protected person in the universe. 

It was ironic really, that being that close to death is what made you feel most alive

It wasn't romantic, and you were completely comfortable with that. You had no doubt that you could never bring yourself to love someone who had the capability to do the things this man had done, and Vader, as far as you knew anyway, wasn't programmed with the capacity to love - a relic skill left when Anakin burned into the sand.

Sometimes though, there were flickers of those sorts of affections, like muscle memory. A gloved stroke of your cheek, a sweep across your lips to catch some of himself there, a hand in your hair with more gentle intent than usual. These incidents were at first incredibly fleeting, but the more comfortable you got together, or at least the more time passed since you had first met, he seemed to get more carefree with these displays. 

Equally, although you had fully expected to feel the wrath of his power at that very first meeting; Vader had never used the force against you. Well, never without you asking him to anyway - choking with the force may be Vader favourite way to bring his enemies to their demise, but when you asked him to use it on you in the bedroom, he was relatively sure you had completely lost your mind. Be that as it may, it was hot as fuck. However he never took advantage; the power imbalance was certainly there, but Vader never used it against you without you asking him. 

And thats how you knew just how comfortable you'd gotten; because you did ask. without even really completely letting yourself realise just what i meant, you asked him to show you just how powerful he was. You fucking liked it, liked that he could remove you from the face of the earth with a flick of his gloved wrist. You liked that he was the strongest being most people could imagine, liked that he was so notoriously  bad. 

Simply because he didn't; he kept you around. He even liked having you around, not that he would ever admit that to you, himself or anybody.

He never took his mask off, so it was easy for him to hide behind his outfit. He was changing though, maybe not dramatically, but enough for him to notice and be ashamed of. 

He hadn't loved since Padme, with her it was obvious. She was beautiful, and smart, and everything Anakin Skywalker could have ever wanted. But he was no longer Anakin. There had never been another love, but you were something different entirely. You made him different . you made him weak. He lusted for you, craved you just as much if not more than you him. Anakin had always had a possessive streak, but Vader had a possessive nature. You were nothing to him, and then you were just fun to him, a body he could use, a rare someone who would let him inside of them with true interest in him, someone who could look past the suit and mask and burns. You belonged to him now, whether either of you wanted it or not, there was no one else for you. 

“don't you ever let anyone touch you like this again” - he rarely spoke during sex, but when he did, his moderator was always stating claim to you. There really was no way to convince vader that you wouldn't stray, that you wouldn't suddenly wake up and realise that getting railed once very month on a dark space ship by someone who's face you had never seen wasn't enough for you. That you'd want to be with someone who you could kiss, or someone who didn't have such a dark smear on their title. But it didn't really matter, you knew you wouldn't leave, not when being bad felt so good with him. 

[strangeinternetwasteland]

Silver Touch- Gojo x Fem! Reader

A/N: This was a Soulmate AU I did for a @konoblog-simps server collab. I did collaborate with the beautiful and talented @titanialev for the picture.  This was fun to write and I hope you all enjoy.

Click here for the artist photo

Word Count 2.5K

Another year down and it was a failure. Another year that ended terribly. During the Christmas season, you had heard your older family members ask when you would find your soul mate. Most of your family members that were of age had already found theirs. What was wrong with you? It drove you mad that you had a soulmate at all. Obviously, the words written on your palm gave that away.  Every time you looked at them you always wondered where and when it would happen. Not knowing when you’d see, or touch them made it a lot more unbearable. Yuji, you idiot. For the umpteenth time, you read it. That perfect writing, it drove you crazy. If you had only a countdown to when you’d meet, a place, or any clue honestly it would be helpful.

Soul mate marks were taken very seriously. The soul marks were always wherever your soulmate would first touch you. The mark also contained the first words your soulmate would speak to you and glowed silver. They appeared after birth, some immediately after, as in your case. Some people were born without them and they appeared after their soulmate was born, as was your father’s case. Most people found their soulmates by the time they were 18. You being in your early 20’s hadn’t yet. This embarrassed your mother greatly, and you’re sure your father would probably disown you if you lived at home for much longer.

Your friends, who most found their mates already, would gently push you to date, so you wouldn’t be awkward when it came time to actually meet your mate. While hoping that maybe one of these people would be your soulmates. They really did mean the best for you, but even you know that wouldn’t help. You did enjoy a few people here and there but knowing your soulmate was out there still you lost interest quickly.

With your terrible New Year’s Eve date you had behind you, most people were looking forward to Valentine’s Day.  It was common knowledge that more soulmates were found between the 12th and the 16th of February. You had no hope, you never really did. So when you started noticing more pink, purple, and red decorations and advertisements around town you internally gagged. It made your stomach hurt looking at all the goods sold to soulmates.

Today, though, you have a bit more energy than normal. You dressed for your errands for the day. Deciding on wearing a super thick gray sweater with jeans and a baby blue scarf to bundle against the cold winter, which quite honestly, besides black, was one of your favorite colors it had always been, but you never knew why. It didn’t make sense, but you never questioned it more than that, because when you thought about it more, you knew it was just something about it that you liked. It made you feel happy and peaceful.

After a quick look in the mirror, you grab your purse and walk out the door. All the different shades of purples, pinks, reds, and white assaulted you as you walked by the many stores. Today, you were stopping by the pharmacy to pick up some headache medicine. After walking in and audibly groaning at the terrible displays of cheap displays of love you decided you were going to treat yourself to  (your favorite hot beverage) to help combat the cold.

Just across the street was your favorite place to get (beverage of choice). The people were always very kind and friendly, and if you wanted to be honest, you liked that they knew you by name here. You didn’t always order the same thing every time, but since the events of the past few months left you embittered, you were going to go with your most favorite, and comforting drink. The familiar scent of coffee and tea filled your nose as you inhaled deeply feeling calmer than you were outside. Standing in line for a moment, the sweet blonde barista, Lorelie, greeted you.

“Hello Y/N! How are you doing today? What can I get started for you?” She chirped happily, and that familiar greeting, whether it was her or anyone else working always left you feeling like you belonged here.

“I am doing well, Lorelie, I hope you’ve been doing alright. Can I please get a large (name of a favorite hot beverage)?” You smiled back trying to sound as happy as Lorelie did. You couldn’t help but feel like her warmth was infectious.

“Sure thing! I’ll bring it to you when it’s ready.” Lorelie said automatically. A small gesture that you always appreciated. You looked around the little shop while many were covered with Soulmates ads and gifts, here there was very little mentioned. Frankly, you were happy this place was void of any such nonsense. After a few moments, Lorelie came walking up with your order and a treat. Of course, it was a brownie. She always seemed to give you little moments of happiness. You thank her and start leaving the little shop.

As you walk out, a handsome man with white hair holds the door for you, with a smile.  It usually wouldn’t bother you but he had a mask over his eyes. How did he know where he was going? You were lost in your thoughts and not paying attention to another man who came running behind you. He seemed to not notice you at all. When he crashed into you, he forced you to fall forward right into the man holding the door. You felt your ankle twist forcing your scarf to fall over your face and obstruct your eyesight. You felt your beverage and brownie escape your grasp. You tried to catch yourself but felt your hand hit something fleshy and you held on for life.

Everything had happened so fast. After you decided that sitting down would be better after hurting your ankle. You pulled your scarf just enough to see. You saw the man holding the door with a frightening glare on his face. You weren’t sure if it was at you or the mess of your beverage all over his shirt.

“Oh no!” You said with dread. Looking at this mess you had made and probably could’ve avoided if you were just paying attention, you knew the shirt this man was wearing was expensive and would take a month’s pay just to replace it. The man’s face changed after you spoke. He started taking off his mask to look at you. You felt your face grow warmer and you just wanted to leave. His bright eyes never leave your face.

“Yuuji. You idiot.” He kept looking down at you. Your breath caught in your throat. You froze for a moment. Your mind and heartbeat raced. You were desperately trying to remember where you’d seen those words before. You looked down at your palm and saw the words glow silver. You then looked  back at this man. The look on your face must’ve given everything away.  You looked up and saw the words on his hand glowing as well. When  he finally looked up at the man named Yuuji he stared at him intently .

“Where are your manners?” Your soulmate scolded Yuuji. You started trying to stand up to get out of this situation. You couldn’t wrap your mind around the fact that this extremely handsome man was your soulmate.

   “What? I didn’t see her.” Yuuji stated and he didn’t look the least bit concerned for you.

   “Here, let me help you up.” The white-haired man held his hand out to help you up. You nervously took it and pulled yourself up. His hand was warm and was the smile he was giving you.

   “My name is Gojo.” You stood as still as you could even though you felt dizzy. You felt yourself wobbling, the pain in your ankle increasing. Gojo noticed and swept you off your feet carrying you bridal style into the shop you were just leaving. He gently places you in a chair. The look of worry spreading over his face. He left you and went to ask Lorelie for some ice.

After a minute, Gojo returned and checked your ankle for any swelling, bruising, or a broken bone. His touch was soft and relaxing, he gingerly touched your ankle and noticed nothing unusual.

“It doesn’t look broken. I think perhaps you just sprained it.” He spoke softly. “I can bring you to the doctor or hospital if you’d like...Sorry I never did catch your name.”

“Oh, I am sorry, I never did say it. It’s Y/N.” You say sheepishly, noticing the color of your scarf and Gojo’s eyes are the same color. The whole world suddenly becomes a little bit brighter as you’ve come to accept that you’ve found your soulmate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   Looking back on the last year of your life you never would’ve expected it to go so smoothly. After meeting Gojo, and the terrible incident caused by Yuuji. You and Gojo spent the day talking and getting to know one another.

After three months, Gojo decided to ask you to move in, and you gladly accepted. The first few weeks were nerve-wracking, but you both seemed to make it work. The way Gojo always seemed to be silly and playful when you didn’t want to be or weren’t in the mood made you fall harder. He would bring you flowers, or little gifts when he came back from work trips, and he would just do anything for you because he missed you.

   After eight months together, he planned a small weekend getaway for the two of you since he had been working a lot. He made sure the entire trip was to your exact liking including drinks, and food. This was when you were sure you loved him, despite being soulmates. The first night there under the starry sky and a small bonfire, he proposed to you. The moment was perfect and you didn’t hesitate to let him know exactly how you felt. When you returned home, you planned your wedding. Gojo had a lot of rules for the wedding, but knowing him he probably only meant one or two of them since  he loved to make you flustered.

   The day of the wedding the sun shone brightly, the sky was the perfect shade of blue, and cloudless. The wind was light, and the temperature was perfect. The aroma of late spring flowers blooming softly mingled with the fresh air. In a few short hours, you were going to marry your soulmate.

   You took a deep breath to gather your thoughts. Your bridesmaids were giggling as they sipped on mimosas, and chatted. You were definitely nervous, and you knew you shouldn’t be. There was a knock at the door signaling the make up artist and hair stylists arrival. Everything was coming together.

The time came for your makeup and hair to be done. You decided on wearing your hair down but softly curled, placed upon your head was a silver vine tiara made with pearls and crystals. Your make up was soft and natural, except for your lipstick, which was a Ruby to match the roses. You stared at yourself for a moment and actually felt like a queen. Your bridesmaid’s were all wearing their makeup understated as well, but all of them had their hair done in a sophisticated bun with a french braid on the side. Each one had a hair pin to match your tiara.

