#one thing I always wondered about those was if elves ever had the same name

[fortisfilia]

Promised - Tom Riddle x reader

Info: This is a rewrite of a story I've posted on my old account years ago. If it sounds familiar, that might be why :)

Summary: In this story, Tom didn't grow up as an orphan, but with his grandfather and uncle. Reader's sister got very sick and the Gaunts offer their help. But not without asking for something in return.

Warnings: Arranged marriage, sickness

Word count: 2.7k

Masterpost | Masterlist

Part 1 - Dinner Guests

The bathroom mirror was still fogged up, your blurry face looking back at you when you put on the earrings Mother had given you earlier. 

“The Gaunts will be our guests tonight. And I expect you on your best behaviour,” Mother had said in the morning. What she hadn’t done though, was answering the questions you had met her with.

Why are they coming? Since when are they more than any other rich family, looking for peers? Since when are we interested in such peers? And why, oh why do they visit on the last evening of summer holiday, when you had planned to spend it with your little sister?

“You’ve got no business asking all those things,” she had said, flicking her wand to reposition the cushions on the sofa in the living room. “Now go to your room if you’re not going to help me tidy.”

A frustrated sigh soared through the bathroom as you fixed those damn wrinkles on your stupid dress, wondering when they would arrive. Your “best behaviour”. As if she ever had to remind you. Nothing was easier than behaving. Just keep your mouth shut and smile. Think of them what you want and maybe hex them later. You had done this for 18 years. Every dinner party had had its moments when you’d rather told the guests to finally shut up and go home, but you had never done it. Just nodded and agreed to whatever idiotic thing the person next to you had said. Tonight would be exactly the same. Smile, nod, wait for them to vanish. Easy. 

On your way downstairs, you peeked into your little sister’s room. Elsie was sleeping, her heavy breaths a sharp reminder of her current state. She had been cursed about two weeks ago. Someone had sent a letter to Father that she had opened, not knowing what waited inside. An adult would have probably been able to get over it, the mediwizards had said, but her tiny body was doing so poorly, that they couldn’t tell when and if she would get better. So she stayed in bed, where a house elf was always with her to watch over her when you or your parents weren’t able to. 

And there rang the doorbell. You took another look at Elsie before you made your way down as Father welcomed the three men entering. First in line was Marvolo Gaunt, roughly 60 years of age, with coarse skin and sparse grey hair beneath his bonnet. The man after introduced himself as Morfin Gaunt, a man in his forties, much better groomed than his father, yet he unmistakably wore the same slimy grin. The last was Tom Riddle, a boy from your school. Different last names and certainly a difference in appearance made his presence an unexpected one. But thinking back, there had been people in Hogwarts talking about Tom living with his grandfather and uncle. And with the student’s stories came many rumoured reasons as to why he did. Those rumours, whatever their veracity, hadn't piqued your interest, as Tom and you had never been in the same circles. He mostly kept to himself and when he wasn’t, a bunch of Slytherins were following him like a pack of guard dogs, vying for his attention. 

Tom could easily pass for a gentleman if one didn't know any better. He carried himself with a certain sense of pride and elegance. Not too much, not too little. No slimy grin, yet more of an unreadable expression of indifference on his face. He didn’t shake your hand like the two men before but glanced curtly at you before he introduced himself to your parents. Prick. 

Elsie’s seat at the dinner table stayed empty once more, even though the house elves had set the whole table, in case she wanted to join. The thought of checking up on her again surfaced. Later. Now it was time for your best behaviour. 

“Thank you for having us tonight,” Marvolo Gaunt said when the first course arrived. “It’s a rare delight to see that there still are families with values.”

The way he had emphasised that last word felt like a punch to the gut. 

Father nodded. “Rare indeed.”

Tom sat opposite of you and ate quietly. Never before had you seen someone making so little noise while cutting food. As if he was trying not to be noticed. And yet this very attempt made you look even closer. You weren’t even sure if he knew you. He must have, you shared classes at school after all. But he had completely ignored you since they had arrived. 

Morfin Gaunt put on his, apparently, most sympathetic smile. “We heard about your other daughter. And her” -he paused for a second and looked toward the empty spot at the table- “condition.”

What was he implying? Rumours surely spread as quickly as dragon pox, but why bring it up during dinner? You bit your tongue to prevent yourself from asking.

“And we heard about you knowing how to cure it,” Father said.

He knew. He must have invited them for exactly that reason. Looking at Tom again, to see if he was privy as well, you waited for him to meet your eyes, but were left with more indifference as he kept on staring at his plate.

“Well, we have our ways,” Marvolo said as he cut a piece of meat. “Old magic. Curse breaking. Better than whatever humbug they’re doing in St. Mungos.”

“You’ve taken her to the hospital, I believe?” Morfin asked.

“We have,” Mother said. “We’ve been there for days. They ran every test, muggle or magic, that they could think of. But they couldn’t help her. Said they’ve never seen a case like it.”

“Humbug, as I said,” Marvolo chewed complacently. “Bunch of quacks.”

“How do you think you can help her?” Mother asked.

“We would have to take a look at her first. From what I’ve heard it’s a rare and complicated curse, but there hasn’t been a single one I haven’t broken,” Morfin told her. “I’d have to brew and test some potions. I know people who supply me with a lot of… uncommon ingredients. It could take a while and it’s not entirely legal. Risky business. But I can manage.”

Then it clicked. Of course. They wanted something in return. The Gaunts didn’t look like they would do such things out of the kindness of their hearts. But what was it? Money? Power? Loyalty?

“And how could we show our gratitude in return?” Father finally asked before taking a sip of wine like he always did to hide his face when he was nervous.

Tom shifted in his seat, while Marvolo and Morfin looked at each other.

“You see,” Marvolo began. “Our family is powerful. Our bloodline reaches back to Salazar Slytherin himself. And yet, as much as I’d like to hide it, there’s been a stain in this very bloodline, when my daughter had my grandson with this muggle bastard.”

All eyes were on Tom now, who observed his grandfather’s words merely with a vacant stare. Only you seemed to notice how white his knuckles had turned on the hand around his dinner knife.

“Tom is, against all expectations, very smart and an ingenious wizard,” Marvolo went on. “This can be traced back to the good genes of all the generations of Gaunts before him, and of that I am sure. Even though he can be trusted to find his way, I, as the head of the family, must make sure that there won’t be another incident that could further dilute our bloodline.”

Your parents sat there for a moment, not knowing what to say. Father, with his wine glass still in hand, asked, “So you want what, exactly?”

“Marriage,” Marvolo answered.

With a shrill clink, your fork fell out of your hand and onto your plate. Everyone, even Tom, looked at you now.

“I’m sorry. I mean… I’m sorry?” you asked and cleared your throat. “I must have misheard you, Mr Gaunt.”

Marvolo turned back to your parents. “It’s simple. You need someone to help your daughter, we need a decent woman, from a noble pureblood family, for my grandson to marry. Accept it, or don’t.”

“Excuse me. Do I have a say in this?” you asked, more towards your parents than to anyone else. The words came out flat, like you couldn’t find the strength to properly talk, even though a voice in your head was screaming.

Mother appeared equally as shocked, but only whispered, “They can help Elsie.”

“Well, if your older daughter objects, there’s still a second one, isn’t there?” Morfin asked incidentally. 

“She’s ten!” you said, suddenly too loud. 

“So? We’ve got time. I wouldn’t prefer it either, but if you’re not willing to help, we can make it work.”

“Uncle,” Tom spoke through gritted teeth. “Stop!”

“So, what do you say?” Marvolo asked your parents again. 

Silence fell over the table as everyone exchanged bewildered looks. The Gaunts had not seriously proposed a marriage pact between two members of these families in exchange for curing a ten-year-old girl, had they? And if you declined? Would they simply leave her to fend for herself?

“Can we have time to think about it?” Father asked. “Let me talk to my daughter and -“

“No. Us Gaunts offer our help once and only once. Take it or leave it.”

Silence again. Father still hid behind his wine glass, while Mother’s lips parted. She looked at Marvolo, then at you. Her eyes glared into yours, pleading silently. The Gaunts smiled while Tom was looking down at the table again. Anywhere but back at you. 

The only thing you could think of was your sister’s little face and how it scrunched up when she almost coughed her lungs out. Elsie was too young to suffer like this. She was too kind, too pure to live through the hell that this curse had put her in. She had asked you every day why this was happening to her. You never had an answer. She was the last person that deserved such a fate. Marvolo was right - the people at the hospital didn’t know how to help her. She had not gotten better, not even a bit, in the last week. It was a miracle that she was still alive. But how long can miracles last for?

“Well, no answer is an answer,” Marvolo said and pushed his chair back to get up.

“No,” you said quickly. “I’ll do it. For my sister.”

Mother uttered a low cry. Whether it was from relief or horror remained unclear.  

“Excellent,” Marvolo said and shook Father’s hand, who had dropped the confident facade minutes ago. 

“When?” Father asked. 

“When they’ve finished their last year of school. No need to further distract them. Unless you want them to tie the knot sooner?”

“No, no. After this school year, it is, then.”

“Should we go and take a look at the little one now?” Morfin asked. 

“Uh, yes. Of course,” Father said and everyone except Tom got up.

You followed the guests and your parents upstairs until Mother turned around. “You stay here, love. We can’t let you come. Look after the boy and make sure he doesn’t sneak around.” She put her hand on your shoulder and squeezed it hard, as if to say thank you, then turned back around and left.

Thank you would have been an understatement, you thought, while going back into the dining room. Tom was still sitting there, his back facing you. It looked like he hadn’t moved an inch. Your heart was still racing from the life-changing decision you had just made and he looked so apathetic. Was he right in the head?

You sat down opposite him and looked him straight in the eyes, waiting for a reaction. Anything. He stared back, not moving a single muscle in his face. Now that he finally looked at you, you wished he would ignore you again. His whole presence was intimidating. It took up the entire room now and made you reach for your wand in the pocket of your dress. The way he looked into your eyes, so piercingly, as if he was able to stare right into your soul, while not showing any emotion on his face was inhuman and eerie. It was impossible to tell if seconds or hours had passed, but he was still looking back at you and you weren’t sure if he had even blinked once.

“What?” you snapped.

Tom arched a brow. “What ‘what’?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You started it.” He leaned back slowly. “I’m just returning the favour.”

He seemed too pleased with himself and for that, anger coiled in your stomach. “Wipe that smug look off your face, will you? My sister’s life is on the line, I didn’t start anything.”

“Smug?” he asked in mock offence. “Do you think I like being here?”

“How am I supposed to know? Enlighten me.”

Tom scoffed and shook his head lightly. “Have I made the impression of enjoying myself tonight? If so, I apologise for misleading you.”

The room was quiet again. That was even worse than the staring. The clock on the wall ticked to the beat of your pulse as your breaths turned shallower.

“So you knew,” you finally said. “That Marvolo would ask for this marriage pact.”

He nodded, his eyes roaming the table once more.

“Is there nothing you want to say about that?” you asked in a hopeless attempt to fill the silence. 

His eyes shot up and met yours. “What should I want to say?”

“I don’t know. Have you not tried preventing it?”

“I have.”

His short answers slowly but surely brought your blood to a boil. “And?”

He gestured with his hand and glared at you like you were stupid even to ask. “Obviously, it didn’t work.”

The clock’s bloody ticks got louder and louder as realisation hit. You had agreed to marry him. There was hope for Elsie but in exchange, you got yourself a future with someone you hadn’t planned for. Someone who couldn’t care less about her fate, or yours, or anyone’s, for all you knew.

“Why are you not upset?” you asked with a hand on your forehead as dizziness set in.

“What difference would it make? It’s done.” 

“Done?” You shook your head. “This isn’t something that’s done and over with.”

Tom rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Being upset doesn’t change the situation we’re in.”

“Well, I can’t help it! It’s not something you can control.”

He blinked once, a hint of disgust written on his face. “You better learn to control it then. Because you just made sure this will happen by agreeing to it.”

“You make it sound like I wanted this to happen,” you said, all but laughing with fury. “When it was your family that proposed the idea.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” He slowly looked you up and down. “Rest assured, it was Marvolo’s idea, not mine.”

That somehow hurt more than anticipated. “How could you let this happen then? If you don’t want to do it.”

Tom exhaled sharply, clearly annoyed by the never-ending questions. He tapped his fingers on the dinner table and said, “As you can imagine, I have not been asked if I wanted to. You just experienced yourself how decisive my grandfather can be. How could you let this happen?”

“I had no other choice, had I?”

“Of course, you had a choice.”

“And let my sister die?”

“Then you made the decision to give her another chance to live and take both our chances away,” he said and got up. “You did that to yourself.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. And I’m done talking to you. I’ll wait for my family outside.”

Masterpost | Masterlist | Part 2

[lonely-eli]

Trippin' on Hallucinogenics - Chapter 1

His father loved two things most: beating Dark Wizards and his work. He thought that anyone who didn’t share the same passions was a failure in the eyes of wizard society. Barty was one of those failures, even though he was only eleven, because he just couldn’t find the interest. He tried, he listened with rapt attention as his father droned on and on about whatever dark wizard he was “so close” to catching. But always found his attention wandering to the book he had read that day.

Barty always did as much as he could for his father’s attention, once he purposefully left a poster up in his room when guests were over, granting him an angry lecture. He climbed trees and snuck out late. He wore muggle clothing that his mother had gotten for him after he asked. Though he always felt a flash of fear whenever he was caught, like this was the time that would send his father over the edge. But all it ever did was make Bartemius Crouch Sr. see his son as a disappointment and shout angrily . He raised his hands sometimes, when Barty was being a particular nuisance, but never hit him. It was almost like he was also scared of his son.

Barty did notice that his mother flinched in the presence of his father, filling him with a flash of anger that he hid through smiles and nods. He never had to fight for his mother’s attention, she simply gave it to him. She would give him the world if she could.

When he was very little and cried about his father being gone, she would hug him close before singing to him. He always calmed down and eventually fell asleep in his mothers arms. She was always there when he woke up and he would just snuggle closer, accepting that she would always be there. When she woke up she would ruffle his hair and carry him into the dining room where she would sit down and wait for the elves to bring their food.

They still have breakfast together every day, it’s the best time for them to exist together. Then they’ll leave to go do their own activities before returning for dinner.

The day the letter came, Barty woke up grumpy. The house elves shook him awake.

“It’s time for young master Crouch to wake up!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Barty mumbled into his pillow, then he stretched and yawned. 

“A letter has arrived for you,” the house elf said. Barty couldn’t remember her name. Though she always made sure to make him sweets when he was feeling down.

Barty rolled out of bed with a groan, “I think I’m going to die.”

The house elf looked down at him with wide eyes, “I can get Master Crouch Junior some medicine! I’ll go get Mistress Crouch!”

“No, no, no,” Barty eventually said when the house elf started to panic, “I’m fine, just tired.”

Barty slumped back onto the ground, “Next time don’t wake me up so early.”

“This is the normal time— is young Master Crouch sure he is okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Barty said with a big smile that immediately dropped, he sighed, “Is Father home?”

The elf looked uncomfortable at that ask. Barty started to get agitated when she didn’t respond, “Well is he?!”

“No, Master Crouch, he’s still on business.”

“Mhm,” Barty said, then got up, “I’m heading down.”

“Wonderful!” the elf said, and she really seemed to believe it. Barty nodded then sighed and walked downstairs.

Barty’s mother was crying at the breakfast table when he walked in.

“Mother?” he asked, standing in the doorway. She startled and wiped her eyes, tears ceasing immediately from years of practice.

“Sorry, I–”

“It’s okay,” he interrupted, “What’s wrong?” She smiled at him, and he felt a sense of comfort like he always did. He sat down across from her. She handed him a letter. He let out a sigh of relief and laid his head on the table after reading the word “Hogwarts”.

His mother laughed, “You’re going to Hogwarts!”

They had been slightly worried when the letter hadn’t arrived so close to the school year, Barty hadn’t known whether he was magical enough to be accepted, despite the release of magic he sometimes felt if he got too emotional. But he had been accepted, and his father wouldn’t be disappointed in him for it. Barty smiled into the table before sitting up, taking out the letter and reading it.

“The supplies are in Diagon Alley,” Barty guessed. He had been to Diagon Alley before and had watched all the kids get ready for school.

“We’ll leave in a little bit,” his mother said, then she looked pointedly at his pajamas. He grinned.

“Are you saying I can’t wear this?” Barty asked, gesturing to his outfit. It was a soft blue t-shirt and flannel pants. His mother shook her head with a small smile.

“No, go get into your robes.”

“Yes, mother,” Barty conceded, jumping away from the dinner table with his letter.

He went into his room which, since his father was away, was covered in posters and small trinkets. He mostly always hid them whenever his father was around because he liked to pick and choose the battles he fought. He would stuff them underneath his bed to hide them. He reached into his dresser and pulled out a tank top, trousers, and a black robe, which he carried with him into the bathroom.

Barty was not too handsome of a boy. He had the same dark hair as his mother with the face of his father, which made him ugly. His hair was sticking out in all directions when he looked in the mirror so he left it, it always upset his father for him to go out with unkempt hair.

“Bartemius!” his mother called, “I’m leaving!”

Barty flinched at the name, but quickly threw his robe on and ran downstairs to meet his mother. She was wearing a nice white dress that fell to her ankles but made her look more ghostly than she already did. She wrapped her son up in a hug before apparating the both of them to Diagon Alley.

****

Diagon Alley was filled with witches and wizards. They ran in and out of shops with large books. Kids were leaving Ollivanders with shiny new wands. Some even had pets, large owls, tiny toads, and Barty even saw a snake belonging to a kid wearing green. Barty looked to his mother and immediately started dragging her to Ollivanders.

“Ah, Mr. Rosier, completely different wands are to be expected. The wand does choose the wizard.”

There was a ratty looking man standing in front of two kids and a man who looked like their father. Both kids were holding new wands that looked right in their hands. The kids looked like twins with the boy having bleached curls that fell into his eyes and the girl having bleached dreads that fell past her shoulders. The girl looked embarrassed and was trying to stop her father, while the boy played with his wand boredly.

They were the Rosier family. A name that Barty knew from the long lectures of his father. 

“They’re a dark family!” his father shouted almost every time he was home, “None of them are right.”

“Hello? Mr. Ollivander?” his mother said, interrupting Mr. Rosier’s next sentence.

“Oh! Now, Mr. Rosier, if you don’t mind, I do have other customers—”

“These wands are good Father,” the boy said, flicking his wand.

“Yes!” squeaked the girl.

The boy stared at Barty, who smiled back, his mother grabbed Barty’s hand.

“Very well,” Lord Rosier said, turning to pay for the wands, Ollivander quickly hopped over the counter and rang him up.

“I’m Pandora,” Pandora told Barty with a smile, “Pandora Rosier. This grump is Evan.”

“Bartemius Crouch Jr.,” Barty greeted, then he glanced at his mother.

“Bartemius,” the boy, Evan, repeated, enunciating every syllable, “Crouch.”

“That’s me.”

Evan squinted his eyes like he was going to say something but then his father reached down and grabbed Evan’s hand.

“Come on, children,” his father said.

Barty felt a flash of jealousy as Evan’s father led both of his children away, then laughed with them once they were outside. It looked like he laughed at something that Evan said. His gaze was dragged back to Ollivander though when the man let out a cough.

“A Crouch,” Ollivander said, like he was a genius for coming up with Barty’s last name, “You’ll want a strong wand.”

Ollivander ruffled through the shelves of shelves of wands before returning with a wand in a blue case.

“A cypress wand with a dragon heartstring,” Ollivander said, revealing a thin and graceful wand, “A powerful wand, meant for a hero.”

Barty waved the wand, and powerful magic shot out, hitting Ollivander’s desk and overturning it.

“That’s no good,” Ollivander noticed. Barty shrugged, he kind of liked it. The recklessness of having a wand that didn’t want you, he would get it to listen to him.

But Ollivander snatched it out of his grip, and returned to laboring over the shelves.

“Two Holly wands in one day, I suppose,” muttered Ollivander, grabbing a box off the shelf, “Holly and DragonHeart string, matching young Master Rosier’s wand. Different dragons of course.”

Barty grabbed the wand from Ollivander quickly and flicked it. Wrong.

“I guess not,” Ollivander tutted, taking it back.

Finally, Ollivander pulled out a bright green box, and pulled out the prettiest wand that Barty had ever seen in his life. It was twisted slightly, but not enough to be uncomfortable. Barty eagerly took it and flicked it. Controlled magic spun out like a ribbon and twirled around him.

“It’s perfect,” Barty said once the magic had calmed down.

Ollivander nodded, “Yew wood with a dragon heartstring, strange for a Crouch.” He turned to Barty’s mother with a grave look on his face, “I don’t like to give Yew out often,  my lady, but this one called.”

Barty smiled, his wand felt right in his hand, he spun around with it. His mother watched him with a soft smile, “It looks like that’s the one, Mr. Ollivander.”

“I suppose it is,” he said, then turned to the register. Barty’s mother paid while Barty continued to play with his wand. Ollivander had a strange look on his face, “I suppose it is.”

The Crouch family left Ollivander’s with a new wand.

“Where to next?” His mother asked.

Another kid walked out of a store labeled “The Magical Menagerie” holding a toad that croaked in his hands. Barty paused and then turned to his mother with the biggest puppy dog eyes.

“No,” she laughed. Her son pouted.

“But Mother—”

“Your father would be so angry,” she said, then she sighed, “Something small should do. Just a toad.”

“A ferret!” Barty screamed, seeing the wormy creature in the window. His mother pursed her lips.

“I don’t know, Barty, how about a rat or a toad.”

Barty walked calmly into the shop. His mother sighed and chased after him.

[fatcatlittlebox]

Why do I always see people saying that armored Galadriel is not faithful to Tolkien when in fact she is ?

In memories Galadriel is described as very tall, very strong in battle, extremely wise, of great beauty, etc.

Then who on the other side criticizes Galadriel for being a fucking Mary Sue in ROP... ?

The same girl who is stubborn, never thinks, who the characters yell at and who literally gave hope to SAURON ?! Has an inclination for power ! Like, if it's for her enormous, extraordinary abilities... she's a fucking elf ?!

Oh, and that Galadriel is good at fighting is no surprise if you look at Tolkien's writings...

If it was adapted to the letter of what Tolkien had written for Galadriel people would also cry mary sue ! From @motziedapul : "he described Galadriel as Amazonian, "man-maiden" and excellent in athleticism on top of generally being one of the most powerful Elves in Middle Earth and being the favorite of an angel [Maia] who she lived with for a while."

Also, the only one who seems to me to have understood that Sauron was a first-rate scammer when he was among the elves.

Galadriel was around 2 meters tall, much taller than the other Noldor women. (Which gave her the name Nerwen meaning young girl man by her mother. Her father had first named her Artanis which meant noble ladies. Galadriel was the name Celeborn gave her) She was vigorous in body as well as in spirit, capable of standing up to anyone in terms of knowledge as well as physical skills. She also always had the gift of clairvoyance, allowing her to read the hearts and minds of others. Her great beauty was recognized by all the Eldar and her hair was considered a wonder of this world. It would also be the gold and silver reflection of Galadriel's hair which would have inspired Feaonor for the creation of the Silmarils. For all these reasons, she was quickly considered the most illustrious of the Noldor. She had also quickly learned everything the Valar had been willing to teach her.

Don't make me believe that if we had an adaptation of the character of Galadriel including all of this, people wouldn't be also screaming at the mary sue ?! Dare to say it ! Because it’s just obvious they would have done it !

Which does not mean that Galadriel is a mary sue in the original story, since she has her defaults in the canon of Tolkien too, notably once again an inclination for power, which is expressed by the desire to have one's own kingdom and its temptation almost until the very end of Sauron's Ring, etc.

The antis Galadriel people are ridiculous. To say that she's a mary sue and that that makes her unbearable is stupid. They clearly don't know what a mary sue is for say she is one... Then there are those who complain that Galadriel has too many flaws, so please confirm that you just can't stand women who are perfect saints. I'm really fucking tired of the Galadriel critical.

They don't understand the character of Galadriel.

For them, the canon Galadriel is simply a sort of figure of purity like the Virgin Mary, but a powerful magician in addition.