The dress was one that you never imagined would look good on you. It was the first one you tried and just fell in love with. It was an A-line ball gown with a small train. The bodice was a corset with the sleeves that were off the shoulder. It had a lot of lace and the bodice. Though it was a bit heavy, you knew that Gojo would absolutely die in it. The dresses for the bridesmaids were all floor length chiffon dresses that also matched the roses you chose. Seeing yourself in your dress, and the bridesmaids in their dresses you knew that this dream was going to become reality.

A knock on the door jolted you out of your thoughts and frenzied the bridesmaids. As they hush each other, your maid of honor answers the door. She talks quietly to the person on the other side for a brief moment and closes the door.

“Everyone and everything is ready,” She said quietly. You nod to her as you place your veil over your face.” You hold your bouquet of red roses in your hand and inhale deeply. You couldn’t imagine your life at this moment. From meeting your soulmate to being married to him. It all seems to have flown by in the blur of life.

You walked to your holding place. Your bridesmaids all waiting along with the groomsmen and your father. The music began and you felt like you were floating on a cloud. You couldn’t believe the overwhelming urge to cry. The voice inside your head told you that you needn’t cry because the amount of time and makeup used to make you look ‘natural’ was surreal. You took one look at your father, who normally was stoic, and expressionless. Not right now, he had tears streaming down his cheeks, and snot running down to his chin. You smiled at him. Knowing how hard giving away his only daughter would be for you, you patted his arm where yours was linked with his.

The music changed to the song you chose to walk down the aisle to. You took one last deep breath and looked ahead. The door swung open to the outside. You noticed the beautiful archway of flowers draped in the deep red roses you chose for flowers. Something you didn’t plan, and you felt your stomach flutter knowing Gojo was behind it. The walk down the aisle looked like it was going to be forever, but in reality, it was very short.You heard the ooo’s and ah’s of the guests. The quiet whispers of how beautiful you and your dress looked.

You kept your eyes locked on your soulmate. You knew that everyone would be looking at you. As is traditional but you didn’t want to ever forget this moment where you swore you saw tears in your soon to be husband’s eyes. The rest of the ceremony went rather quickly. Gojo’s vows made all the women cry, and your vows to him were sweet. You’d invite everyone to a reception following the ceremony. While the guests were guided to drinks and appetizers before a meal, you, Gojo, and your wedding party were whisked away for photos. As the photographer took pictures, your smiles never faded, the memories would last an eternity, and you couldn’t wait to see what your future held.

[starlightdreams-blog]

Ok here is the third chapter to "Love in The Broken Soul" enjoy!

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The Hospital

Griford Hill Hospital: 3:00pm, ER Surgery/Operation Room

Temple, Texas

Arthur felt like he was falling, suffocating in the darkness that surrounded him. He could still feel pain and agony; he couldn't tell where it was, but dear gods did it hurt! He looked up and could faintly see a small light that was slowly getting bigger and brighter. Once the light was close enough, he touched it and was quickly thrown back in to his body, where doctors were desperately trying to revive him.

Even though an oxygen mask was on his mouth to help him breath, he took a shaky breath as his heart started again, cheers coming from the doctors, though they immediately started to continue the surgery as they stabilized his condition. He couldn't tell what kind of surgery he was in as he fell back into unconsciousness.

Two days passed before Arthur woke up again. It was noon as he saw a few familiar faces besides Vivi and Mystery, who both had red rimmed eyes from crying, the girl holding his right hand and the dog on the bed with his ears back. The people he saw besides his friends were the Peppers, the Yukinos, his uncle Lance and... His parents. His parents were there? Why were they here and crying? He thought that they hated him after he told them that he was transgender and was in love with his best friend (s?). They didn't disown him but they didn't talk to him for weeks which nearly broke his heart.

He must've said that out loud, for his mother burst in to tears as she said, as his father gave his son a sad and hurt stare, "That's not true, my son! My poor baby boy... We're so sorry; we should've listened to you and supported you! Instead we let our anger and religious beliefs get the best of us! Instead of supporting you, we ignored you for weeks before you went on your trip with your friends! We regret that when we finally realized that you were who you are and let our misplaced anger go, you already left with your team on your journey before we could apologize for what we did. We've never felt so much guilt at what we did to you! Both your father and I love you so much, Arthur! A-and now... Oh dear lord, I'm so sorry... N-no one d-deserves t-this." as Mr. Kingsman pulled his sobbing wife into a hug to calm her down. With the beginning of tears threatening to spill over the man's brown eyes, he looked at Arthur and said, his voice cracking as he tried to explain, "We were visiting your uncle Lance to apologise for what we did when we got the call from the hospital, saying that you and your friends were out hiking and ended up being attacked by some type of monster near a cave.... I-it d-did... D-dear gods, my son..."

As he looked at his normally calm, caring and loving parents breakdown in tears, Arthur didn't understand why they were crying, however his heart started to mend as his parents were accepting him for who he is. He went to hug them but as he tried to sit up, he froze, feeling something off with his left side. Shaking from alarm and panic, he looked to his left and started to hyperventilate, for his arm was gone, torn clean off. Vivi, the three little Pepper sisters and his (still crying) mother pulled him into hugs and did everything they could to calm him down; Mystery laying down on the blonde's lap as he whimpered in concern and worry, leaning his head up and licking the blonde's cheek. Thirty minutes passed before Arthur was calm enough to talk. Then came the moment that froze everyone in the room with panic and true horror. When Mr. Pepper and Mrs. Pepper, in sadness, told them that the funeral for Lewis would be held in about three weeks, Arthur had a confused look on his face, pink faintly flashing in his amber eyes and said, confusion in his voice, "If you don't mind me asking Mr. and Mrs. Pepper, but who's Lewis?" None of the people in the room even saw the tiny sparks coming from the blonde's eyes as they were close to panicking. Why didn't Arthur remember Lewis, his best friend since third grade!? What could've happened to his memories!? Did that blasted demon have anything to do with this!?

To calm the shocked family and horrified friends of Arthur Kingsman down, a doctor was called in to check what was wrong. It was later confirmed that Arthur's mind was blocking every and all memories of Lewis due to trauma and the fact that he must've saw his friend die a horrible death by whatever beast that had attacked them. (In a way, he wouldn't remember what happened in the cave because it wasn't his fault. Probably from the trauma and blood loss.) However, he could still remember the Pepper family, both the parents and the three little girls, and the fact that they run the 'Pepper Paradiso', which confused the doctor but he just chalked it up as amnesia.

By the time it was night, it was only Arthur, Vivi and Mystery in the room while everyone else went home to rest. Vivi squeezed Arthur's right hand as his eyes slowly closed to rest, unaware of the loss they suffered. She still had faint traces of tears running down her cheek. She look to Mystery, his eyes holding centuries of wisdom and knowledge, and said, quietly as to not wake their friend, "Mystery, things won't go back to normal now, will they?" His heart breaking as he saw his normally bright, bubbly charge 'die out' from the death of one of her beloved and seeing the other in the hospital looking so frail, drained and having no memory of their fallen member, Mystery looked into Vivi's now dull, icy, blue eyes and said, his paws moving his glasses up a little and nodding in confirmation, "I'm afraid so, Vivi. However what makes me concerned is Arthur's memory loss of Lewis. How should we..."

Vivi immediately held her hand up, cutting Mystery's rant off as she said, voice suddenly filled with hurt, grief, pain and heartbreak, but most importantly guilt, "Arthur can't know what happened at all, Mystery. Maybe this way, we can heal. At least I'll know that Artie won't wallow in guilt of being forced to kill LewLew. I won't be able to handle it. As much as I'd hate to say it but if... if Arthur remembers Lewis and knows what happened tonight, he might... I can't lose him, too, Mystery. I just can't. I'll be shattered if I lost him too. I owe him that much after suggesting to investigate that blasted cave." Mystery nodded slowly in sorrow, knowing that Lewis's death was hurting them both. However, they both, though reluctantly, agreed to never mention Lewis ever again; even though it will hurt not just them, but also Arthur and everyone who knew the sweet, protective, brave and kindhearted purple haired young man.

[displaced-tactician]

This is a Story About Morgan

This is a story about Morgan. Not the Morgan you know.... perhaps. But most certainly Morgan. A Morgan free of influence from her turned father. A Morgan who fought valiantly alongside Lucina, Cynthia, Inigo, Owain, and the lot of them against the darkness of Grima. A Morgan who lost it all and was long ago forgotten in place of another Morgan you may also know.

It was the last siege of the castle of Ylisse. Morgan and Lucina, among the other surviving children, fought valiantly against the Risen. Hundreds falling to their blades and many Thorons. However it was not enough. Morgan sprinted to Lucina as Grima went in for the kill, only for time to freeze. For a moment, Morgan saw many portals opening up and soon Lucina, Severa, Gerome and Minerva, and the rest of the group, stumbled into them. Morgan saw one in front of her as well, but was too late. The magic of Grima had cut it off.

Grima pauses for a moment, cursing under its breath and turning around away from the castle. Claiming these worms can be crushed after he dealt with the child wielding Falchion. Morgan shot Thoron after Thoron at it in rage. It stole her father, it stole the lives of her comrades and the parents of her friends! But it ignored her. Some how, as it massacred many more innocent Ylisseans on its departure, it ignored her. The Risen seemed to follow, almost as if on instinct. Perhaps a dozen people survived this onslaught. Soon a dark portal opened up, and Grima and many of the attacking arisen were gone.

What she hadn’t known was the remnants of her father had saved them that day. But that’s a story... perhaps for the future. Today we talk about this Morgan. The Morgan unintentionally left behind by her friends in a near destroyed world, to be replaced by a Morgan in the future’s past.

Morgan quickly reorganized the few survivors in the castle and made a temporary base. A day passed, and only strangling Risen were around. A week and they had thinned the horde more.... two weeks and they could walk outside. She began organizing, planning, tirelessly working herself to the point of perpetual exhaustion. Her new... army(?) unable to tell her not to exhaust herself as she was necessary, but unable to utilize her fully in fear of losing her.

Month passed, and she amassed around a hundred survivors. Common routes were now cleared of Risen, albeit barely so. The grounds still reeked of Grima’s evil, but less so now. Slowly their numbers grew as scouting party after scouting party explored the remnants of the world. Slowly, Morgan gave up her power in this fledgling little army. She didn’t want it... she couldn’t replace Lucina after all. Now the hamlet of Ylisse can restart fresh.

Finally well rested, Morgan packed, leaving behind volumes of notes and a note saying when she planned on returning. She left them in the throne room, to make sure it’d be found... not yet but eventually. She restarted Ylisse, but now she had to prevent Grima from ever coming back.

She began visiting ruins of old, in search of the necromantic knowledge that made Grima. She was lucky, after the final battle she found a single tome containing information on a long lost city called Thabes, and the old heroes Celica and Alm. It was vague at best. But she narrowed it down to what modern maps called the “Ruins of Time.”

She scoured the Ruins of Time and soon saw... herself? Just for a second she saw herself rushing up to a very young version of her father. She ran up to meet them but stopped seeing Lucina and Chrom. Lucina seemed confused as to why Morgan looked so... fresh. She was Morgan’s Lucina.... she had the same scars after all. But Lucina never recognized it was another Morgan. How could Lucina not recognize her? Had she not served her well? We’re they not friends? Lucina she wasn’t Morgan! Not YOUR MORGAN! The other children seemed to think along the same lines, except Laurent. At that moment, Laurent was the only one to propose it was another Morgan, and theirs might’ve died.

Time had disowned Morgan, and the illusion faded. Perhaps it was just an illusion, or perhaps another Morgan is now happy with her father. It was something Morgan wasn’t happy with, but something she was forced to accept.

She proceeded deeper into the ruins, soon finding the remnants of the city spoken about in lore. She smiled, finally she was catching a break. She scoured the city, collecting important tomes for future research. Who was this Forneus person? Their tomes were invaluable.

It wasn’t long before Morgan had to face a new threat.... a Labrynth.... filled with creatures so alike to the Risen but not quite there. She didn’t understand what they were but she proceeded to make short work of them. They were primitive and easy to kill compared to the Risen she had fought for so long. Her anger at her situation and her immediate jealousy of her friends seeing their families again fueled her trek. Every one of these masked things fell to her.

Soon enough she made it to the base of the Labrynth. Large doors with a seal all too familiar were cracked open. Inside she found her answers. Times describing the creation of Grima, the Hubert is of Forneus, and... well she put together how Grima was released from the tales of Alm and Celica from long ago. The placed reeked of Grima... she couldn’t stay any longer. She recognized the reek of Grima had been getting her angrier and angrier. She had her information and she had to leave.

She didn’t return to Ylisse as promised, no this information was too dangerous to share. Grima... this experiment could never be repeated. She destroyed everything except one tome she kept for herself. Then she... left, leaving behind most her anger and jealousy.

After years in solitude Morgan came across a blue haired man who made... a mass cemetery? She confronted him, her voice hoarse and rough from disuse. He seemed startled, but greeted her. He had to be on his way, but he was doing a favor for new allies of his. He then stopped, and told her that she could visit her father here any time she wished, and that he was sorry and missed her dearly. Then he disappeared.

Morgan was... surprised and began scouring the cemetery for any sign of her father. The mass graveyard filled with thousands of tombstones was... in its own way a puzzle of its own. A week later she found it. It was plain... so boring and plain... yet next to a group of more decorated graves. She smiled, knowing her father would like this grave. It was simple, utilitarian, and with all his friends. And of course... right next to mother.

Morgan cried in happiness. She gathered wildflowers and put them in front of her fathers and mothers grave. She hoped this meant Grima was dead... but could she ever be sure? She hugged the the tomb stones and sat in front of the tombstones. She spoke with her parents.

“Mother, father... I’ll move on today. I’ll keep this knowledge safe and away from those who may abuse it. I’ll destroy it before I die, but not before I find out how to kill Grima or any Grima like entity. I’ll never live a normal life... but I’ll keep this world safe. Tell everyone I love them dearly... I hope I can see you soon.” Tears fell down Morgan’s cheek, landing on the new fertile soil below her. She patted the tomb stones one last time, making a vow to come back once a year.

She watched the world move on. The blue haired man had unintentionally saved this world by using his magic to make the fertile cemetery. That fertile magic spread to the destroyed ruins of Ylisse, slowly but indeed it spread. Had it not been for him, Ylisse would have died alongside everyone else who hadn’t escaped.

Morgan lived quietly, yet peacefully, for the rest of her life. Gathering information on Grima and destroying it. Only keeping information on how to kill it safe and protected. She never married, she seldom entered towns, and she lived more or less happily.

This is the story of Morgan. A Morgan you might’ve known but has long been replaced. This is the story of one of the few Morgans who had a good end, even when all of time disowned them.

[lils-writes]

“À Quoi Ça Sert L’Amour” - Ch. 4

First | < Previous | Chapter 4 | Next >

AO3

CHAPTER 4 - When Love Humiliates

“Tikki, I really messed up! Why did I have to be so bold all of a sudden?”

Marinette buried her face in her pillow, the kwami fluttering above her head before sitting in her hair, patting her wielder in reassurance. Marinette whined and whined, going over and over about all the things she should have done to impress Adrien. Instead, she acted foolish, irrational, without thinking. She shouldn't have made a move on him like that!

“Marinette! You’re causing a scene out of nothing! What is done is done.”

The girl groaned, knowing far too well that her friend was right. Yet, there was something inside of her that twisted, that felt like a criminal. “I shouldn't have pushed him like that. I had no right to force him to tell me he had been disowned. I have right to pry on his personal life!” Her head hit the pillow once again, the feathers muffling her yells.

Tikki rolled her eyes, a light chuckle escaping her belly. Marinette would never change. Marinette would forever feel insecure about whatever happened between her and Adrien. Well, she would forever feel that way for as long as it took her to acknowledge that not everything was under her control. She would eventually have to accept that sometimes, things don't go smoothly. It doesn't mean that things went wrong, though, and Tikki would, for however long Marinette needed to hear it, repeat that lesson to her. Only Marinette could fix things, but Tikki sure did have a talent for comforting her holder.

Slowly, reluctantly, Marinette moved away from her pillow, dragging her feet to her work desk. She really needed to get a move on, finish up her latest designs. Those commissions won't finish themselves! As the girl settled herself at her desk, Tikki fluttered over, getting comfortable in the little nest Marinette had made her a few years back. The kwami of creation adored watching Marinette work her everyday magic, sewing fabric together to create something beautiful and original. It was wonderful, watching plain material be weaved together into all sorts of beautiful creations.

Sadly, the kwami’s pleasure was short, as Marinette’s phone buzzed. The girl immediately jumped on it, grinning from ear to ear. She had been waiting for this call for far too long. Without a moment of hesitation, she answered with a singsong voice.

“Hey Alya! Long time no see! Wait, can we change this to video chat?”

Alya’s voice could be heard through the speakers. Tikki nuzzled her nest, blending into the fabric. This way, she could see Marinette and Alya without being noticed by the latter. And she always did enjoy hearing the two girls gossip.

Alya’s face appeared on Marinette’s phone, making the youngest of the two giggle. Alya’s hair was short and untamed. It fluffed all around her face, as if she had just woken up. Then again, she might have, given the time.

“Had a rough night?”

“Nino wouldn't shut up!” Alya buried her face in her pillow, groaning. “We were up in the club until 3, closing time. Now, time that we pack up, head back to the apartment we’re renting, it’s like 4. I'm exhausted as Hell! I just want to sleep by that point, but no! No way! Nino had other plans which happened to be gushing about who knows what for long enough for me to fall asleep mid-gush. So I’m running on 4 hours of sleep and,” Alya grabbed a mug from the her nightstand and held it up, “Redbull and coffee. I’m gonna die before the tour is over.” Alya sighed before taking a sip of her energizing poison. Marinette cringed at the sight, never having been a fan of neither energy drinks, nor coffee. She could serve it, but she more of a tea person.

“Well, as much as I don't envy you, I can't say I got much sleep either. Got another set of commissions, and can I say they might be the death of me? It’s not that they’re necessarily complicated, but they’re complicated as shit! I'm terrible at this.” Marinette slumped down on her desk as Alya sent her virtual pats on the back.

“There there, girl. You got this! Always do! Remember the summer of your last year in college, when you thought you were gonna die making those costumes for Kitty Section? Guess how that finished.” Marinette opened her mouth, but Alya cut her off before she could answer. “You finished the costumes AND you had time to study for our exams.”

Marinette grumbled about also having to patrol and fight akumas as Ladybug, but it wasn't loud enough for Alya to hear, thankfully. She still had to keep her superheroine identity a secret, even though Marinette didn't quite understand how no one put two and two together, but she didn't complain. The less the Parisiens questioned themselves on who hide behind the red mask, the better she felt. Anyways, what did it change whether they knew Marinette Dupain-Cheng was Ladybug or not? What was the difference did it make that it was her or another girl?

“Hey, girl! I heard from Nino that Adrien’s gonna be stay in his apartment! That means that your knight in shining armor is still available!”

Marinette sighed, hitting her head again her wood desk. She had almost forgotten about the Adrien Incident . “Don't remind me! I messed up, Alya! I messed up big time!”

Alya cocked an eyebrow at Marinette, waiting for an explanation. Of course, she didn't have to utter a single word for her friend to spill all the details of her ruined inexistent lovelife. “He came to the bakery this morning. I was way to bold with him! Stepped too far, asking about his father! I never should have done that, Al. I know how tense the relationship is, yet, I still asked him how Mr. Agreste was doing. And you know what he answered?” Alya shook her hair, her bed hair hitting her in the face. Usually, that would have made Marinette laugh, but not today. “He smiled and said he was no longer his father! Adrien Agreste is no longer an Agreste! Alya! Do you realise what this means? It means that I overstepped and he’s never going to talk to me again!”

Marinette threw her head back, her hands lifted in the air before falling onto her hair. She dragged her fingers down her face, pulling at her skin in shame. She felt like digging a hole and crawling into it for a thousand years. Of course, both Tikki and Alya dissuaded her as soon as she mentioned her wishes.

“Marinette, girl, look at me! I’m sure he doesn't rea-”

“I hit on him while he’s dealing with probably the worst thing someone could deal with!”

There was a silence. Alya pulled her hair back, tying it into a ponytail, something she only did when tension was high. She tapped her chin a few times, turning words over in head, trying to find the best combination to calm her friend. But Marinette was already too far down in her imaginary endless pit of misfortune. No matter what Alya said, she wasn't going to change her mind. She was going to think that she messed up no matter what was said. So Alya let her ramble on, trying to piece together the scene.

“I gave him my number and all. What was I thinking? Seriously, what was I thinking? Sure, I said it was so he could call if he wanted a job, but why would the famous model Adrien Agreste want to work in a dumb family run bakery? As if he would be down, wiping counters, serving customers. Marinette! What were you thinking? Why would you ask him to work for your parents! You’re so stupid! I’m so damn stupid!”

Marinette pulled at her hair before letting it fall across her face. She sighed, ready to yell. She could hear Alya humming in the background, simply listening to the rant. She was so thankful for her best friend. She was so thankful to have someone listen to her, not trying to force their way of thinking onto her. Sure, from time to time Alya could be pretty insisting on how to deal with situations, but when she saw that Marinette wasn't ready to budge, then she’d give up. Marinette was just as stubborn as Alya, which made them terrible when opposed, but amazing when allied, which happened to be most of the time.

Alya gave Marinette her piece of advice, which Marinette half-heartedly accepted. She knew that she had to stop stressing this whole situation. Anyways, it had been years since she had been close to Adrien. What was the difference whether he talked to her now or not? Sure, he still made her heart skip a beat, but it wasn't as intense as when she was 14. He just happened to hold a very special place in her heart, being her first crush and all. Reluctantly, Marinette gave in to Alya, agreeing that Adrien Agreste wasn't worth getting gray hairs for. Boys were never worth getting gray hairs for!