And sorry, but Galadriel is not that. Oh at least she's not just that.

This. Honestly, I’ve seen all matter of hateful shit written and vlogged about TROP’s Gal and even worse about Miv. These assholes have called her too ugly, a bad actress, accused her of blaspheming their own (incorrect as you point out) ideas of Galadriel. And this misogyny goes back awhile. Let’s not forget that PJ’s FOTR had some leaks early on that Arwen would be a fighter and….the purist dudes lost their EVERLOVING MINDS. Bear in mind, this was just based on set pictures. So PJ scrapped that altogether and it was written out. And that was one of the earliest examples of writers and producers changing their course due to hateful fan feedback (*cough*Star Wars*). PJ had had a free pass ever since.

To your point, not only is Gal all of those things you listed but she’s also ALOT older than Legolas was in LOTR so yeah, she’s fucking good at fighting. And when Legolas parkoured down an oliphaunt’s trunk none of them said shit.

[bookwyrminspiration]

i was rereading neverseen, and it made me realize how i completely forgot about the spyball sophie used to use to watch her human family. i know it was relevant in nightfall, but i honestly think shannon probs forgot about it too because now i’m thinking about sophie has a full-proof way of knowing where keefe ran off to if she decides to use it (which i doubt she will, i don’t think keefe will come back into the plot until grady hails him)

oo the spyball is certainly a technological detail that I'd love to see more of. Though there are logistics of it that make it a little confusing about how it functions. The person has to have a file in the registry files in order for it to work, right? So reasonably, Sophie could watch Keefe as he has a file. But if something happened to it, then she couldn't (the same way she couldn't see her human family or Mr. Forkle without their names).

I have a possible explanation for how the spyball can exist and Sophie still can't find Keefe with it. We saw in Unlocked that Keefe knows how to access the registry files and was able to change information--redacting things, changing details, adding comments, etc. This was also something that the council/the people in charge of the files were unable to fix or do anything about yet. So perhaps before he left he redacted the necessary information about himself to make the Spyball null and unable to find him.

Though I do wonder if Shannon considered the full implication of spyballs when she created them and how often they could be used. I don't think the kotlcrew's personal information was redacted or deleted in Neverseen when they ran away to join the Black Swan, so conceivably the council could see where they'd run away to and who was with them at any given time. Having a single image of where a person is doesn't mean they'd be able to figure out where they are, though! But I think if they watched it for long enough they might be able to pick out an identifying location and be able to track them down.

The spyball doesn't give you any more than an image as far as we're aware, so that does leave a lot up to the person viewing to determine. Have you ever head of that map game, geoguesser? I think that's the name at least. The one where you get dropped in a random location on google maps and have to try and guess your exact location in the world. That's what it'd be like trying to discern a location from a spyball, except more difficult because you lack freedom of movement and have to follow the person you're viewing and wherever they decide to go.

also I don't know when Keefe will come back into the plot. I think the imparter connected to Grady will definitely have something to do with it, but I'm very much in the dark about this all! I frequently mention how I am constantly filled with thoughts, which makes it very hard to guess what will happen next because my brain will come up with like 12 different possibilities in a minute and it just keeps going.

I could see the appeal of Keefe staying true to his word and going no contact until Grady reaches out, but I'd also be interested in seeing him break down and realize he can't do this alone and reaching out to Grady instead. It'd be cool to see Sophie track him down, but also cool to let her go "fuck it and fuck him for doing this again." and not bothering herself with it and letting him work it out on his own. It's be fun to see him learn to control his power but fascinating to see how dangerous he could become when out of control and untrained. SO many possibilities!! But I do doubt she'll use her spyball to look for Keefe anytime soon.

adding fun details like spyballs is fun until you have to actually think them all the way through! definitely easier to judge smudge the lines a little bit and ignore some of the ways they could be used, so if it did come up and Sophie tried to use it I doubt she'd be able to see keefe; it'd be dramatic and great for emotion purposes in the plot, which outweighs logistic consistency!!

[burnedbyshoto]

caught

— You’re caught in a web after flying a little bit too recklessly and along comes your one and only savior who requests a little help from you too as the price of freeing you.

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pairing: naga!kirishima eijirou x fem fairy!reader

warnings: fairy!reader, naga!kirishima, smut, 18+, coercion, dubcon, hypnotism, oviposition, double penetration, begging, heat/rut, size diff

word count: 4,004

a/n: BAHAHA I wrote this in like 3 hours because I decided to instead watch some soul eater last night & I like it so far! ah, well, ive never actually read naga fics before, or oviposition,,, so fair warning, enjoy! also, read the damn warnings.

kinktober day 7 main kink: size difference

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The world was a magical one. 

The planet was crawling with mythological creatures steaming from the smallest of pixies to the largest Kraken. The world was full of mystery, wonder, and adventure. Fire breathing dragons and cursed powerful swords were hidden away from the few humans and elves to discover. As in any civilization, there were those who got along and those who didn’t.

Some species of creatures got along with everyone, there were others that were feared beyond reason, and a few that were loved for moments and feared for others. 

You were a fairy.

And you were tiny.

Standing no more than three apples high, you had iridescent wings that curled and shone in the glimmering light whenever you so much as moved. You were a good fairy, you always have been. You were often found assisting with a multitude of mythical creatures and humans on quests and as companions. Despite your small stature, you were fast, zipping, and gliding faster than most could ever dare to catch up with.

You loved your wings, loved flying, loved having the wind whistling through your ears while you dove between branches and branches, laughing while your pixie friends failed to keep up with you. Your mother had always fluttered her wings in annoyance and partial anger when you were younger and would often outspeed her, leaving her screaming your name while she desperately tried to keep up.

What could you say? You were a daring fairy, an adventurous one at that too.

But she always warned you, even back then, of the dangers of being a small, tiny, pretty fairy who flew at speeds much faster than you should be capable of.

The wind whipped against your face, stinging at your nose, chapping your lips, and whooshing through your ears as you grew faster and faster. The traces of magic falling from your wings creating a beautiful, sparkling trail behind you as you whooped out in excitement and thrill. 

“Slow down, y/n!” your friends screamed from what sounded like many trees behind you, and like the daring showoff you were, you cork spiraled around a set of hanging branches with a loud laugh.

But as you straightened out, ready to move onward, you realized that something, thick, heavy, and sticky had caught onto the tip of your wing, and you catapulted backward. 

A spider’s web.

Even in a world of fantasy and mystery, spiders existed to catch flying pests, and to some, you were just that.

Panic consumed you, white fire coursing through every magical vein in your body as you thrashed and shook in the webs. Your hands grabbed onto the sticky strands around your wings, a desperate attempt to free yourself only to find yourself even more tightly wound up in the damp, near-transparent threads. 

A pathetic whimper left your mouth, your head dropping to your chest as silent, hot tears streamed down your cheeks. Your wings fluttered weakly, looking nothing too far from the insects and flies you were so used to seeing caught up in these webs. You strained your ears, trying to listen to the few pixies you had been flying and playing with, but even with your immense speed advantageous over them, you knew that they should be near.

But nothing.

You sat there on the web for minutes that seemed to bleed into hours, silently waiting for your friends to come and save you… but it seemed for naught.

…

…

…

“Help…”

“Help…”

“Please help…”

You had been trapped for hours.

Each passing second both dooming you to a life as spider food for the Arachne that had still yet to return home. Or maybe possibly a snack for any large creature that may pass, or an undeserving elf or human plucking you free and demanding to use their powers on a quest you would never approve of. That, or maybe you’d die of hunger.

There was no stopping the growl in your stomach or the parched dryness of your throat for your desperate, pathetic cry of help.

But it seemed that when your friends not-your-friends anymore said this part of the forest was for the most part void of all pixie and fairy eating creatures, it seemed that it was just void of all creatures. Pouting, you felt another rush of frustrating tears well up in your eyes, your cheeks huffing and face steaming as soft chimes of bells erupted from you while you seemingly threw a temper tantrum, not one-second closer from freedom.

Your breathing turned sharper, heavier, and overall shallow. In a flash of fury, you thrummed your wings as fast as you could, trying your best to fly out of this entrapment. To your slight excitement, you managed to loosen the webs around your wings for just a moment, your smile bursting oh so prematurely onto your face before it all went wrong again. As if the web was alive as well, it seemed to suddenly stiffen and drag you back into its sticky confines only for you to be even more trapped onto the mass web.

Like a broken dam, the tears streaming down your face were stinging, plentiful, and unable to stop.

You mourned the end of your life like this, so pathetic, so absolutely stupid way to go: caught on a spiderweb.

“Now, now, little one, why are you crying?” came a voice so soft yet incredibly loud voice, and you stiffened straight despite having a potential savior. 

You couldn’t see them, and with how the web was wrapped around you, you couldn’t even dare to turn your head around to stare at them. You couldn’t look at him, sure, but you knew just through the tenor and low thunder of his voice that your potential savior or wolf in sheep’s clothing was undoubtedly a robust, powerful mythological creature. 

Despite the way his voice seemed to whisper in your ears, you heard the familiar noise of someone moving through the grounds of the forest. The fallen dead leaves that scattered on the floor crackling with his movement. You trembled although you didn’t make a noise, not even a small bell chime of your wings. 

“Are you in need of assistance, little one?” he continued to ponder as if blind to the was you oh so very not discreetly clammed up at the sudden sound of his voice. “If you so require it, I would be more than willing to assist you in your freedom. It pains me to see such a beautiful, full of potential little fairy go to waste.”

The tongue in your mouth felt pathetically dry, your chest rising and collapsing at incredible speeds for someone of your composition of size.

“Oh, are you fearful of me, little one?” he seemed to laugh, finding your fear to be humorous, comical, really. “Most individuals at least wait until they peer into my eyes to find themselves unwilling to move or speak.”

The web shook with the vibrations of his voice. And you whined at the back of your throat as that small fact merely confirmed the size of the male creature standing behind you. You found yourself fearful of that playful tone on his voice, but you also knew that as a tiny fairy, you were quite foolish in fear when found in predicaments such as this one. You had to trust the creature behind you should you wish to escape.

“W-Would you mind freeing me?” you asked, making an attempt to sound powerful and in control despite the tremor on your lower lip and the way your voice was near childish in comparison to his own. How you actually thought fairies sounded on the same pitch as to many creatures before was beyond you, for at the moment, you deemed yourself to be no greater than a child speaking to an old man. “I was trapped while racing, and well, these frisky spiderwebs are quite the worst at capturing things that don’t deserve to be captured.”

Oh? Is that so?” his voice chuckled. His body, without a doubt, moments from yours if the way the gentle breath of his laugh brushed against your neck had anything to say about it. “I’ve always been told that they’re especially good at capturing pests.”

You flustered. 

“Yet here we are!” you pathetically countered, your wings fluttering in your distress. “If you wouldn’t mind freeing me, I would greatly appreciate it!”

“But, of course,” he spoke with great pride, and you shuddered when warm, large finger seemed to easily scoop you out from the webs. Your wings fluttered when the tight restraints of the traps were done, but not entirely freed from your beautiful wings. “Relax your wings, little one, I know you’re antsy to move, but there are still a great number of leftover webs on those wings of yours. Relax, I promise you no harm as I take these webs off.”

You shivered as his warm, strong fingers worked the plenty of sticky strands of webs off of you as if they were nothing but flyaway thread used for clothing. Speaking of clothing, you peered down at the daisy and red dandelion seed dress you wore, your eyes wide with the hope that it hadn’t been ruined. You loved this outfit. But as you peered down at your cotton shoes, you froze when you finally took in the hand you were resting upon. 

It was huge.

Without a doubt, his palm was the size of your entire body, the fingers long and thick with intimidating claws that demanded a bit of concern.

“There, all done,” he hummed, and you shook your wings, looking at the thing iridescent wings that made you a fairy, and you felt him turn his hand around where you rested. Your eyes, already wide with the looming dread in your stomach, seemed to become saucers the size of the moon when you came face to face with a naga.

Nagas, half-snake half-human, were a few creatures in this world that were both loved and hated by others — your kind included.