“I guess you’re right. I promise to breath, alright? But-”

Marinette was cut off, her phone buzzing. Of course, Alya knew that Marinette’s phone was showing someone else’s number, grinning and demanding who it was. It felt like they were 15 again, Alya smirking as Marinette flushed red. Marinette shook her head as Alya threatened to hang up on her. Alya giggled as Marinette jiggered on her seat. Marinette was the first to snap after the fifth buzz, telling Alya that she had to take the call. The journalist chimed a good luck before disappearing from the screen, giving Marinette the chance to jump on her phone, gluing it to her ear. With a quick breath, she answered.

“Hello?”

[tragedybunny]

Blade of Noxus- A League of Legends Fanfic (Katarina/Swain)

Du Couteau Manor

It was another one of those insipid nobility affairs, this one hosted by the General and his wife. Unfortunately he attended many of them as there was never quite as good an opportunity to look into the eyes of those plotting against you without a knife buried in your side.

“Welcome Grand General.” Du Couteau’s false congeniality was palpable. He motioned to someone in distance. “Of course you remember my dear daughter Katarina.”

She emerged from the crowd, as lovely as she was known to be deadly. “You honor our house with your presence.” Of course he’d known for hours that something about this evening was more than it seemed, but it began to take form out of the mists of the visions. Katarina Du Couteau was far from her father’s favor, disgraced and considered amongst the lowest of his assassins, and consequently very nearly disowned from the family. And yet here she was presented to him as though she held a place of pride. The black dress with a design woven through out in thread of gold and a neckline that offered a more than ample view, had clearly been hastily fit to her, her long red hair styled to cover her left eye and the scar it bore, it was obvious he was being presented with a tempting bit of bait. This evening might actually turn out to be worth his time after all.

She handed him a glass of wine from a passing servant, stepping in close to him as her father left them. “We were wondering if you’d be able to join us, given all the work to be done for Noxus.” Again she edged even closer to him, making vague small talk, posturing in such a way to put herself on display for him.

She was terribly obvious at this game she was trying to play, seduction had always been more her sister’s game. But his host had gone through all this trouble, it would be rude to not play along for a bit. Besides he’d be lying to himself if he couldn’t admit he wasn’t looking forward to seeing what she’d let him to do to her. “Shall we find a more quiet place to chat, my dear?” He offered her his arm, giving her exactly what she was after. Still, for a moment she hesitated, whatever Marcus’s plan, she was more wary about it than he was.

As they walk she threaded her fingers through his, keeping herself close enough that he could feel the warmth of her body. It wasn’t long before a few stone corridors of the old manor had them completely isolated. Time to spring the trap. “I suppose there’s a reason you’ve let me get you so utterly far from anyone.” There, just for a moment, something in her eyes, a fear she’d been found out. A lesser man wouldn’t have seen it.

She recovered quickly. “Well if I’m being honest…” Suddenly she was kissing him, parting her lips, inviting him in, before breaking away. “For long time I've…admired you from a distance. I almost couldn’t resist this opportunity.” If anything he had to admire her tenacity. He wrapped his arms around her waist, keeping her firmly in his control, exploring her neck line with his tongue and teeth until her rapid breathing and soft moans were too much to resist. When she kissed him again it was like fire, he wondered if she was still entirely acting. “No one will interrupt us” she whispered “let’s not deny what we both want.”

Suddenly her hands were opening his pants, almost teasingly she grasped him, softly, slowly. She was growing a bit impatient. He lifted her off the ground, her back pinned against a wall. Skirt pushed up her thighs, she wrapped herself around him. He thrust inside her with something close to violence, and felt the bliss of her wet warmth. Was it him or the danger she was in that had her so aroused? “Katarina.” He growled her name as he moved inside her, listening to the chorus of soft noises escaping her.

That’s when he heard what he’d been waiting for, the sound of the dagger concealed in her sleeve being drawn. A pity, killing her would be such a waste, and he had been rather enjoying himself. Faster than she could react, his left hand, wrapped around her throat, the demonic light blazing. Her eyes widened with fear, no longer able to keep up her mask while confronted with the full force of his power. “Drop it, now.” The dagger clattered to the floor. He squeezed a bit tighter, watching her struggle to breathe. “And the other one.” She had the nerve make a small indignant noise before drawing that one and dropping it as well. “Good girl.”

He released her throat and pulled away, leaving her to scramble to get her feet under her, and come up in a defensive stance, prepared to be defiant to the last. An idea was forming in his mind, no he wouldn’t kill her, she had far too much potential and her dedication to what she’d been tasked with was so completely Noxian. She could be of great use. “Relax, I’ve decided you’re not going to die tonight after all.”

“How generous of you, Grand General.” Her words dripped venom. Finally, no more playing the coquette.

It was too much to resist, he smirked at her. “I can always rescind that decision. As you said, no one is going to interrupt us. But tell me, why did you agree to take part in this incredibly obvious and idiotic farce of a plot? I would’ve thought you were a little more sensible.”

She dropped her combat stance and opted to cross her arms, glowering at him. “If you wish to kill me, go ahead, but I’m not going to participate in whatever game you think you’re going to play. You won, you knew everything that would happen and we’re fools for thinking we could outwit you.”

The real Katarina was infuriating and infinitely more alluring. He moved in closer to her and fought an urge to push her back against the wall and finish what they had started. She didn’t flinch, instead meeting his gaze with her luminous blue eyes, he could see her fury, but something else remained there as well.

“Let me hazard a guess then, misguided family loyalty? Still trying to earn back your father’s affection?”

She actually moved to strike him, he caught her wrist, careful to not to inflict too much pain. “As if you would know anything about loyalty to one’s House.” She strained to pull free from his grasp.

He spun her quickly around, wrenching her arm behind her back, just enough to keep control of her, he heard her sharp intake of breath. “You do try my patience, my dear. But I have a business proposition for you. You will never earn back your place, you are clearly considered disposable, and these outdated notions of House before all are toxic rot to Noxus itself. I have been merciful because you could be much more than you are now.” She stopped struggling, he had her attention now at least. “Serve me, serve Noxus itself, become a knife in the dark for our enemies, the Blade of the Empire.”

He released her, she didn’t turn to face him, her hand reaching up to absentmindedly rub the shoulder he’d twisted. He’d blindsided her with the truth, piercing her armor, and leaving her vulnerable. Just a bit more and he was sure he would have her. He moved right behind her, a hand resting on her shoulder. “It’s time you stopped being held back, Katarina, realize your potential. Stop letting your father hold you back.”

“No.” Her answer was quiet, sorrowful in a way. Curiously he found that distasteful.

“I don’t accept that. Think on it a day. I’ll await your answer then.” He began walking away and heard her turn to watch him go. He knew then that Marcus had gambled and lost more than he could even realize.

He made sure to appear occupied when she finally arrived, the desk in his bed chamber filled with papers he was not even bothering to read. He never doubted she would come, what he offered her and whatever it was that passed between them in that hallway had awoken something in her. He was pleasantly surprised however by her boldness as his window opened and she stepped down inside. Tonight she was every bit the assassin, all sharp edges and armor. She was spectacular.

He looked up from his feigned concentration. “It appears you’ve made a decision.”

“Hmm, you sound so smug, what if I was here to try to kill you again.” Of course she was going to put up a front of being difficult.

“I would expect you would have been less obvious if you were.” He rose and bore down on her, intentionally predatory. She stood resolute. The air between them grew thick. “Well…”

He watched intently as she chose her words carefully. “After all things considered, you were right. It’s time to serve the greater good of Noxus.”

He cupped her face in his running his thumb along the scar that was now worn proudly instead of hidden, feeling a raw need to posses her. She sucked in a long breath at his touch, there was that desire he’d glimpsed the night before. “And what of your family?”

Her expression darkened. “I’m done being their pawn.”

“Turned on you as soon as I left.” She jerked away from his hand, he realized he’d pushed a bit too far.

“I’m here. What does it matter, unless you need to gloat again.” Her sudden coldness wouldn’t do at all. It shouldn’t make any difference, he had the assassin, he didn’t need the woman. And yet…

He put his hands on her hips. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to offend.” Perhaps this was a mistake, giving into this urge she was causing in him. It was too late though as he felt her soften, and he leaned in to kiss her, her arms wrapping around his neck.

“You’re forgiven I suppose. But I see you won’t be satisfied until you have more than my loyalty. Not that I’m objecting.” It was her turn to sound a bit smug. He almost retorted but she moved away and boldly began undoing the clasp to her weapons belt. It dropped to floor, followed by her armor.

“Keep going I want to see all of you.” He practically growled, the need he felt now burning. In seconds she was gloriously bare before him. He circled around her, drinking her in, curves to battle scars to that perfectly tempting patch of red hair between her legs. He ran his finger up a particularly long scar near her spine, she’d have to tell him about it sometime. She shivered a bit. “You are truly stunning, every inch of you.” He whispered as he caught her in his arms.

She leaned into him as his lips traced her bare shoulder his hand travelling down between her legs. He teased his way inside her, feeling her rub against him deliciously as she moaned. She was already so wet, like she’d been waiting for this for hours. He knew she was so close already. He pressed inside her more intently, his fingers wringing pleasure from her. “That’s it, come for me.” He ran his thumb along her clit and she obliged him, one more moan escaping her.

He scooped her up in his arms, settling her in his bed, and quickly stripping away his clothes. Beyond the door he could hear someone being shown into the adjacent audience chamber, this night was going perfectly to plan.

It was her turn to make a study of him, her eyes hazy with desire. “Gods, I want you so bad, Jericho.”

His name on her lips was too much, he drove himself inside her, her legs wrapped around his hips, her nails digging into is back. He thrust inside her wildly, relishing that feeling of her, tight and warm. She cried out, her hips rocked up to meet his rough use of her, she begged him to not stop. He lowered his head, capturing a nipple with his teeth, just hard enough to cause her to arch her back in ecstasy. He felt her tighten around him, calling his name again, he lost control, burying himself deep inside her one last time as he was spent.

There was heavy temptation to forget the rest of his plans and remain in bed, seeing how many of those appealing little mewling noises he could cause her to make. But he had one last test to be certain of her. He kissed her one last time. “Get dressed, I have one more thing I need from you tonight.”

She ran a hand through her hair, seeming to collect herself. “It really can’t wait?” She was put out a bit, but she did as he asked.

He dressed and headed for the door. “Join me when you’re ready.”

He exited to find exactly what he was expecting, Marcus Du Couteau waiting, incredibly irritated. “What are you about Swain having me summoned in the middle of the night to wait here and listen to you fuck.”

“Marcus, you have finally run out my patience with that little stunt of yours last night.”

He was taken aback. “I… I have no idea what you’re saying.”

“So you didn’t task your daughter with putting a knife in my back?” Anger erupted in his voice, he was done the entire existence of this idiot. . The door behind him opened, he could feel her presence behind him.

Marcus was white. “Katarina?”

“Ah yes, there you are.” He waved her over to him, her face now unreadable, the assassin taking over. “General Marcus Du Couteau has committed treason, attempting to assassinate me while I was guest under his own roof. For that he should die.” He stepped back and gestured to the shaken man. “Katarina, be a dear and kill your father for me.” The moment of truth, at last.

She smiled and drew one of her daggers. “As you command, Grand General.”

To his credit Marcus, readied himself to fight. “Have you gone mad girl, I am your father.”

“You are a traitor to the Empire.” She rushed forward, tossing the dagger toward him, forcing sidestep. That instant of distraction was all she needed to come up behind him, another dagger to his throat, opening it wide, his eyes frozen in shock. He fell to the ground, a red fountain spurting from his ruined neck. She reached down and wiped her dagger on his shirt.

He observed the portrait of carnage before him. “Pity, I rather liked that rug.”

She stepped around the ruined mess of her father’s corpse toward him. “Are satisfied with my loyalty now?” She crossed her arms, clearly challenging him.

“Don’t be cross, you enjoyed that as much as I did.”

“Don’t assume to know my mind. And from now on no more games.” It wasn’t a question, it was clearly a demand. The audacity, it thrilled him. “What are you planning to do with him?”

“He needs to disappear. He’s not alone in his plotting and I want any other members of his little conspiracy on edge, they’ll expose themselves soon enough. And of course I’ll require your silence, none of this happened. I’ll send word when I require your services again.”

“As you say. I’ll see myself out.” She turned and walked away from him. He was certain it wouldn’t be long before he found someone else that needed swift knife in the dark.

[brightestwitch333]

you are a black

he heard it all the time, it was drilled into his head since birth, along with the rest of his parent’s venom. it meant so many things, it was used as a reminder, a threat, a guideline. they used it to justify and condemn, to build and to break. they fed him poison and it expected him to gargle it back up on demand. but he could not and would not. those simple four words defined, trapped, hurt, imprisoned, and finally broke sirius orion black. because in the end of it all they were true - he was a black.

you are a black his parents preached to him for as long as he could remember. they told him it meant that he was more important, better, above everyone else. he was worthy. blacks are superior to lesser beings.

you are a black his mother scolded, when he was four and tried to befriend a muggle he met on the street. blacks do not associate with such filth.

you are a black the old family house elf responded simply when sirius asked why he was so eager to serve him, why the house elf was forced to clean up sirius’ messes, it just didn’t seem fair. blacks deserve the very best from inferiors.

you are a black his father growled at him, when he was ten, after he’d expressed his doubts about slytherin. blacks are always sorted into slytherin.

you are a black his cousin bellatrix taunted him after his sorting. she knew exactly what that meant for him and she relished in his fearful anticipation. he’d simply glared daggers at her, unwilling to concede. blacks accept the consequences of their actions

you are a black his mother roared, her howler shaking the great hall in its unchecked fury, her rage apparent for all to hear. sirius, his face a white mask, refused to let his terror show. blacks do not diverge from where they belong, especially not black heirs, and they certainly do not get sorted into gryffindor.

you are a black? his new friend, james, questioned confusedly. his parents had warned him about that family but sirius didn’t fit their descriptions. blacks were not so good and kind

you are a black his brother reminded him quietly and fearfully, worried their parents would overhear, after sirius had suggested that, perhaps, some of their parents’ beliefs were wrong. blacks don’t question the set order of things.

you are a black his mother reprimanded him with a slap to the face after he’d misbehaved at an important dinner party. blacks do not conduct themselves inappropriately in public

you are a black his father told him sternly, his fingers digging into sirius’ shoulders and elbow in his throat, seemingly unconcerned by the shop keeper’s flabbergasted and horrified face. blacks don’t make mistakes, even ones as simple as forgetting their booklist at home.

you are a black his mother corrected him maliciously when he called himself a gryffindor. blood triumphs house. it was his birthright not his choices that defined him. blacks know where their loyalties lie

you are a black his mother shrieked in anger, her voice magnified tenfold by the howler, heard all throughout the great hall, intending to humiliate him as he did her. blacks do not risk shaming their noble name by engaging in petty misdemeanors and nonsense such as pranks and mischief

you are a black his father insisted softly, when sirius talked back. his low, calm voice a hundred times more terrifying than any wrathful scream could be, and his controlled anger indicative of the chaos and pain that was to come. blacks raise their children to handle pain.

you are a black his mother snarled at him as he lay on the floor cradling his broken arm and still shaking from the crucius curse she’d inflicted moments before. blacks think before they speak.

you are a black his mother threatened him as he stood at the fireplace, wand in hand and blood streaking his face. unsure of whether he should stay or go. he opted to stay for the moment, for his brother. that was a mistake. blacks do not doubt themselves.

you are a black his brother recited back dutifully, spewing the lessons of their parents to sirius with perfect obedience after sirius had remarked that blood status didn’t much matter, only the briefest flicker of fear in regulus’ eyes betrayed his doubts about his words. blacks always say what they are supposed to, regardless of what is true

you are a black his mother warned softly, curses ready upon her lips, hexes heavy on her tongue. she was watching for any misstep or mistake. no error was too small to avoid punishment. blacks always receive what they deserve.

you are a black his mother hissed to him in french after he ran away the first time, so the potters couldn’t understand. veiling her hints and threats across the language barrier, reminding him that he could not escape his heritage, forcing him to return. blacks must always return to their roots.

you are a black his father disciplined him in the middle of diagon alley, punching him to the ground quick and hard, after sirius corrected him for calling lily evans, his fellow gryffindor and classmate, a foul name. nobody batted an eye. blacks do what they want.

you are a black his brother whispered to him wide-eyed and warningly, pulling him aside in the corridor before class. silently begging him not to do something he’d regret lest they both pay the price. but sirius had no intention of hiding his love for his best friend, for a half blood, for a boy. blacks fight for what they want.

you are a black! his mother screeched at him angrily, during a heated argument, brandishing her wand like a sword and firing furious hexes at him like she was sole prosecutor of justice. blacks do not argue with authority. blacks do not hesitate to seek justice

you are a black! he choked out in response to his father’s promptings, struggling against the arm crushing his windpipe, desperately trying to breathe. his father had told him to recite the lesson he’d been given since birth and he just needed to breathe. blacks always give the expected answer.

you are a black! his parents repeated again and again as they struck him, each blow hard and precise, each curse decisive and powerful. blood, bruises and broken bones were his payment for loving an unworthy boy, for loving remus. blacks should never lower themselves to such standards.

you are a black his mother spat at him one last time, her gaze hard and unforgiving as she glared down at her former son. she knew that no matter how undeserving he was, no matter what anyone else said or did, he would never truly shed that title, not really. but she would impress upon him what it actually meant to be a black, one last time. crucius. blacks like to accentuate their point.

you are a black his father rumbled into his ear as sirius laid on the ground, panting and groaning, unable to conceal his pain any longer. but not for long. & with that he carved blood traitor into sirius’ arm, his new label. blacks must prune their family tree, weeding out the weak and unworthy.

you are a black his brother pleaded, when sirius cornered him in the hallway after spotting the mark on his arm. you understand why I had to. you left. sirius wordlessly let him go, guilt and regret burning through him. blacks do what needs to be done.

you are a black the second-year girl trembled fearfully, terror on her face when he stopped her in the hallway to ask if she knew the date. the blanant suspicion in her eyes felt like a slap in the face, two years after he’d been disowned the title still followed him. he wanted to correct her, to prove to her that he wasn’t like them but instead he walked away without even asking. blacks are always respected and feared.

you are a black his brother insisted on the train home, after sirius’ last year at hogwarts. they both knew that once they reached the platform their paths would diverge and they might never see each other again. they might’ve disowned you but I didn’t. you’re still my brother. sirius ached for those words to be true, but that was the last time he and regulus ever spoke. blacks can’t always keep their promises.

you are a black mad eye stated definitively, disgust and hate evident in his tone, as if that statement alone was enough for him to know him. he eyed him distrustfully, perhaps searching for some sign of evil in his youthful haughty face. he didn’t want him to join and it was easy to see why. blacks know only darkness, they are not to be trusted

you are a black! his boyfriend shouted, the implication clear in his tone. he was upset and angry that sirius would dare accuse him of being the spy after everything they’d been through together, and sirius couldn’t quite believe that he had either. but remus’ statement hurt sirius like nothing else, although he clearly didn’t mean it. anyone that knew sirius knew how deeply he despised the dark side. blacks are many things but disloyal is not one of them.

you are a black peter whispered, after sirius confronted him on the street, shaking and sobbing, white with horror and needing to understand. laughing madly with hysteria, and insensible with grief. nobody will believe you over me. he was right. blacks do not have a good reputation

you are a black the judge explained, hatred burning in his eyes, as sirius was carted off to azkaban, sentenced to life imprisonment and pyschological torture without a trial, and that simple statement was enough to justify it all. no other explanation needed. the black reputation preceded all else. blacks are known for their affiliation with the dark arts and they deserve what they get

nobody bothered to set the record straight, nobody tried to investigate further. they didn’t need to. nobody thought about how sirius was disowned by his family for his passionate hatred and opposition to the dark arts. nobody considered the fact that sirius was the very last person anyone would expect of going to the dark side. nobody remembered his vement opposition to all it stood for, his history of standing up for what he believed in. they didn’t take into account everything he had suffered fighting against the very thing he was jailed for. how he announced his opposition every chance he got. how he stood against his own family from the age of eleven and made no secret of his views. how he joined an organization straight out of school that was dedicated to destroying the dark lord. no one thought about how james potter was sirius’ best friend and brother. how they were inseparable, and how sirius would fight to his dying breath to protect that man. nobody looked into how things weren’t adding up, how something was off. they just let it happen, no one cared. well almost no one.

& sirus, the only one that knew the truth, the only one who was absolutely sure of his own innocence, didn’t even try to defend himself. he wasn’t given a chance to a trial, a chance to let the truth come out. & even if he was given a chance to defend himself, he wouldn’t, because in his mind this atrocitious miscarriage of justice was well deserved. in his mind he deserved this punishment, he deserved to suffer, to live in pain, to wallow in misery. in his mind this was justice, for this was the only type of justice he’d ever known. his whole life he had been been punished and battered for every mistake and this was the biggest mistake he’d ever made. although it wasn’t his fault, although there was nothing he could’ve done, he blamed himself. & so he punished himself because he thought he deserved it. he didn’t say a word to defend himself and so nobody else did either.

you are a black. you cannot escape the truth. his parents used to tell him that when he defied them, to remind him that he would always be one of them. & in the end it was true, he was a black and that made society turn against him. blacks know of nothing but darkness. they don’t deserve trials or fairness. they have no right to judgement. they get what they deserve, sirius was no exception to that.

you are a black. & he was, sirius was a black. try as he might, he never quite managed to shake that title, he carried it to his dying breath. he died a black, accused of and imprisoned for a crime he did not commit. not until after his death was his name cleared. all he wanted in his life was to prove himself different than his family, to prove he wasn’t one of them. but in the end he was. he may have been better, more honorable, more moral, more good. but his name imprisoned and trapped him, in more ways than one. & he was a black.

[derrickperegrine]

got a shotgun in my pocket.

a pansy drabble for @fortesques. happy birthday fran!