His scales were black, glinting red under the setting copper sun, and he was absolutely massive. You had seen nagas only a handful of times, three to be honest, but each other those times, you knew that they were hardly more massive than humans. But this male naga before you was enormous as he was solid. Rippling muscles on every exposed part of his human body and his snake bottom were large, thick, full of rippling coiling muscles that could probably strangle anyone who attempted to fight him. He had full, spikey red hair, scars on his arms, and one splitting his eyebrow. His red, slitted eyes seemed vast, cunning, and terrifying while he lifted you up to eye level. And his smile, oh his smile. Jagged, sharp teeth with lips pulled into a cunning, just a bit too sweet smile.

Naga, for the most part, were peaceful creatures. They were strong fighters, fierce protectors, all due to the fact that they were just so much larger than their co-inhabititors of the world, but they were peaceful. They slithered about most of the year, helping those who came and went, but there were moments in the year where they were of concern.

During the late spring, early summer, they were hit with their heats and ruts. Powerful naga soon filled with the lusting, overwhelming desire to shove their fertile eggs into anything that would hold them. Nagas, who mated with nagas, were known to have wrestled as their mating dance, almost wiping out many towns in their horny, hot desires, and you froze suddenly feeling the thick waves of heat coming off the naga before you.

“W-Well, thank you!” you stammered, your body bowing lowly for the naga before you whose splitting smile was becoming stamped in your brain. “I appreciate you freeing me, but I must go now. Supper is waiting for me!”

“What’s your name, little one?” the naga instead asked, his clawed finger caressing your cheek so softly, so accurately, you nearly thought he was set on taking off your head. “I would like to know the name of the beautiful fairy I saved today.”

There was power in knowing names in this world, fairy names especially, so you couldn’t help the pit that formed in your stomach on account to this, or the way fear stimulated every cell in your body. 

“I-I can’t um, I can’t tell you,” you whimpered when his thick, large finger hooked underneath your chin to raise your head.

“Ah, it’s okay, little one, I promise I won’t do you wrong,” he promised, the lure in his voice — an advantage that nagas held in their times of heat. His voice was a warm blanket, smoothly pulling your eyes closed, making your wings flutter in your lulling excitement. “You can trust me.”

“Trust… you?” you spoke, mimicking his words, feeling like you were swimming in a warm, gooey honey trap. You bit down on your lower lip, heat rushing to your face as you stared upon his still cunning, sly grin as he traced his massive finger down from your wet, pouty lower lip to your hip. “I don’t… I can’t stay for longer?”

“Is that a question on your tone, little one?” he asked, his forked tongue flicking through his pointed teeth. “Can’t you stay? I have a favor to ask of you.”

A heavy, pitchy moan broke through your mouth as the tip of his claw dragged from your navel to your suddenly blistering core. Were you always this wet? How did you get so wet?

“But I…” you struggled to think, your eyes shut tightly, face twisting as you tried to figure out where you were needed right now. “I need to go… somewhere?”

“Somewhere?” he asked, voice light, buttery smooth. “I thought you were coming with me?”

“I… was?”

“Yes, little one, look at me,” he kissed the air, and you found your eyes pressing open, your jaw dropping when his piercing red eyes hypnotizing you. “Open those pretty little legs for me, I want to see if you’re fit enough to be my dam, my mate.”

Why that sent bubbling gasps from your tongue and sent your legs apart was beyond you, but it just seemed like the right thing to do. He had called you his mate… his dam.

His finger shoved between your legs, gently rubbing the massive finger that was probably nearly your height between your legs, catching onto your clit, sending resonating, shaking mewls from your throat. You collapsed forward, hips rutting back against his finger, your tiny fingers holding onto his knuckles, your eyes fluttering in this euphoria.

It felt so good.

So good, so good, “please more!”

You sobbed at the feeling of his finger coming up to allow more friction between you and your throbbing cunt, the bone of his knuckle-dragging so deliciously, so roughly against your throbbing clit that you started to feel weak in your knees.

“Call me Kirishima,” he growled, his finger flipping underneath you so that the pad of his finger could now press onto your clit, gathering your dripping slick as he does so. “Kirishima Eijirou.”

“Ei,” you spluttered, eyes barely open to watch the way his slitted pupils were dilated with his lust, the smell he was emitting without a doubt one of an alpha male plunging further within his rut. “This feels so good, please give meeeEE ahhh, oh god, give me more!”

Kirishima growled out a peal of chilling laughter, one that had your wings fluttering in their heavy, lucid attempt to fly and kiss the man that could swallow your entire body as if you were nothing more than a potato chip to him. You keened, one of your hands shakily removing themselves from his finger, stretching out to him.

“Kiss me, please kiss me,” you beg, your heaving breathes almost in synch with your wildly bucking hips.

“You want a kiss?” he hummed, bringing your tiny body close enough to tease you, but not near enough for you to plant a desperate, small kiss to his smooth, curling large lips. “Promise me two things.”

“Anything,” you promised, watching as his forked tongue flashed between his teeth, his eyes flashing with his shaking control on the situation. Your cheeks scorched at the sight of him wanting you just as badly as you wanted him. The dam in you jittering at the knowledge that he was a good mate, a good person by holding back, trying to keep his control before giving in. But you wanted him as deep as you were. You wanted to feel his finger intruding your clenching, spasming walls, to try and take on his undoubtedly huge cock.

You wanted to try it.

You wanted him.

“Anything you want, I will give you!” you shriek with promise, your clit feeling numb from the overstimulation and lack of release as you could not reach it without penetration. 

“Your name,” Kirishima growled, his lips dangerously close. “And promise to carry my — our children.”

“I promise, I promise, I promise!” you frantically claim, knowing you would do it all just for his lips against yours, and finally, he was close enough, his bottom lip nearly the size of your entire face as you kissed him again and again.

His lips were pursed, allowing your frantic kisses to have lain all over his awaiting soft lips. You shuddered at the electric sensation coursing through you with every second, and your wings fluttered in your excitement, bringing you up into the air, lifting you off his palm.

“Your name?” he commanded, the hand you abandoned running a taloned finger down the spine of your back, pleasantly, orgasmically feeling as he reached the spot between your sensitive wings. You loved the feeling and keened against his mouth. 

“Y/l/n y/n!”

“And you will have my children?”

“Yes!”

A possessive, all encompassing cross between a growl and a hiss slipped through his lips, and you looked down with your lust dipped eyes to see the two, twisted cocks he was rutting into his free hand. You cried at the fact that it wasn’t your cunt the sharp, near hook looking tip of his cock wasn’t ramming into. 

“Where do you think you’re going, little one?” Kirishima snarked, his eyes bright and humorous as he caught you by your wings. You moaned loudly at the lusting pull of your wings that you could feel pulsing into your core. “You’re not ready for my cock or eggs just yet.”

“But I wanna…” you cry, fingers stretching out toward the two writhing cocks that seemed to call your name. “I wanna try!”

“Shh, shh,” he cooed, his hand that was not occupied with his massive cocks releasing your wings and gently stroking your face. “It’s okay, it’s okay, you can try in a bit. I just don’t want my little one splitting in half before she’s been made useful!”

Your pouting and mouthwatering person turned to face Kirishima again, whose once red eyes were completely black in his rutting lust. 

“Split in half?” you echoed, a slight pain pinching your pussy, the thought of being split in two for those cocks not quite as horrendous as it should be. “Will I be?”

“Not if you stretch yourself out first,” Kirishima corrected, entirely missing your slight hope to be torn in half by his cock. “I want to see you fuck yourself on my finger at first. Do that, and I’ll let you sit on my cock and birth my eggs.”

A chill ran down your back, and you nodded, suddenly more than willing to throw yourself onto anything he would give you to prove yourself. And with his free hand, he presented his long ring finger whose talon was missing, most likely gone from some sort of battle.

But it didn’t matter. It was enough for you to prove yourself. 

Fluttering over to his finger, you dropped the small panties you owned onto his exposed palm before placing your sopping cunt right above his extended finger. You lowered yourself onto the tip, spreading your essence slick against his skin, your eyes unabashedly half-lidded as you watched the muscles in his arm pick up speed as you made eye contact with the excited naga. 

And with a twirl of your hips and a moan that vibrated straight through your chest, you sank onto his finger. 

It truly did feel like his splitting you in half. You recognized immediately at the way your walls nearly couldn’t keep up with how he opened you up. His finger was already giant within your spongey, tight walls. The heat and the callouses of his appendage unreplicable as you silently screamed, your walls spasming tightly around him, an orgasm taking you out without warning. You heaved, exhaustion ticking your brain as the soft bounces you made to further his finger up your cunt making you whine. He was huge, his finger huge. But you liked the fullness it brought you, the way you struggled not to send yourself flying off his finger like some rocket while you continued to fuck yourself against him.

You could do it, you could do it.

Soft wet noises filled the air as Kirishima’s aggressive stroking of his leaking cocks, and the way his finger seemed to be so loud in your tight cavern filled the forest.

More, give him more.

Pressing the collar of your outfit down, your legs wrapped around his finger as you continued to fuck yourself up and down his finger while your hands groped and pinched at your breasts, your eyes rolling back in your horny excitement. You could feel your orgasm growing again. You could tell by the clenching quivering of your spongey, velvet walls against his finger that you were close yet again.

“Fuck, little one, you’re taking my finger so well,” Kirishima sang in his praise, his snake tail coiling and thrashing wildly beneath the both of you, and you longed to feel the snake scales beneath your blazing core too. “Are you ready for my cock? I’m so close, so close. You made me like this, little one, so fucking hot, so sexy, fuck.”

You mewl loudly, your body well aware of the lewd scene he was creating with the way he wrangled his twin cocks in his hand. Your head dropped backward, a high pitched wail shooting through you when his finger moved within you, and you nodded your head as quickly as you could. Your legs relaxing around him as Kirishima quickly picked you off his finger, and without even three seconds of being empty again, two sharp, writhing cocks slammed within your cunt.

You staggered against his hold, body convulsing at the feeling of his snake cock flicking and twirling within your womb, stimulating the puffy, wet walls that were erratically beating, as the both of you came with loud, joint moans.

White filled your vision as your wet juices splattered down his cock, and the weirdest, almost constipating feeling filled you as solid, cold, and round objects filled your womb. Making the drool in your mouth dribble down the corner of your mouth as your eyes crossed.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four eggs.

Four eggs for you to grow, four kids you would have with Kirishima, and you sobbed in elation.

“I can feel them, Ei!” you sobbed, content with the babies he just gave you, already expanding your tiny little stomach to the optimal length it could reach. “Our babies!”

Kirishima chuckled, removing your from his cock and placing your pregnant little tiny body onto his shoulder, a sign that he would protect you through anything and everything.

“I can’t wait until they hatch, little one.”

And with that, he nuzzled against your face. And you vibrated in your happiness, more than willing to take on the world as Kirishima continued forward in the world. There was no looking back now.

[hops-hunny]

Temptation

Pairing: Neville Longbottom x McGonagall!Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 4k

Request: “Could you maybe do a Neville x reader where the reader is McGonagall's grandchild?”

Summary: Neville had never experienced temptation, till it walked by him in a pleated skirt.

Warnings: Suggestive thoughts???

A/N: I won’t even lie, this was very self indulgent. I didn’t mean to write this much but oh well! Also I noticed I read the prompt wrong and wrote this for fem reader so I apologize anon. I still hope you can find joy in this!

Temptation. Temptation was a word Neville knew well. He had heard it many upon many times. From his peers, and even some of his teachers. However, he never really understood what it felt like to experience it, to have it coursing through his very being. Well, that was until it came knocking on his door or, to put it more precisely, walking by him in a (y/h/h) robe and vanilla-lavender perfume. He didn’t expect it to have such a beautiful laugh and he certainly didn’t expect it to be McGonagall's granddaughter! No matter how many times he had heard it described to him and how many times he had heard the feeling be recited to him like one of those shit muggle pop songs, it still didn’t prepare him for the real experience itself.