Night was a good time for London. Yellow street lamps burned blearily into the dark, illuminating the silent buildings in a greasy light that slid right off their rain-eaten exteriors; red buses ground loudly against the looping black streets, their wheels sounding so much rougher in the silence; and the faded black of sky felt soft and heavy, like something muffling and concealing, so thick and blurry that even the stars couldn’t shine through and spy upon the unsuspecting world.

Which suited Pansy perfectly. She was mindful not to step out of the sticky shadows looming by the street lamps’ stringy rays of light, and the noise of late night traffic masked the sound her shoes made upon the pavement. The air felt tacky against her skin, and Pansy hoped that it wouldn’t rain before she got to her target. Peregrine Derrick’s voice crackled over the legilimency link.

‘Quit worrying, Nightshade. You’re close.’

If she weren’t working with Derrick, Pansy would have strangled him in a heartbeat. But after the war, snakes must stick together and retreat back to their pits, never to rear their heads in Potter-worshipping society; they could only bare their fangs in the dark and spill their venom into the gutters. Some life.

Of course, many erased themselves, adopted new names, returned to the world shining and happy like the sun that rises from its grave in the horizon. Others fled, for being in this country -- where they lost and which they lost -- as disowned children was too painful of a memory, and a new chapter had to be written. Pansy despised these people, cowards who couldn’t live with their own words, couldn’t admit to the guilt of their own actions, couldn’t stay true to themselves. Lies masquerading as humans, cowards covering their jaundiced bellies with dazzling brocades and shadowy vestments alike.

Traitors who left their own to suffer, for fear of their own comfort.

Then there were those who were left to live through the pain. Those who accepted the burden of their actions, those who shouldered the curse of their reputation, those who accepted the truth of the world they were living in. Those who were like her friends, Draco, Theo, Blaise, Daphne, and Astoria. Life was hard for them, but they did not hide from it. They understood the rules -- you reap what you sow; and so they willingly ate their bitter fruits.

Then there were people like her. People like Peregrine Derrick, Millicent Bulstrode, Lucian Bole, Graham Montague, Adrian Pucey, and Cassius Warrington. There were the vengeful. To live a life of resignation, acceptance, or escape was not a life, they firmly agreed. A person must live their lives by their own terms; one must fight to claim what they had previously lost.

And they had lost a lot. Fame, family, friends, fortune, familiarity. What was once their birthright had been ripped from their hands by the war, and they knew exactly who was responsible. Pansy came up to the house she was assigned to target. Her hand hovered preparedly over her wand. They knew exactly who was responsible, and they were going to make them pay -- an eye for an eye.

‘Nightshade, do you have eyes on the target?’ Derrick’s voice palpitated through the connection.

Looking through the window, Pansy could see a figure rustling within the house. ‘Affirmative, Falcon.’

Pansy withdrew her wand, a sleek thing, a cold thing, and not the same thing she owned when she was in school. She was not the same thing. None of them were. Now Pansy was Nightshade, Peregrine -- Falcon, Cassius became Angel ... they were things stuck between human and shadow, existence and nonexistence. When she walked up the front doorsteps now, her shoes made no sound. Silently, she twirled the wand in her hand and traced the shape of an alohomora in her mouth. The lock clicked open. No, they were not human. They were ruination.

As she stepped through the door, Pansy considered almost amusedly how little effort this one had taken to break into; just a simple alohomora. The aurors could have gotten this one, if they were clever enough to find it. Derrick’s voice buzzed again. ‘Don’t let down your guard just yet, Nightshade.’

‘Do you have a location for me, Falcon?’ She scanned her surroundings and found them typical -- the room was only dimly lit by muggle lightbulbs, however the furniture was fanciful, familiar. The furniture was obviously dryad-work, with intricate nature motifs and the soft hum of forest magic that she could feel in her wand.

This was definitely a mark’s house. ‘He’s in the study,’ Derrick said.

‘Didn’t even bother to hide, huh?’

Derrick laughed, and it was a lightweight yet brassy sort of thing that Pansy never liked. ‘No, he never knew we were coming.’

How annoying, Pansy thought to herself, now he’ll get startled and put up a fight.

‘That’s half the fun,’ Derrick said, and Pansy was instantly reminded of why she didn’t like him. She found Pucey a more compatible handler -- he never uttered a single unnecessary letter, for one. But he was also on field duty tonight -- Footprint was following another target.

Pansy waved her wand in a casting motion, and a pale blue film fell onto the room before her, draping it in an almost eery glow. Some places glowed brighter than others -- warded and booby trapped. Pansy held out her wand as she moved forward.

The first impediment was the standard anti-intruder jinx, which Pansy removed with ease as instinctual as breathing. Its complicated layers of alarms, restraints, and jinxes used to frustrate her, but now it was the most predictable and commonplace of all spells. Pansy traced her way around it, disabling all of its protocols and functions, and it let her in as the house’s new mistress.

She effortlessly disabled a horn-tongue hex, an ear-shrivelling curse, and a jelly-legs curse. She couldn’t tell if her mark was being careless, overconfident, fearless, or if he’s simply given up. ‘It could also be a trap,’ Peregrine said, his voice suddenly serious. The brightness was gone from his demeanor and it made Pansy more alive for it. Finally, some gravity coming from Derrick.

With a flick of her wand, Pansy nullified the finger-removing jinx from the doorknob. She wrapped her hands around the spell-cooled metal, and turned.

Immediately Thorfinn Rowle cast an entrail-expelling curse towards her and Pansy nullified it with a confringo. She learned early on that casting a curse was more effective in blocking a spell than casting a protego. A trap, then. He raised his wand to cast again, but Pansy wasn’t here to fight tonight. She had other things to do. She was here to decimate.

‘Stop playing around,’ she said, and Rowle’s wand snapped cleanly in two. Incantations don’t matter, it’s intent that makes a spell, Millicent always said. Rowle looked at his broken wand in disbelief and, briefly, terror. He made a dash to burst out of the window to his left, but Pansy simply said, ‘You’re not going anywhere,’ and the ropes of an incarcerous bound themselves tightly against his thin frame.

The former Death Eater tripped and fell onto his face. Pansy walked over and turned him over with her shoe. He wore a fugitive’s face, thin and sallow, and his hair was long and heavy with neglect, pooling behind his head like an oil spill. Pansy felt disgust curl in her stomach like a slick snake. ‘What are you going to do to me?’ he asked, his voice weak and trembling like a candle flame in the dark.

‘I’m going to kill you,’ Pansy replied as she unhooked her knife from her belt.

They all had their different methods of going about it. Cassius, or Angel, was a merciful boy who simply used the Killing Curse. Millicent lived up to her name of Hellcat by stalking her marks and strangling or drowning them silently; she didn’t care to make a fuss. Graham, who was known as Cracker, hated to leave evidence so he usually blew up his marks. Like Millicent, Adrian, or Footprint, was a stalking sort of killer, who’d egg his marks into traps he’d set earlier -- he hated to dirty his hands. Peregrine, or Falcon, was a furious and messy sort of personality; he preferred to deal with his marks on a more personal level, with fists and boots and Quidditch bats. And Lumos -- Lucian -- was a sly person who enjoyed leaking out information about his mark into the public, bringing their whereabouts to light, until terrified of this omniscient force, his mark would reveal themselves to the aurors, to be arrested and taken to eternity in Azkaban, where he would be far, far away from the light and from Lucian.

Together they were known as the Last Meal. It wasn’t a glamourous name -- The Daily Prophet came up with it, the tawdry rag -- but they lived up to it. They were a group of anonymous assassins, hitmen, and bounty hunters who took out the remaining Death Eaters at large. They took care of it simply because as figures who were close to Death Eaters, they knew their habits, their information, their contacts; and as victims, they were by far the most forgotten and unavenged group.

For who remembered the sufferings of Slytherin children at the hands of Death Eaters? Who remembers the expectations imposed upon them, onerous in their ‘or else’s and repercussions? Who else remembers the mental and physical torture of having to live under such intense fear, to live in the very heart of darkness itself? And watch it engulf you, a hungry demon, and slowly melt your resolve in the acid of its stomach? Who else remembers the life left behind for them? The ‘future’ that both ‘revolutionary’ sides fought for? Peace and prosperity only for those who chose the side of Harry Potter, disdain and forgetting for those who chose otherwise.

No, no one wants to remember the silent little snakes who daren’t speak up against their parents for fear of an Unforgivable cast upon them, no one wants to remember the fucked up kids who didn’t know how to deal with this except to fake their loyalty to their families. No one wanted to avenge their suffering, and no one wanted to demand reparations for their wounds. And so they had to do it themselves.

They had to hunt down these wizards and witches, and give them a taste of their own medicine. Pain, humiliation, fear, anger, helplessness ... those hatchlings you stepped on have fangs too, they have venom too. And they remember you.

The Last Meal were more effective than the aurors -- they had insider information, and they didn’t care for the political and social repercussions of their actions. They burned with a thirst for retribution and justice that society wouldn’t give them, so fuck the Ministry of Magic. Utterly useless as always, no matter who was helming the bureaucratic machine. The Last Meal realised that, if you wanted something done, you had to do it yourself.

‘Please, spare me ... I’ll give you whatever you want ... I still have galleons, and you can have this house, too ...’ Rowle pleaded feebly beneath her. Pansy thought of the life she could have had. She and her friends living happily, all with the jobs they wanted, functioning members of society. She would see Draco and Theo smile again, and Daphne would shine radiantly beneath the sun instead of hiding in her house. Adrian and Terence would be playing Quidditch professionally like they deserve to, and Lucian would perhaps even join the aurors. Peregrine would be travelling the world instead of glaring holes at the walls all the time --

‘Stop wandering off and kill him already,’ Peregrine said through the connection, his voice dry and harsh with irritation. Pansy could imagine the expression on his face, as if he just had to witness something supremely stupid and beneath him.

‘Shut the fuck up,’ she said aloud, angry at Derrick’s dismissal. But he was right. There’s no point dwelling on what you can’t have. Dreams don’t come true for disgraced Slytherins.

‘Please ...’ came the voice from underneath her shoes.

Pansy looked back at Rowle, her black eyes empty and her hair curtained around her face like a grim reaper’s hood. She didn’t say a word as she dropped her knife on him, the knife falling directly above his heart.

It sank in with a disgustingly human sort of sound, soft and squelchy and somehow like a sigh, but Pansy was used to it at this point. She’d lost count of how many Death Eaters she’s killed. She didn’t care to count in the first place.

Rowle’s face went slack, and it was even softer and inhumanly shapeless in death, like a sheet of melting wax over a skeleton. This is what fear does to a person, Pansy thought to herself, I won’t let it control me again, like it did before. Blood pooled behind Rowle’s body, reaching out towards Pansy, as if looking for the culprit. She walked around his corpse and yanked her knife out. She wiped off the blood with a clean handkerchief, opened the study’s window, and whistled for a crow.

There was a rustling as the bird made its way over. Pansy handed the bloodied handkerchief to the bird, who took it and made off in the direction of the aurors. She then closed the window, and wiped her prints off of it.

She also wiped her prints off of the doorknobs on her way out. She closed the front door behind her with her wand. ‘Nicely done, Nightshade,’ Peregrine said.

‘I’ll be seeing you around, Falcon,’ she replied, and turned off their connection. She cast a tempus charm and saw that it was two in the morning. Although she should probably sleep if she were to wake up in time for tomorrow’s new assignment briefing, she was giddy with the high of the kill -- less the pure rush of power you have over a someone else, more the intense relief of having wiped out another name on your ledger -- and so she decided to grab something to drink as a celebration of sorts. Walking into the shadows, she apparated back to South London.

She popped into a 24 hours Tesco and purchased a bottle of gin. She fed Muggle money into the self-check out register, and left the store to return to her flat. It was a small one, but it was cozy and obviously lived in, not aloof and untouchable like the manor she grew up in.

As she opened the bottle and took a swig out of it -- what’s the point of using a glass if you were just going to drink alone -- her Muggle phone lit up. Did something turn up with the others? Was she being called as back up?

She picked it up and could barely believe the words being thrown into her face by the intense light of the gadget.

I know it’s you whose been taking them out. -- Harry P.

Fuck, fuck how did they find out? How did the aurors find out? Did Montague go overboard with the magic again and leave a magical signature? And how the fuck did they get her Muggle phone number --

Her phone flashed again.

I’m not angry.

She almost scoffed. Like she gave a fuck.

I want you to join us.

Pansy wanted to think that she couldn’t imagine that Harry Potter was offering her -- or perhaps, the entire gang of the Last Meal -- to join the Aurors. But this was a completely Potter thing to do.

Sod off, she typed back, and tossed the phone onto the table. She waved her wand and turned on the radio, and took another drink from the bottle.

There was a knock on the door that chilled Pansy to the bone.

I’m outside. Her phone read.

Pansy put down the bottle, and picked up her wand. She set up extra defenses around her flat and herself, and adopted a dueling stance. Just like Potter not to back down, she thought. But she wouldn’t be intimidated into joining his gang. She’s had enough of that sort of pressure.

Her phone flashed again.

At least let me join you.

[certifiedskywalker]

Mind Games - Obi Wan Kenobi

Anonymous said:

Hello! Can you do Obi-wan Kenobi imagine, a homeless force-sensitive reader who use the Force as a circus trick. Thanks!

I took the circus thing to heart! You may have to google a few of the creatures in order to get a sense of what they are, but I hope you guys like it! (i also went with bearded kenobi I hope you don’t mind...)

“This isn’t the credit amount we agreed upon,” you hissed at the Gnullith, your boss technically speaking. It’s blank yellow-white eyes blinked at you, as if asking why you had even spoken up. You rolled your eyes and nodded.

“Alright, alright. Am I showing tomorrow?” It blinked once more, it’s mask shifting as it grinned. It let out a gargled laugh and nodded quickly.

“You are the star attraction,” it said, “we need you for our show on Coruscant! We will be showing to the Galactic Senate. Consider yourself shelter for the night,” a twinge of hope struck your heart, “but only for this night.” The Gnullith turned away from you, walking towards a large ship. After a moment, you followed behind him because, it was after, shelter for the night. You walked inside the body of the ship, trying to find a place to sleep amongst all of the circus folks and machines. You settled into a corner, pulling your bag close to your body. You tucked an arm under your head as a pillow. The ship hummed to life beneath you, spreading a warmth through you. This was much better than sleeping in the damp streets of Naboo’s Lasay Swamp district. You waved your free hand above your head, pulling a tarp of some sort over your body. You heard small gasps of the other beings that had run away with the circus.

Your Force abilities were amazing, that’s true; but it was also what got you in this situation in the first place. Your family saw your power, disowned you for it as well. It taught you to be shameful of your gift. But when you stood in front of that crowd today, those memories disappeared and were replaced a sense of belonging. Something you hadn’t felt in a long time; the very thing you searched for the moment your family kicked you to the street. Hopefully the circus would become your home, you just needed to rest for now.

You felt a sharp pain in your stomach, waking you so you were ready to fight back. Above you stood the Gnullith, eyes peering down at you with distaste. You sat up, eyes scanning around your surroundings. The circus tents had been removed, along with the performers.

“Get up,” it snarled at you, “practice until you bleed. Normal talents but show them up.” With that, your fishy boss trotted away. You stood slowly, stretching as you did. You walked out of your little nook and walked over to the set up. Colorful tents, some reaching the midsection of small skyscrapers. The air traffic that flew above your head zoomed past the tops of buildings, distracting you from the clutter of your own life.

You walked over to where the acrobats were balancing and preparing for their first run. As you passed them y you heard little “ooos,” and gasps. From wonderment or disgust, you were unsure. You were tired of being unsure; if they accepted you, if you would survive the next day or die on the streets. You were pulled away from your thoughts by a loud yelp as one of the performers was nearly stepped on by a circus Varactyl. Laughter burst through the surrounding performers, causing you to smile. Maybe this life wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Give it up for the color changing, flying, Aiwhas!” The soaring, large creatures let out little chirps as they flew over your head and into the chambers they were kept in. Their scales still glowing with the brightly colored paint.You jumped up and down a little, trying to shake off the excitement coursing through your veins.

“Now give it up for the master of mind games, the major in magic, the great Y/N!” You walked out into the arena, met by applause. You walked past the alien announcer and looked out to the crowd. From the fancy clothing and made-up faces, you could easily pick out the section the Senate was sat in. Select members were treated to this wild circus, as an act of good faith to the citizens who elected them. You picked out the face of Senator Amidala, a native to your Naboo. You smiled, clearing your head from its mindless wander.

       You lifted your hands, closing your eyes and gently reaching out with your gift. With your palms faced upwards to the sky, your arms spread like the wings of the Aiwhas. You reached, pressing against the ground further with the force. With that one final push, the sand around your feet started to shift. You could feel the excited patience that was stirring in the crowd as you moved thousands of grains of sand. From there spots in the crowd, most of the high ticket buyers were unable to see the small particles, which were now starting to float upwards to your hands. You lifted your arms higher and the sand followed suit, becoming more visible to the Senators in the mass of spectators. You flicked your wrists, sending the sand flying through the air. The crowd watched in awe as you spread the sand in the air, creating an intricate design against the red tent top. Children whooped and clapped their hands while the parents watched the still moving grains. After a few more moments you let the sand fall like snow around you.

Those in the audience away from the Senate section cheered and hollered. A few Senators eloquently clapped with noticeable grins on their faces. As you took in their reactions, you let out a loud whistle. A boom sounded behind you as Sidni, the circus’ star attraction came out dancing. Soon the music started up and Sidni started to sing. The Pa’lowick’s voice rang out through the microphone and the crowd reacted with swaying bodies. As she grew closer to you, she nodded her trunk at you; thus giving you the signal. You lifted your hands once more and with that movement, Sidni went up. And up and up, until she was dancing along with her words in the air above your head. You added in a flourish of your own to the performance, lifting the sand again, spinning around the talented singer.

By the time the song ended, your strength was wavering as you lowered Sidni to the ground. The crowd cheered and you both took a bow. You and Sidni made your way behind the large curtain, but as you walked dizziness set in. Sidni caught your arm, pulling you to your feet as best as she could. Her big lips went open as she shouted for help. You were about to tell her you were fine, but your voice betrayed you as your vision went black.

You woke up with a jolt, lifting the top half of your body from the form conforming mattress. You looked around and saw a medical droid, eyes glowing as it read your stats. You moved to sit on the edge of the medical bed, ready to pull the morphine drip out of your arm when someone spoke up.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” you looked up from your arm and in the direction of the voice. A man stepped out of the shadows and something about him told you he was important. To his groomed beard and hair, to his pressed tunic.

“You overworked your power with that amazing display,” he took a step closer and you could see just how blue his eyes were. You looked away from him, down to where your feet were dangling off the edge. You shook your head and looked back up at him.

“Who are you?” Your words left your mouth a bit more mean than you had intended; but the man seemed to understand your hostility.

     “I am Jedi Master, Obi Wan Kenobi. I was an acting body guard for Senator Amidala during your performance.” You locked eyes with the man once more, part of wondering if he enjoyed the show and the other screaming at you to ask why he was in your hospital room.

     “Your performance partner called for help, we came over to your aid.” He answered your lingering question, putting you on edge slightly.

      “Did you just read my mind?” Obi Wan let out a chuckle, a light one but a chuckle nonetheless.

      “No, I had a feeling about you. Your show in the circus, you were using the Force. With much skill, may I add.” A hot blush rose to your cheeks.

     “It's just useless magic, mind games I can play. Nothing more,” you said quietly. Obi Wan shook his head and took another step towards you.

     “The Force is no magic trick, the great Y/N.” You smiled softly at your stage name. “Your power has a place in this world. If you return to The Jedi Temple with me and my padawan, we can discuss your training. You just have to say yes.” You looked up at him, his blue eyes piercing into your soul.

      “I don't know Master Kenobi. I have…” What did you have? The circus would no longer need you after it leaves Coruscant and you had no place in Naboo. Your family's disownment still stood against you.

       “I understand,” Obi Wan said sadly. “If you ever change your mind, the Jedi Council will leave its doors open to you.” With those parting words, the Jedi Master walked out of your room.

       The droid stepped towards you, undoing bindings and unplugging the connection between the machine and yourself. You still sat on the edge of the bed, thinking over the Jedi’s offer. A place where you were accepted, appreciated because of your gift sounded too good to be true; but maybe it was.

   You jumped off of the medical cot and your feet hit the floor. Sidni was nice enough to get your bag for you at some point. You grabbed your bag as you darted out of the room. You ran down halls as fast as you could to find Obi Wan Kenobi. You made it to the ship dock, essentially a parking lot. You walked out and saw a tunic-clad back.

    “Master Kenobi!” As he stepped onto the ship, Obi Wan turned his head. He held up a hand to a younger man, who shouted something to the pilot. You walked over to Obi Wan and he met you in the middle. You gave him a shy smile.

      “You think you can spare a seat?” He smiled and nodded at you.

      “Of course,” he turned around and you followed him as he walked towards the ship. He stepped up and into the body of the ship. You were about to heave yourself on board when Obi Wan turned around, extending his hand to you. You blushed and took his hand gently. He pulled you onto the ship, which started the moment you jumped aboard. With a sharp jolt, the carrier moved forwards and caused you to lose your balance. You landed against Obi Wan’s chest, coaxing a chuckle out of the younger man who sat next to Senator Amidala.

Obi Wan smiled down at you as you slowly pulled away from his arms. You reached for a handle on the ship and sat down next to the younger man. Obi Wan sat beside you.

“Y/N, this is Anakin Skywalker, my old padawan.” You held out your hand to Anakin who smiled at you smugly. You glanced back at Obi Wan and saw a smile resting on his features. Anakin leaned over and whispered in your ear.

“Never seen him smile like that, in all the years I’ve known him.” You turned and saw Anakin was giving you a pointed, but supportive look. You gazed down to your lap, fiddling with your fingers. You finally found somewhere to belong. As you looked up at Obi Wan, you thought maybe somewhere was actually a someone.