Could she be anymore perfect? Anymore graceful, anymore well, tempting? She was the kind of beauty that he read about in books and the kind of beauty he saw when he looked at all the flowers that bloomed within the greenhouse. He watched, observing her beauty as she walked. His face flushed softly as he saw her eyes light up, head facing straight ahead and shoulders held high unaware of his eyes of adoration upon her. His gaze was then shifted to her hair. The way the light reflected off of the (h/c) strand made his heart race! Next was one of his favorite things, her smile. Her smile was enough to brighten anyone's day! Well...it most certainly brightened his that is. His eyes fixated on her legs, the soft sheen they held. ‘God they look smooth, like the softest of pillows, the smoothest of silks, the fluffiest, puffiest of clouds. I bet the-’ he was broken out of his thoughts as she came to a stop in front of her grandmother which made him a bit queasy to his stomach. If only McGonagall new about his thoughts...wait did she? She could be using legilimency on him this very moment and he’d have no clue. What if she was, what if she-

He jumped, squeaking softly as a hand came down hard on his shoulder causing his body to tense. And his gaze to shift to the source of the force relaxing when he saw it was Dean. 

“Hey Nev, what are you doing just standing here? Oh I see what it is!” He exclaimed smiling at his lanky friend, watching his eyes flicker back and forth between in front of him and back to himself. Neville gulped, tugging at his sleeves a bit as his shirt suddenly began to feel constraining.

“Y-you do?” he asked nervously. His throat began to feel smaller. The problem with Neville’s little…’temptation’ was that he hadn’t mentioned it to anyone. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had feelings for people before. He had his fair share of crushes throughout the year. But she was different. See, he wasn’t the first one to notice how beautiful the girl was. Heavens no! Quite a few of his peers had noticed just how breathtaking (Y/n) was but once they saw the last name that was attached to her, that was more than enough to turn them the other way. However, the connection to her grandmother not only put up an invisible force field for suitors, but friends as well. He found himself feeling sorry for her often, he could only imagine how lonely she was. 

“Yeah, I do. You were waiting for me to find you so you could help me with my herbology homework! Man Nev, you’re such a good friend.” he said. Neville rolled his eyes noticing all of Dean’s missing coursework for herbology within his hands. As much as he loved his friend, he also couldn’t deny how unbelievably idiotic he was. Although he was disappointed in how irresponsible he was, he was also relieved he hadn’t noticed what had actually had him standing there lost in his thoughts. “Oh and I also saw you staring at McGonagall junior. I don’t blame you mate, she’s bloody fit. Have you seen her in that skirt she wears to Hogsmeade? It makes me just wanna-” Neville smacked his friend on the back again ignoring his groan of protest. He began to walk off leaving Dean confused. Neville noticed the lack of his friend's presence near him causing him to turn around.

“Do you want help with your herbology work or not?”

-----------

(Y/n) sat with Luna in the courtyard, watching as her friend picked at the wildflowers twisting them and molding them into a flower crown. She sighed once again as she continued to ramble onto her. “I don’t know Lu, he’s just so cute! I wouldn’t even know how to approach him. Besides, he probably wants someone from his own house and year, yknow?” She said as she glanced at her preoccupied friend. “Are you even listening to me?” she huffed frustratedly. Luna looked at her, rolling her eyes at her a bit.

“You’re only a year below us (Y/n), you talk about him as if he’s an old man! Besides, the whole different house thing would only matter to him if he was a Slytherin. Neville doesn’t care about little things like that.” she took the completed crown placing it on her friend’s head as she smiled at her. “Yknow, for someone at the top of your year you’re quite daft.” Luna said nonchalantly, causing her friend’s eye to twitch. One thing (Y/n) would never get quite used to is her friend’s ability to tell people the truth as if it were nothing. Luna squeezed the girl’s soft (s/c) hand before smiling at her. “Besides, you’re beautiful! If he doesn’t want you, I know there are plenty of guys who most certainly do!” (Y/n) felt herself get quite shy at her friend’s words, rubbing at the goosebumps that were forming on her arm. But, she was right. She couldn’t let her thoughts of if or if not a guy liked her get her down. 

“Hey (Y/n), have you ever, yknow, actually tried TALKING to the guy?” Ginny asked, smacking on the taffy she had been eating. The (e/c) eyed girl felt herself getting flustered once again.

“W-well, the short answer is no. Don’t look at me like that! I’ve TRIED. Every time I try something comes up! I’m either almost late to class, one of his friend’s comes up to him, or I have to do something for my Nan! It’s a lot harder trying to talk to someone when you don’t have any classes with them..” she said as she began to pout, reminded of her failed attempts to speak to the awkwardly charming boy. Ginny popped another taffy in her mouth, processing her friend's words before smirking a bit.

“Just leave it to me, I have the perfect plan! Don’t you worry a single little hair on that pretty head of yours.” she said, causing both of her friends to side eye her both with the same thought in mind: ‘Oh Merlin, what is she thinking now?’

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

Well, what Ginny had been thinking wasn’t too bad but, (Y/n) was still quite nervous as she sat here. She was thankful Ginny hadn’t trapped them in a 1 on 1 situation or did something fucking stupid such as locking them in the room of requirement together. No, instead she had gathered her and Neville’s shared group of friends and decided to have a picnic together whilst everyone else was at Hogsmeade. Luna had asked the house elves to spare some of the extra food they had from lunch which they gave to her kindly considering how sweet she was to them always. 

Even though all of their friends were there, she still found herself being nervous which is why she still sat on the blanket with Hermione as Ron, Harry, and Dean picked on Neville lightheartedly by splashing him with water, Ginny and Luna challenged each other to different swim challenges, and Hermione read a book, relaxing comfortably under the shade of the tree. She sighed to herself, hugging her legs closer to her chest as she brought her face to rest upon her knees. She let her eyes wander back to Neville, a smile gracing her face as she observed him. She never got the time to just watch him in a natural environment. Every time she saw him, he was always so jumpy or nervous, awkwardly engaging in conversation with people who usually just wanted herbology help or needed advice on how to care for their plants. But now, watching as he smiled and laughed with their friends she realized just how infatuated with him she truly was. She took in the way his hair looked wet, his usually wavy hair drooped, water dripping from the strands. She smiled, noticing the way his crooked smile looked when he was his happiest. She began to get flustered noticing the way his arms had a bit of definition to them which (Y/n) could only assume came from all the heavy lifting he did for Professor Sprout in the greenhouse.

“You should join him. Sitting there and wondering what could be isn’t gonna get you anywhere.” (Y/n) gasped a little, whipping her head around quickly to look at her friend whose eyes were still fixated on the book in her hand, flipping the pages delicately.

“H-how did yo-”

“How did I know? You’re so predictable. Plus, you’re a little chatterbox. The only time you shut up is when you look at him.” Hermione giggled, finally peering at her friend over her book. She closed it and set it down on the blanket before taking off her cover up. She held a hand down to her friend. “Well, are you coming?” (Y/n) looked up at her friend, biting the inside of her cheek as she thought about it before nodding, letting Hermione pull her up. She began to take off her own cover up before taking a deep breath. She looked at her friend and they began walking towards the lake.

“I’ve never seen ‘Mione in a swimsuit before. She looks...like a girl.” Ron said to his friends as they watched the two girls near the lake. His friends all responded in some form of agreement. He turned to look at Neville, smirking as he saw him staring at the girls. “It looks like you agree don’t you, Nev?” Neville shook his head, a light blush coating his cheeks. Unknown to his friends he wasn’t looking at Hermione though, he was looking at her. 

“Yeah, she’s quite beautiful.” This didn’t go unnoticed by Ginny though who smirked, deciding to turn things up a notch.

“Hey, why don’t we all play some chicken? There’s enough of us!” Ginny said, beginning to walk over to the guys with Luna not too far behind her. “Unless you guys are scared, you know I’m the chicken champion so I wouldn’t be surprised if you w-”

“Don’t be ridiculous Gin! You know for a fact I’m way better than you, I proved that when you came to my place last summer.” (Y/n) said giggling at her overly confident friend. She tried sneaking a glance at Neville but found she had been caught in the act as Neville was already staring at her. She looked away quickly rubbing the back of her neck. Wait, why was Neville already looking at her?

 She shook herself out of her thoughts as they all began to pair off for chicken. The (h/c) haired girl went to approach one of her friends but found that Ginny and Harry already paired. She quickly tried turning to Hermione who made her way over to Ron. She sent one last pleading glance Luna’s way but the girl simply smiled at her before walking over to Dean. She felt her heart race at what she already suspected to happen. “I-I guess it's us, Nev.” she felt herself growing a bit insecure at having to sit on the boy’s shoulders. Although she was short, she didn’t have as small of a frame as her other friends did. “L-listen Neville, if I’m too heavy or too much for you to lift don’t even worry about it! I have no problem bei-”

With all the courage Neville could muster, he took a deep breath diving under water before rising up with the girl on his shoulder as his large hands gripped at her thighs making sure she was sturdy on his shoulders. She shrieked a bit at the unexpected gesture, gripping at his hair a bit. Holy shit was his heart racing. Had he really just done that? What had gotten into him? ‘Don’t back down, Nev! Say something cool, say something cool!!’ 

He cleared his throat some, before patting her thigh with his hand. “You’re fine. Y-you don’t weigh much of anything.” He said. She felt herself relax some, hoping he couldn’t feel the goosebumps on her thighs. However, Neville’s thoughts were far from the goosebumps. He couldn’t help himself from thinking that they were just as soft as he had imagined them to be. He was in deep and he knew it. “L-l-listen (Y/n), I-”

“Alright who’s going first? Me vs ‘Mione maybe? Come on Harry, move faster!” Ginny said. (Y/n) found herself trying to stifle a giggle at the sight before her. Ginny was tugging at Harry’s hair and yelling at the boy as he argued back. She couldn’t contain herself at the sight, she began to laugh trying to make sure she didn’t fall off Neville’s shoulders at the movement. 

Neville however was so entranced at that sound. He found himself wanting to be the person to cause that melodic giggle to come from her every time. “They’re so cute aren’t they?” she asked as he hummed in agreement. “I’d love to have something like that.” she mumbled to herself, however Neville had heard.

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

Ginny was on a win streak, she had beaten Luna and Dean, and Hermione and Ron. She was feeling confident as she banged on her chest cheering which reminded (Y/n) of a muggle movie her aunt once showed her. She had been absentmindedly petting Neville’s hair, running her fingers through it as she swirled it around her fingers. He hadn’t minded though, his face was flushed a bright pink and he was much too scared to say anything, worried that if he did he would end up waking up in his bed and it all would’ve been a dream. He heard his favorite voice pull him out of his thoughts.

“We’re up next Nev, think we’ll win?” she asked as she leaned over, her face appearing in front of his upside down. He jumped a bit, pulling his face back and tightening his grip on her legs.

“C-careful (Y/n!) You might fall if you’re not!” he said, staring into her eyes. God were they beautiful.

“I doubt it, I’ve got you holding me up. I trust ya, you wouldn’t let me fall.” she said giggling as she leaned back up, her lips accidentally brushing against his nose and forehead on the way back up which has caused both of them to freeze up and a silence to fall upon the two. Their eyes both watched as Luna fell off of Dean’s shoulders again as Ginny cheered at another victory.

“But to answer your question, I think we’ve got this in the bag! Let’s do this!” He said as he waded over to them. She smiled at his enthusiasm as they looked over at them. She looked over at Luna who gave her a wink causing her to grow shy once more. 

“Ah a new challenger approaches!” Ron exclaims, his eyes drifting to the pair. Neville glared at Ron a bit when his eyes lingered on the girl above him’s figure for just a tad too long before he cleared his throat.

“We’re gonna kick your ass, Gin! Prepare to get that gorgeous red hair of yours soaked! Isn’t that right, Neville?” She asked looking down at his head as he nodded along. “Consider this a rematch to last summer. I’ve come to snatch my crown right from off your head.” she said placing an invisible crown done on her head laughing as Ginny scoffed at her actions.

“Bring it on (y/h/h)!” She said as Harry began to walk over to her. The two girls both began to approach each other with looks of determination in their eyes. Neville let his eyes wander to the water watching the girl’s actions through the water.

“Beautiful..” he muttered in awe as he gazed upon her affectionately. Although he was nervous, he was even more so nervous of letting her down. He tightened his grip on her plush thighs as a determined expression made its way to his face. 