[malfoygrass]

Vipers and Hemlock drops

Lucius Malfoy loathed and admired his daughter in law with equal intensity, but mostly he just loathed her.

If he were to say exactly why he did, he’d publicly claim that little Astoria was a sad dissapointment to his family name and that he didn’t like her blood traitor tendencies anymore than he liked her simpering personality.

But the truth was deeper than that, Lucius disliked Astoria because unlike Draco he could not manipulate her and by extension she used her influence to twart any of his attempts to do it to Draco. From the moment his son had introduced his future wife to him, the girl’s eyes had sparkled with defiance and Lucius, smart man that he was, knew that the little brat would be nothing but trouble.

Harry Potter had taught Lucius not to underestimate children but it was Astoria Greengrass who would make the hard lesson stick. Cold wars were things Malfoys exeled at and fortune had seen fit for little Astoria to be cut from the same cloth of their lot, because he knew that the silent war he fought against her would probably last until long after Lucius was dead.

On paper Lucius couldn’t find any fault in her breeding, she was as pure as Pansy Parkinson, even more if the rumors about the origins of her bloodline were to be believed, her father had stayed neutral in the war, she was educated, wealthy, well spoken, posessed good taste in clothing and her family conections had survived the fallout of not one but TWO wars, not to mention she was beautiful, graceful and talented, indeed some waging tongues would even dare to say that such a jewel was too good for HIS son and there lay the problem.

Contrary to what it seemed on the outside, Hyperion Greengrass hadn’t raised a fool and Astoria was every inch the Slytherin he sometimes wished Draco could be.

Had Draco chosen a different pureblood girl, someone more insecure or a a bit more desirous for attention, Lucius would have been satisfied, but that wasn’t the girl he chose, Draco had to fall in love with a girl who wasn’t afraid of his father and that made Lucius seethe.

Oh she was respectful enough to his face of course, if she hadn’t been Lucius would have gotten a reason to complain about her and the girl was smart enough to know she needed to avoid antagonizing him (too much), it was the resentful glint in her eyes and the subtle purse of mouth whenever she looked at him that made the Malfoy patriarch know he’d never like her.

Because Astoria didn’t want his good opinion, she blamed him for what happened to Draco during the war. And in her eyes, he was the enemy. And that’s why Lucius loathed her.

Her body language spoke for her in ways her mouth didn’t. Whenever Lucius entered the room, Astoria’s hands would automatically reach for Draco’s arm in what anyone watching would consider an affectionate motion, she’d subtly take a small step in front of him and her feet would angle towards the nearest exit, even when she was required to be in the same place for hours, her body never lost the protective stance as long as Lucius was present.

No matter her tiny stature and funny health, she thought that Draco needed to be protected…from his own father.

And Lucius couldn’t even find a way to complain to Draco about that, because what would he even say “the girl you keep bringing home thinks I’m likely to kill you?” Even in his head it sounded ridiculous. Because even alluding to the subject with Draco would mean they would have to actually talk about why Astoria Greengrass felt that way.

And Lucius wasn’t stupid, she was a girl inlove and one way or another Lucius was responsible for the majority of the hurt Draco had suffered in his life, love made people irrational and this was a perfect example of it especially in pureblood girls who were used to manipulating their way to victory. Astoria loved Draco, her affections ran deep, she fancied him to be the only one she’d ever love and she would use all her resources to protect and support him in ways even Narcissa herself couldn’t aspire to. That in and on itself was a problem.

Astoria Greengrass had many masks to wear everyday and Lucius Malfoy liked to think he saw trough every one of them right down to the evildoer she was inside, oh she could pretend to be the perfect daughter, sister, socialite and girlfriend all she wanted but Lucius knew she hated him, it was there pulsing in her veins and coating her hands when she balled her pretty manicured fists and hid them in the pockets of her dress, a impulse to hiss and bare her pretty teeth like the hydra she was, next to Voldemort and maybe Bellatrix, Lucius Malfoy was probably the only person in the world that Astoria Greengrass could bring herself to hate and he knew it.

Draco might think the girl incapable of true hatred and maybe she was, but Lucius hadn’t married into the Black family witout knowing the difference between murder and disdain in the glare of a heiress and the Malfoy gardens had flourished more than once feeding on the bodies of people that brought displeasure to the likes of little Astoria.

Yes Draco respected him still, only out of filial love perhaps but his son’s love was always something Lucius could count on even when Draco didn’t agree with him and no longer supported his supremacist ideals, even if the admiration had long faded from Draco’s eyes, he was still his son and Malfoy men had a way of bonding that no outsider could break. But marrying that interloper had been one insult Lucius hadn’t been able to forgive.

How could Draco have done that? To HIM?.

Lucius agreed with Narcissa in the beleif that it was that girl’s fault, because that’s what she was to Lucius, in his mind his son’s wife would forever be ‘the girl’ a chit fresh out of school who hated him, because considering Astoria a woman would in turn force him to aknowledge that Draco was also a man grown capable of leading his own life without parental interference and Lucius didn’t think he’d ever consider Draco a man.

His son was his legacy, Lucius had taught Draco how to walk, how to use a wand, how to wear his robes in a way befitting a Malfoy, he’d been there in his son’s first quiddich match, bought him his first broom and personally chosen all of Draco’s school books and pushed him in the direction of a perfectly acceptable (if a bit ruthless) pureblood mate that was Pansy Parkinson. Nobody would ever understand how deep it hurt Lucius to see his son being led astray by a girl and not any girl either, but one that Lucius couldn’t outright squish.

Draco might still hold regard for him but Lucius knew that his son would never trust him again, not after his imprisonment brought on the mission to assassinate Dumbledore and how could it not hurt?. His own son who once thought the world of him, now worried that he’d do something to his wife if Draco left them alone for more than five minutes.

She was the first enemy of his that was both resilient and evenly matched to anything Lucius threw at her. In fact the Malfoy patriarch suspected that Astoria enjoyed any opportunity to exercise those barely used tallons on the fabric of his temper. The cloying cunning that Draco found so endearing in his wife, was a deadly weapon constantly used against Lucius and for the life of him Lucius couldn’t understand why Draco didn’t see his sweet Astoria for the awful threat she was.

But Lucius couldn’t force the chit to leave Draco, because every Slytherin could recognize a fellow snake and Astoria had been raised in the nest that produced the strongest ones up to date. She was not the wilting flower everyone thought she was, her apparent ideal wifely attributes only made her more relentless when defending herself against him.

She was educated about her ancestry and her blood status meant she knew enough lore of the sacred twenty eight to be vindictive if Lucius used any slurs or insults about the black sheep in her family. Because for every disowned family member in the Greengrass genealogy, the Malfoys had three, and she wasn’t above reminding him of that time Draco’s ten times Great Uncle was caught bedding pigs (His son, besotted as he was, never saw her barbs as the guerrilla tactics they were, but Lucius did)

Her family’s wealth meant that she couldn’t be bribed with pretty trinkets and worse, she also could ocassionally buy out one or two reporters if say ‘something ghastly’ landed her in the front page of witch weekly, on top of that some of them even did her favors to enhance the angelic public image that she tried to cultivate to buffer the bad publicity that came with being married to an ex death eater. So every time Lucius had something printed that exposed her for the brat she was, somehow someone managed to fix it the next day.

It was infuriating.

And of course she was kind, Lucius loathed kind people… they were weak, nevertheless his daughter in law was the type to floric among mudbloods and kiss dirty war orphans as tough they were all that wonderful, whenever she could sully Draco by introducing him to blood traitors, mudbloods and creatures Lucius didn’t consider good enough to grace the earth then she did, because ughhh the girl even liked Goblins, Centaurs and lesser beings, anything she could do to go against Lucius she would do it out of spite just to passive aggressively rub it in her father in law’s face.

She even petitioned to do her apprenticeship on magical coin, not under a respectable ministry wizard like everybody else, but under a Goblin, because little Astoria absolutely had to have the best and who was better at teaching about galleons and sickles than Goblins.

Lucius had stormed Hyperion’s office when he’d heard and what had the dimwitted man said? “Lucius I don’t see the problem, if Astoria wants to cultivate good relations with the race that hold the purse strings of our world then I certainly won’t do anything to stop her” blah blah blah, Hyperion Greengrass hated Lucius too, he probably enjoyed watching the vein in his forehead throb.

Narcissa was different, the girl wasn’t in an active war with Narcissa and Lucius felt both thankful and angry for that. Because Narcissa thought that the girl wasn’t capable of doing lasting harm, considered her a harmless pest one had to put up with in order to have Draco’s reagard (to be fair Narcissa had been subjected to enough undesirable family members to grow used to that type of approach) so she couldn’t understand the outright war that Lucius was fighting against Astoria right under Draco’s nose.

Astoria had a talent for turning all her weakness into weapons to use, she never hid her blind spots, left her open wounds on the surface for all to see, paraded every single detail that could ever be used to hurt her like a badge of honor in Lucius face and when Lucius inevitably tried to take advantage of them, she’d smile vindictively and brush off his every verbal attack with a grace that few in his acquaintance possessed.

Truthfully her antagonism wouldn’t have made any difference to Lucius had she been anybody else, because as a man of questionable morals and even more questionable actions he was used to the general public hating him, were it not for the fact that Astoria’s reasons were too raw and personal for Lucius to dismiss them.

The little girl wasn’t a hypocrite, she didn’t hate him for his part in the rise of Voldemort anymore than she could hate Draco, or because of the countless Avada’s in his belt, let alone his use of illegal (charms, spells, books, funds) everything, if she had, then it would have been easier to ignore her, because he’d been Lucius Malfoy since long before she came into the world and he didn’t owe explanations to anybody. No Astoria’s hatred was as personal as it got, Lucius had pushed Draco into too many painful situations for Draco to cope with, he had hurt his son because he’d wanted power and glory, placed him in Voldemort’s grasp and jeopardized his life every single day he served the dark lord.

It was something Lucius knew the girl would resent to her dying day, Lucius hadn’t protected Draco, he hadn’t done more to spare Draco the world of pain he’d suffered during Voldemort’s rise and if Lucius had been anyone other than who he was, he was sure that little Astoria Greengrass would have had no qualms in slipping something particularly venomous into his afternoon tea.

So in yes Lucius Malfoy would never like, approve, or want the girl as part of the Malfoy family simply because she was entirely justified in hating HIM and he despised people who held the high ground over him.

He had too much pride to even try to make the girl understand his side of the story, because maybe just maybe his conciense wasn’t as silent as he let the world think it was when it came to Draco’s dark mark and battle scars, maybe little Astoria made him feel uncomfortable because he knew she’d probably seen his son’s scars in the most intimate light and gone to the same conclusion that haunted Lucius at night: he had failed Draco as a father.

And that’s why Lucius couldn’t approve of her, he’d never love his daughter in law or think well of her, he’d never give Draco’s marriage his blessing and would always be in a passive aggressive war with the little interloper.

Because she had every right to feel hurt on Draco’s behalf and Lucius hated her because the alternative was hating himself.

An: well this was a fun foray into the complicated and self centered mind of Lucius Malfoy. Hope I stayed true to his character.