Ginny and (Y/n) both began pushing and tugging at each other trying to get each other to fall. And (Y/n) did have to admit, it was no easy feat considering how tone Ginny was from quidditch practice and how out of shape she was herself from all those late night cake sessions with the house elves but it didn’t deter her at all. She continued to push and shove at Ginny. If she could only get a better grip...she didn’t have that much time to do so as the redhead girl gave a particularly hard push causing the girl to almost topple over. Almost being the key word. Neville gripped at her a bit harder at her as she went backwards causing her to fling forward with quite a bit of force. Using said force to her advantage, the (y/h/h) girl was able to push Ginny, sending her and Harry falling in. They both cheered Neville spinning around with her as they laughed before he felt something tug his leg sending them both flying into the water.

Neville resurfaced, spluttering a bit as he shook his head a bit. “Sod off, Harry! You’re a sore loser!” He exclaimed laughing with his friend. He turned to his side remembering the (h/c) girl. He watched as she resurfaced and took a gasp of air. His breath hitched as he watched the way she pushed her hair back, chest on display behind her swimsuit. God was she gorgeous.. He shook himself out of his thoughts, pushing some of her hair behind her ear that she had managed to miss. He watched as she looked away from him shyly muttering a soft thank you towards him.

They went at it for a bit more, the girls all determined to at least win one round. At some point, Ginny even put Harry on her shoulders and as it turned out, he was way worse at chicken than she was. Even Luna had somehow managed to beat him. But as they all went on, the group grew hungry and decided as the sun would be setting soon, it’d be a good idea to eat like they originally planned. They all gathered around on the large gingham blanket and once again, her friends turned against her leaving the only spot available for her next to Neville. However, unlike last time she decided to take full advantage of the situation. She feigned a shiver, catching his attention as she hoped. 

“A-are you cold, (Y/n)?” He asked, eyes full of concern.

“Yeah, just a bit Nev!” she smiled back at him, popping another grape into her mouth. Neville looked at her blankly for a bit before deciding to give into his temptation. See, the thing with Neville wasn’t that he was scared. No, in fact he had had his fair share of flings during his time at Hogwarts unbeknownst to his friends. It's just, she was different. He made his heart race in different ways and gave him goosebumps on his arms and back. She made his brain short circuit from the mere sight of her. However, he knew she would not be single forever. He wasn’t oblivious to the lingering looks his friends had been given her throughout the night and he certainly wasn’t going to stay in the same lane as them. So, without a second thought he grabbed her with ease sitting her in his lap, the soft skin of her waist meeting the soft skin of his arms as he pulled her into his chest. (Y/n) felt her breath hitch slightly, as her own set of goosebumps started to form.

“Is that better?” Neville whispered softly to her as his chin came to rest on her shoulder. She turned her head slightly, her lips slightly brushing against his freckled cheek due to their close proximity. Instead of responding, she simply nodded still in a state of shock. Was this really happening? Her (e/c) eyes came to meet Ginny’s who simply smirked, sending her a wink before she went back to her conversation with Harry. None of her friends seemed that shocked at the position they were in. (Y/n) found herself a mix between relieved and offended that no one was surprised.

Although (Y/n) hadn’t noticed anything, the clenched fist and furrowed brows of his own friends did not go unnoticed. He felt himself smile internally, Neville 1 and the others 0. He caressed her skin lightly as if she was made of the finest of porcelain that would break from even a bit of pressure. The Gryffindor boy felt a surge of confidence within himself as goosebumps formed under his fingertips. He was knocked from his thoughts as a ripe strawberry was pressed against his lips, turning his attention to the (h/c) haired girl. He slowly took a bite from it, pink lips wrapped around the red fruit. He hummed constantly as he pulled away. (Y/n) moved back slightly to look at him, giggling at his red stained lips as the juice rolled down his chin a bit.

“Hey, you’ve got a bit of..” she trailed off giggling more as she motioned towards the juice. “One second, I’ll get it for you.” she murmured, reaching for a napkin. Neville pulled her back causing her to give him a confused look.

“No need.” he whispered, pulling her forward, pressing his lips against hers. The kiss was a mix of everything at once. Passion. Hesitance. Desire. And oh, he couldn’t forget his little friend: temptation. He pulled her closer, settling his large hands at the base of her spine right about her rear as hers wrapped around his neck. The girl’s fingers twirled the hair at the bottom of his head trying to distract her from the tingling sensation she felt all over. Neville nibbled at her lip a bit, biting it as he pulled away. “T-this is probably the wrong time to ask but, are you seeing anyone?”

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

The next week, Neville found himself in that same spot in the hallway that he was in the previous monday. His thoughts drift to the angel known as his vice, his temptation. He watched as her smooth legs made their way down the hall, smile on her face as per usual. However, this time he didn’t have to crave to be the one those eyes were lighting up at. He didn’t have to crave to be the one that oh so beautiful smile was caused by, because he was. He held his arms open with a smile, stumbling back a bit as the (y/h/h) jumped in his arms. He caught her, twirling her around as they both laughed before he placed her on the ground grabbing her hand. Neville placed a peck upon her cheek, nothing but adoration in his eyes. He gulped slightly, sweaty palms as they walked by McGonagall but he found himself relaxing when she sent a wink his way as she gave him a smile of approval.

Although temptation had originally showed itself on his doorstep as a visitor in his home, it eventually developed into something more and became a welcome resident in his home. Temptation was no longer temptation, it was love.

[harrysweasleys]

save me a dance // n.l.

summary: Hi!! Could I please request a Neville x Slytherin! Reader? She has a kind soul and became friends with Hermione (who’s the only person that knows about her crush on Neville), but she kept her distance because she knew about what happened to his parents. She goes to the Yule ball with another Slytherin that eventually ditched her, so she sneaks into the kitchens and hangs out with house elves until Neville comes by (knowing that she always hung out with them when she felt sad) and he confesses ^^

warnings: very brief mention of unwanted sexual advances if you squint, mentions of food

word count: 5k

a/n: my first neville fic!!! i’m so excited for you all to read it, i had so much fun writing it :)

[i do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other platform]

For what felt like the hundredth time, you woke up to the same view; your Yule Ball dress hanging loosely over the four poster bed, the sunlight streaming through the fabric and onto your chunky bed sheets.

The dress was quite stunning, but Godric, did you dread wearing it. You didn’t exactly feel like dancing the night away alongside some Slytherin bloke while you looked around at all the happy couples, wishing ever so desperately that that could have been you. That you could be the one dancing the night away with the person who had captured your heart effortlessly.

Unfortunately, that plan hadn’t exactly fallen into place. Hermione had done her best to help you out in getting him to ask you, but you ended up being put on the spot when a Slytherin boy named Jasper had asked you during Transfigurations. So, you had said yes, but deep down, that regret was starting to multiply by the second.

You let out a groan, tossed your head back against the pillow, and lifted the warm comforter off of your body. The fireplace in the centre of the room was still crackling away, but within the stone walls of the castle, the cold seemed to never fully fade.

So you threw on your house sweater, your scarf, robe, and a pair of trousers, before heading down to start the day. The snow was accumulating rather quickly outside as Christmas drew nearer, rendering you quite glad that you brought your scarf.

“At least you’re prepared,” Hermione mumbled as the two of you made your way to Divinations, “It’s always freezing in Professor Trewlaney’s room! Oh, how I wish I could have brought mine. Rather silly of me.”

You chuckled, keeping your eyes on the long winding staircase as you responded to her, “Not to worry, I’m sure Ron has a sweater you can borrow.”

Though you weren’t facing her, you could practically feel her eye roll as she scoffed, “Very funny. Such a clever idea. You really are filled with those.”

“I’m just saying,” you turned back to face her quickly before pulling down the ladder to the Divination classroom, “I’m sure he’d think you look amazing in it. Isn’t that what guys like? When their girlfriends wear their clothing?”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” she shushed you as you climbed up, “Be quiet!”

You apologized with a laugh as you climbed into the classroom and made your way to your usual seat at the front by the window, Hermione coming over to join you. Harry and Ron were seated not too far away, but that didn’t really matter to you. From across the class, you spotted Neville.

He was accompanied by Seamus — who seemed quite interested in the tablecloth at the moment — but you so wished that you could be the one sitting across from him.

His vest hung loosely against his body and his dark hair was littering his forehead, eyes scrunched shut as he let out a yawn. As he opened them, you noticed they darted in your direction before snapping away.

You felt a frown form on your lips. Why did he look away so fast? Instinctively, you raised a hand to the top of your head to check if there was anything in your hair.

“What are you doing?” Hermione asked as she dug through her bag, placing the heavy Divinations book on top of the circular table. The book, with its golden lettering, seemed to twinkle under the pink hues of the morning sky.

You shrugged, “Nothing.”

Her eyes followed to where you had previously been looking, and she let out a sigh, “Relax. You look wonderful. There’s nothing to fix.”

You sulked back into your chair, “Hermione, he asked Ginny to the ball. Don’t try to continue your matchmaking.”

She leaned forward on the table, pushing her thick hair behind her shoulder, “Doesn’t mean you don’t stand a chance. Look, I like Ginny, but maybe they’re going as friends. Like you and Jasper.”

“I think Jasper has more than friendship on his mind,” you muttered under your breath, thinking back to the way his hands lingered on your lower back a little too long after you agreed to be his date.

She gave you a sympathetic glance, opening her mouth to speak again, but was interrupted by Trewlaney announcing her presence. The class began shortly after, and you spent the time reading Hermione’s palm and deciphering what your own dreams meant.

According to the textbook, you were going to stumble upon a lot of money as well as possibly fall down a sewer within the next week. Nothing new, really. It was better than Harry’s, who once again, was told he was doomed for death in the coming months.

As the class ended, you stuffed the books and parchment into your backpack and thanked Trelawney for the lesson, following Hermione out of the room. As you made your way to the ladder, you spotted a little red ball on the ground.

You crouched to pick it up, immediately recognizing it as Neville’s remembrall. How oddly convenient that it land right at your feet.

“Oh, thanks,” he muttered as you turned to hand it to him, fingers brushing against his as you placed it in his palm, “This thing likes to try and escape.”

You grinned at him, “You should keep it safe in your dorm.” You tried your best to keep your voice steady as you spoke to him, which was odd, really. Why did you always become so nervous around Neville, who was one of the shyest, kindest people you’d ever met? Crushes were quite strange.

He gave you a small smile and a shrug, “I like to carry it on me. It’s from my nan. I don’t want to leave it behind.”

Your chest felt like it was going to swell at his words, “That’s really sweet. I’m sure she appreciates that you care for it so much.”

As you turned back to face the ladder, Hermione gave you a quick wink and a thumbs up before darting away with Harry and Ron, clearly insinuating that you should walk with Neville. You mentally scolded her before making your way to it, Neville not far behind.

“She does,” he said, fondness clear in his voice, “It’s not like I get anything from my parents, so I cherish anything I get from my family in general.”

Your heart sunk in your chest. Neville had always been very closed off when talking about his family — especially his parents — so the way he mentioned them so casually had you doubting what to say next. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by continuing the topic, nor did you want to brush it off like it was nothing.

“I’m sorry,” you said, facing him once the two of you began going down the spiral staircase, “I can imagine it’s difficult. But your nan clearly cares a lot, and she’s lucky to have you.”

His ears turned slightly pink at your words and you had to fight a grin.

The next few minutes were silent until Neville once again turned to face you. There was something about him that always seemed optimistic, despite the fact that he had just spoken a bit about the difficult situation with his parents. Whether it be the smile on his face or the sparkle in his eye, you couldn’t be sure what it was. But Merlin, did you ever adore it.

“She sent me my suit for the Yule Ball, actually,” he said, a bit of a hop in his step as he said the words, “It doesn’t fit perfectly but I’m sure it’ll last the night.”

You let out a small laugh, “That’s awfully sweet of her. I’m sure you’ll look dashing.”

As you said the words, you regretted them instantly. Well, not so much regretted — you meant every syllable — but more so, you wished you could currently fall into the sewer that Trelawney had predicted you’d stumble into.

Throwing out a compliment like that was quite possibly the last thing you wanted to do. Would he react badly? Would he think you were coming onto him? Would this change things?

Were you overthinking?

The corners of his lips curled up into a shy smile and he gave you a nod and cut you short of your internal rambling, “Are you excited?”

Yeah, definitely overthinking.

You let out a sigh, trying to move past your embarrassment and continue your walk to your next class, dodging a few passing students, “Kind of. I’m excited for the music. Not so much the dancing. I’m not very good at that.”

He chuckled, “I wasn’t either. I taught myself, actually. In my room. The lads loved to make fun of that.”

The image of Neville dancing away in the cramped boys’ dorm brought a smile to your face.

“You’ve already got a step up on me, then,” you faced him, “Get ready to watch me humiliate myself on the dance floor.”

You stepped a little closer to him as a group of Ravenclaw pushed past in a rush, and Neville’s hand reached for your arm to help steady you.

“Sorry,” he muttered, pulling away and avoiding your gaze, “But anyways, I’m sure you’re not as bad as you think. Ginny has never danced either, so you won’t be the only one.”

You tried your best to push past the surge of jealousy that washed over you. You already knew he was going with Ginny — hell, you’d know for a while now — but it did not make it any easier to hear. Especially coming from him.

“I didn’t expect you’d ask her,” you admitted, “but I’m sure you’ll both have a wonderful time. She’ll have a good leader to help her maneuver the moves.”

You gave his shoulder a small nudge, trying to act like you weren’t drowning in your own feelings. The thought of Neville holding Ginny close to his body as they swayed to the romantic music nearly made you sick. You liked Ginny a great deal, she was such a sweet girl with a fierce attitude that you admired, but you really wished Neville had asked you instead.

“We’re just going as friends,” he said, “I was going to ask someone else but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. And I’m pretty sure Ginny was also interested in another person in the first place.”

You tried your best to hold back a sigh of relief. They were going as friends. That didn’t mean it would make it easier to see them together, but maybe you could push past the jealousy you felt about seeing them as a couple.

But then the next thing he said hit you; he wanted to ask someone else. Someone he was interested in romantically? Perhaps he actually did like someone, even if that someone wasn’t Ginny. Who could it be? And why were you so irritated? You didn’t even know them.

“Well,” you said, unsure of how to change the topic, “I’ll be looking out for you two on the dance floor.” You wanted so desperately to no longer speak of the Yule Ball. The thought of the night was now dizzying and had you feeling a little faint, to be completely honest.

It was going to be a long day.

— —

You were honestly quite surprised by the appearance of the Great Hall. Usually filled with long tables, chairs, and candles, it was now glistening like a winter wonderland. There was fake snow falling from the ceiling, but it never touched the ground. The room smelled faintly of pine trees and sweets, and you figured that there had to be at least seven Christmas trees littering the room.

To put it simply, the space was beautiful.

Music played softly from the dance floor ahead, and to your right, there was a small table with a few snacks and drinks. There were also quite a few seats around, already occupied by couples and friends.

“What do you want to do?”

You turned to face Jasper, who was waving over at a group of Slytherins further on the left.

“We can go dance,” you suggested, praying he wasn’t going to drag you over to his housemates. Jasper seemed alright enough, but you weren’t a fan of his obnoxious friends. You could very well go the night without hanging around them, thank you very much.

He shrugged, “Sure.”

He linked his hand in yours and tugged you along behind him, bringing you over to the dance floor. Once you got there, you noticed a few familiar faces.

Hermione and Viktor were not far away, and she gave you an excited grin before pointing at her date, who was obviously making love heart eyes in her direction. You couldn’t blame him, honestly. Further along you spotted Fred and Angelina, dancing away as if they were the only two in the room. It caused you to chuckle.

“So do you want to dance, or…?” Jasper asked, placing one of his hands on your waist.

You shivered under his touch. It wasn’t a good shiver, it was discomfort. You wanted more than anything to be dancing with Neville — who you currently spotted over with Ginny, his hands on her waist and hers on his shoulders.

“Yeah,” you squeaked, awkwardly stepping closer to him before putting your arms around his neck. Your throat began to sting as you watched the two of them glide across the floor, laughing as they spoke to each other. It felt quite juxtaposed to the uncomfortable, weird situation that you found yourself currently in.

You began to sway to the music, trying your best not to dart your eyes to Neville every couple of seconds. Jasper was clearly not enjoying this, but you honestly couldn’t bring yourself to care what he wanted. He wasn’t going to get what he came here for and you weren’t going to be guilted into it either.

You honestly couldn’t be thankful enough as the slow song ended. You quickly pulled your arms away from him and you crossed them over your chest.

“I’m going to go get a drink,” you said, not waiting for his response before taking off to the table by the entrance. You heard him call your name as you pushed your way through students, holding the skirt of your dress in your hands to avoid being stepped on, but you didn’t look back.

There was a clearing near the table and you took a deep breath, dropping your skirt and letting out a sigh. Your shoulders slouched as you walked over and grabbed a small glass, not even sure if you were thirsty. The excuse was simply to get away from Jasper. You were regretting your decision to come here more than ever.

“I recommend the punch.”

You spun on your heel, nearly coming in contact with Neville. He was standing behind you, taking a step back after realizing how close he really was.

“Oh—,” you nodded, “Thanks.”

The punch bowl sat in front of you, glistening red under the shimmering lights. You grabbed the spoon and poured yourself a little bit, enjoying the scent of the fruity drink.

You turned back around, giving Neville a forced smile, “I’m sure it’s delicious.”

His eyebrows furrowed and he fiddled with his waistcoat, “Are you alright? I don’t mean to prod or anything.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, “Yeah, I guess I’m alright, really. Just not having a great time.”

Neville’s eyes scanned the dance floor where he spotted Jasper’s familiar blond head scanning the crowd, “I’m guessing it has something to do with your date.”

His eyes found yours again and you nodded, placing the glass down on the table behind you, “My situation is kind of like yours, I guess. You wanted to ask someone else. Well, I wanted someone else to ask me.”

You could see his shoulders sag before he frowned, “I’m sorry it didn’t work out. I’d say anyone would be lucky to have you as their partner, but something about him tells me he’s not enjoying himself the way he should be, being by your side and all.”

You had to fight a grin at his words. How Neville could be so awkward, yet so effortless in his words, you’d never understand. It was one of the reasons you knew you wouldn’t be getting over your crush anytime soon.

“Thanks,” you gave him a smile, looking down to the ground before meeting his eyes again, “You should go back. I don’t want to keep you from dancing.”

You could see the hesitation in his eyes as he scanned your face, but he gave a slight nod, “If ever you want to get away from him, I’ll be there to help you.”

“Thanks, Neville,” you smiled genuinely, maintaining eye contact. He stood there for a moment, looking into your eyes, and you could practically feel how reluctant he was to walk away.

As cliché and typical as it sounds, it almost felt like you were alone in the room, completely lost in his gaze. His eyes brought you comfort that nothing else could provide, and you only wished you could look into them more often. Like dancing, for example. How easily you’d find yourself lost in his eyes if you were dancing.

“No worries,” he gave you a small smile, scanned your face once more, and took off into the crowd. As you watched his head of dark hair vanish, you let out a deep breath. If life could go your way, he’d have his hand linked with yours as he led you back to the dance floor.

But life wasn’t fair like that, was it?

You completely disregarded the punch behind you, stomach feeling like it was in knots, and made your way back to where you left Jasper. Only, you couldn’t find the familiar mop of blond hair anywhere. He was rather tall, so it wouldn’t be difficult to spot him. And yet, somehow, he was nowhere to be seen.

Until you looked to the entrance door and saw him hand in hand with a ginger Slytherin girl, both of them stumbling over their feet as they made their way out.

“Well, that was fast,” you mumbled, a frown on your face.

You stood alone on the floor, couples swaying to the music around you. It kind of felt like a movie — the kind of movie where the girl gets her heart crushed by a guy, and then is ditched by another guy, and then is left alone in the end. A crappy movie, you thought, but one that seemed to fit really well right now.

The music was practically taunting you, so instead of staying put or going to finish your drink, you once again gathered your dress in your hands, and made your way out of the room.

The hallway felt a lot fresher compared to the Great Hall, but that was understandable. Hundreds of bodies in one room compared to the corridor with an open doorway to the winter air.

Though, that wasn’t where you were going. You decided you’d go down to your usual escape spot, and now that all the teachers were chaperoning the ball, you would make it there with minimal interruption.

You spotted the familiar painting by the kitchen entrance, the bowl of fruits, and raised your hand to tickle the pear. The painting swung open and you crawled through the little stone passage, making sure your dress wasn’t going to get caught, before landing on both feet on the tile floor.

“Oh! Miss Y/N!”

Dobby, donned in a little scarf and hat, waved at you from a tabletop.

“Hey, Dobby,” you grinned, “Sorry to interrupt your quiet evening in here. I didn’t know where else to go.”

He patted the table next to him, “Why did you leave so early? Dobby heard the ball was lasting all night.”

You gave him a little smile, sitting down on the stool in front of him, “Wasn’t as fun as I expected. I’d rather spend my evening here. Where is everyone else?” The stool was rather small for a human being, considering it was most likely made for an elf, but if you leaned forwards against the table and kept your feet plastered to the ground, you managed to balance just fine.

He gave a little smile and looked at you with those big eyes, “They are all tired! We have been putting the ball together for days now! They all went to bed.”

The corner of your lips curved up, “Well, now you have company, Dobby.”

He clapped his hands together and let out a little laugh, “Let me show you what Dobby found today. It was in the Gryffindor common room!”

You nodded, knowing that it was most likely a knitted hat. Hermione had been leaving those scattered around the room for a little while now. Little did she know Dobby was the one collecting them all.

As you watched his little body disappear through a small doorway on the far wall, you took a look around the kitchen. Despite the fact that you were certain they had been working non-stop in here for days on end, it was nearly spotless. Pots and pans shimmered under the candlelight, tabletops were clear, apart from a few fruit bowls and snacks. The counters were clean, as well as the floors.

If this place had windows, or maybe a little more light, you felt it would be quite nice.

You sat there silently for a little while, already beginning to feel the sadness of the evening creep in. It was quite a bummer, really. You didn’t know if you wanted to go back to your own dorm tonight or stay out wandering the halls, mind running through all the scenarios on how tonight could have gone differently, how it could have been better.

The only sound you could hear was a light creak, which you eventually realized was the painting swinging open to let someone in.

Panic began to settle in and you stood off your chair, moving to the other side of the table. You would still be very much visible if you ducked, so there was no point in doing it, but you did it anyways.

The last thing you wanted was for Snape or Moody to catch you where you shouldn’t be.

Except, the person that crawled through and landed sturdily on their feet wasn’t Snape or Moody.

It was Neville.

You popped your head back up, eyes locking with his. He looked a little disheveled in terms of his hair, and his bow tie was slightly off centre, but the smile on his face showed relief.

“Neville?” you asked, already feeling a little less panicked. You only hoped Neville was alone. The last thing you wanted was for a girl to crawl in behind him. He wasn’t that kind of guy, you knew that, but your mind went there anyways.

Thankfully, he was alone. The painting swung closed behind him and he gave you a small smile.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, walking back around to the front of the table, this time deciding not to sit on the stool.

His cheeks turned a little pink but he brushed it off and shrugged, “I saw you rush out of the room. I wanted to see if you were okay. I remember you once told me you come here when you’re upset, so I gave it a shot.”

Your mouth felt like it fell open so you shut it quickly, blinking rapidly, “I’m surprised you remembered. Only you and Hermione know about my little escape spot.”

He gave a small chuckle, stepping a little closer, “Are you alright, though? I saw you leave and I didn’t see your date anywhere.”

You gave a shrug, averting your eyes, “He left. With another girl. I wasn’t interested in him that way, but it still sucks.”

He furrowed his eyebrows and gave a shake of his head, “You’re better off without him,” he stepped a little closer, catching your attention once more, “But I get why you’re upset. Funny story, the same thing happened to me. But not in the same sense. Ginny managed to get a dance with Harry.”

You were close enough to put a hand on his shoulder, “I’m sorry.”

Realization caught up to you and you noticed how stupid this gesture probably was, so you snatched your arm back and held it against you. Neville noticed your quick reaction and you could see his gaze fall down to the ground before meeting yours again.

Just like at the punch table, it felt as if time stood still while you looked into his eyes. You could see he looked like he wanted to say something, his stare darting back and forth between your lips and your eyes, but he didn’t say anything for a good moment.

Until one of his hands reached across and held yours. His skin was warm, and you could feel his pulse against his wrist. His heart was beating fast, and if he could feel your own pulse, he’d say the same about you.

“You look—,” he took a deep breath, “You look beautiful tonight. Well, not just tonight. You look beautiful most of the time. I’m just saying, it’s — never mind.”

Your heart seemed to stutter in your chest, goosebumps rising on your skin at his words. They had caught you so off guard that you couldn’t find a way to respond. No words seemed to find their way into your mind. All you could do was smile. A bright, genuine grin that hurt your cheeks.

“Thanks,” you let out a small laugh, linking your fingers with his, “Also, you look pretty dapper yourself. I told you you would, and I was right.”

He stepped closer, his other hand locking with your free one. It wasn’t an overtly intimate gesture — people held hands all the time — but Merlin, did you ever melt into his touch.

“Do you — Can we have a dance?”

You bit your lip to hold back your smile. How you went from standing alone on the dance floor, starring in the most depressing teen flick you’d ever heard of, to standing alone in the kitchen, your hands locked with Neville’s as the candles flickered around the two of you, you’d never know. But you were so, so grateful. And happier than you can ever remember being.

“I’d love that,” you nodded, stepping closer and resting your head against his shoulder. His hands let go of yours and went to your waist, and it felt so right. So right that you completely forgot about how it felt when Jasper was holding you instead.

Your hands went up to his neck, draping them around him and leaning into his touch. There was no music, but it almost didn’t feel necessary. The two of you began to sway slowly back and forth, the only sound being the click of your shoes as you took your steps. You couldn’t even bring yourself to care about whether Dobby would walk back in any second now.

He rested his head against yours as he led the way. It wasn’t much of a dance, but it was quite possibly the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to you. You wished more than anything that you could freeze this moment and live like this forever.

“A hat! Dobby was left a hat — Oh! Hello!”

Neville pulled away instinctively and grinned awkwardly, taking a second to process what had happened before nodding his head in the direction of the house elf, “Hello, Dobby.”

You fought a grin, turning your head back to face Dobby, who was awkwardly looking between the two of you, a large knitted beanie in his hand.

“Dobby can sense he is intruding,” he muttered, giving a little bow before backing up through the door he left through before, “Good night!”

The moment had sort of been interrupted, but you didn’t move away from Neville’s touch, resting your head against his shoulder once more as your laughter died down. Of course, the curious little elf would walk in at the worst moment.

“I knew that would happen,” you laughed, tightening your grip around him a little more. He chuckled, head falling against yours. You could feel his hair tickling the side of your face, the strands unruly and curly as they brushed against your skin.

The night ended up being way better than you expected.

This one you would never forget.

——

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[5lazarus]

The Domestics

Alistair runs into an older elven woman on the battlements, watching the children play in the Skyhold courtyard below. They get to talking: isn't it nice that the mages get to keep their children now? Then, in the course of the conversation, Alistair figures it out. Alistair says, “I always wondered. What my life would’ve been like, if she could’ve kept me. I always kinda knew she didn’t have a choice. King’s bastards are the king’s, not whoever carried them. If she were a servant and if I’d end up in the kitchens or, better yet, the dairy. I really like cheese. But if she were a mage, I guess we never had any of that. Unless she ran away.” Read on Archive of Our Own here.

It’s snowing at Skyhold, which delays Alistair’s plans by a day. Anora cuts him loose, locking herself in the ambassador’s heated room with her furs, and he wishes he could change into less fine clothes and join the children in their snowball fight, or wander into the kitchens and see if he can sweet-talk the cook into giving him something hot and sweet to drink. He’s king, so he could ask for all the chocolate in Seheron, and doubtless the Inquisition would try to give it to him.

He walks the battlements so less people will see him and watches the battle in the courtyard below. The Inquisitor’s children seem to have made common cause with the servants’ kids against the visiting nobility; honestly it’s just a relief to see that it isn’t human against elf. Alistair, a tad self-conscious, touches his right ear. An older elf is watching them, smiling. Alistair wonders if she’s the mother of one of them below.

“Which one’s yours?” Alistair asks.

The woman says, “I’m only watching them for the Inquisitor. I’m their guard.” She’s got short black hair, threaded with silver, but her eyes are lively enough. She’s wearing green robes with a bit of Dalish-looking embroidery at the ends of her sleeves. She’s got an Orlesian accent, too. He didn’t know the Inquisition was working with elves from Orlais, didn’t Anora tell him to keep an eye out for Ambassador Briala’s livery?

“Oh.” He shouldn’t feel awkward, but he blushes anyway. He stares at the woman’s feet, toes poking out of those foot wraps, and wonders how on earth she’s not freezing. Alistair’s got a coat of heavy wool, trimmed in fur.

The woman notices he’s staring and says, matter-of-fact, “My circulatory system is different than yours. We conserve heat more efficiently than your people. Besides, I’m a mage. It’s easy to keep warm.”

That has him a bit miffed. Of course he knows elves are biologically different than humans; they can still breed, though. He’s evidence of that. He doesn’t feel the cold as intensely as the others at court, and he knows why. The servants at the palace can tell, even if he passes, for the most part. Eamon and Tegan talk all the time about how much he looks like his father, how much he looks like Cailan, but he’s seen enough portraits of them both to know how he differs.

Alistair says, again, “Oh. Cool. I’m half, you know.” It’s not that he’s discouraged from talking about it, but it’s never been something to advertise. Those with eyes to see it don’t need to be told, but right Alistair feels like he needs to justify himself, with the way she’s looking at him. Skyhold has had him wrong-footed; Leliana has been distant and he is finding it harder and harder to slip away from the King. Anora tells him that’s part of adulthood. He’s not so sure.

The woman says, “I know.”

Alistair folds his arms. “Really? Because I didn’t. What’s your name, by the way?”

The elf smiles sadly. “Fiona. I used to travel with the Grey Wardens, when I was young.”

Alistair says, “Really? The Grey Wardens don’t really let people leave. Unless, you know, you point out that yet another civil war is going to break out if they don’t let you put your ass back on the throne. What was your excuse?”

Fiona says, “I had a baby. It’s hard to keep a nursery going in the Deep Roads. The darkspawn get jealous.”

“Oh. Can’t be having that, they’re crabby enough as it is. Though I heard of a Warden who brought his cat into the Deep Roads too, scratched out the eyes of a hurlock apparently. You’re lucky, most of us can’t have kids. I can’t. Probably.” He thinks about his own natural daughter with Tabris and blushes at the lie, rubbing at the back of his head. It’s for her own good and the good of the realm he hasn’t brought her to court. It’s not an excuse, it’s a reason, and Morrigan has the spare heir anyway, if Anora can’t figure something out.

Fiona says, “I suppose it’s luck. The Circle took him away from me, and gave him back to his father.” She sounds wistful. “But under the Inquisition, the mages keep their children. It’s a different world now. There’s no going back.”

He thinks to himself, I’m not so sure—the disastrous plans for the Hinterlands, the riots in Denerim, the failure of the embassy in the Brecilian forest. He thought after the Blight, with this new alliance between elves, dwarves, and men, there would be no going back. Anora tells him it’s a struggle for the future and that reform doesn’t come in a day, perhaps not even their lifetime: sometimes they need to settle for establishing the groundwork for the next person to rule, like Maric did for them. But of course, Anora’s never had her cousin kidnapped and brutalized, or her father sold into slavery. That sort of perspective changes things.

Alistair says, “Really?” He scratches his head. “I look at things in Ferelden and wonder how things can stay so stagnant, and then you look at Orlais and how they’re eating themselves alive. And Orzammar, of course, which is basically a living fossil. People don’t like change. They’d prefer for things to stay the same, or even go back to how they were a generation ago.” He is surprised at the bitterness in his voice.

Fiona cocks her head and looks at him curiously. She says, “You’re too young to be talking like that. You must understand it comes in seasons—we flourish in spring and reap our harvest in summer, and then prepare for and suffer through the conservative reaction in winter. Sometimes it’s a harsh winter, and many do not survive. But then there is always the spring. You lived in Ferelden, you should know—from the Night Elves who freed your people from the Orlesian occupation to Clan Alerion securing the boundaries of the Hinterlands now, things have changed. You just need to…riot every so often, to make sure no one gets complacent.” She grins.

It’s nice to talk politics with someone who doesn’t know who he is, who thinks he’s just another wealthy Ferelden currying favor with the Inquisition, not a king staring down the religious cult that just carved itself a city-state at the border of his realm. Below the children are yelling. A couple of them are using magic to freeze the snowballs, and they’re having a fierce debate, interspersed with throwing said ice balls, on whether that’s fair.

Alistair says, “Then I hope you’re right. I hope the mages and the Inquisition’s made enough of a, er, spring, to shake things up. It’s good for these kids to stay with their families, I hated what the Circle did. I didn’t know my mother, growing up. Would’ve avoided a lot of angst if I’d gotten to meet her.” He thinks about Morrigan and her awful mom, and then Goldanna flashes through his mind. Ashamed, he pushes the thought away. “Or maybe it would’ve made it worse! Hard to say, I certainly don’t know!” He smiles at the woman brightly.

Fiona says, “It might have made it worse, since she was an elf. Your life would’ve looked very different, even in Ferelden.”

His heart stops. Surely she doesn’t know who he is. That could be awkward, considering what he’s been saying. Anora will be furious that he’s gone off and talked politics with another random person again. He can’t help it, he gets bored easily, and the courtiers and advisors only tell him what they think he should want to hear.

“How do you know I’m Ferelden?” Alistair asks suspiciously.

“You’re wearing the badge on your fur coat. And, of course, your accent. Unless I am mistaken?”

“No, no,” Alistair says. “But yeah. Sorry. I don’t know much about her. Don’t know if she’s still alive. Just that she was an elf. Always assumed she was a serving woman or something, if my father was anything like C-Caleb.”

Fiona says, “Sometimes it’s better not to think about it, how we came into the world. I never met my parents either.” She leans against the balustrade and shakes her head at the kids fighting in the courtyard below. They’ve devolved into outright brawling, but that weird Warden the Inquisitor keeps around her has waded into the fray, bellowing orders. “It’s good to see them playing again. They never had enough time to play.”

“When were you a Warden?” Alistair asks. “You know, my dad travelled with the Wardens too. But they didn’t make him join up—guess that’s why I’m here, ha-ha.” He wants to ask her if she ever met him, because they might have overlapped. It’s hard to tell with elves sometimes though, they age more slowly, but she looks like she’s in her late forties, a bit careworn. Then he decides he really doesn’t want the conversation to get weird, because he is a king and his father was a king, and it’s rare that someone speaks to him normally now—treats him like the lovable idiot he knows he is, not the history-breaking king.

Fiona says, “Oh, give or take thirty years or so. I try not to count the years, at my age. My people live a long time if left unmolested, but I have a knack for running into trouble.”

Alistair laughs. “Oh, me too! I don’t even mean to do it, I’ve just never learned to keep my mouth shut.” To Teagan and Anora’s chagrin, he thinks ruefully. “I was given to the Templars as a boy, before I managed to get the Wardens to take me, and Maker! The Mother despaired of me. Called me most the accidental heretic she’d ever known. Really the Wardens taking me saved my life, Maker knows what they would’ve done to me if I kept poking at them like I was.”

Fiona pauses, trying to suppress a laugh, and then says, “At least you’ve never started a war.”

Alistair laughs heartily at that. Then he realizes what she’s said. “Wait, what? You started a war?”

Fiona says, “You…you didn’t know?”

Alistair says, “Is there something I should know?”

Fiona steps away, smoothing her expression away. “Many things.” Anxiously she peers down into the courtyard, smoothing her sleeves over her hands. The two factions of Skyhold children have joined forces and are attacking Blackwall with snow, but another one of the Inquisitor’s companions has joined the fray—a cackling elvhen girl, and then Alistair sees that from the balcony of the inn there’s a mustachioed mage swatting snowballs away from his friend.

Alistair says, “You never asked me my name.”

Fiona glances at him and then turns away. “I didn’t need to. You look very much like your father. Though I suppose you must know that.”

Alistair opens his mouth and then closes it. He says, voice hoarse, “Did you ever—“ He stumbles over his words, and clears his throat. “Did you ever find out what happened to your baby? When the Circle took him away.”

Fiona hesitates. The silence between them is filled with the children laughing below, the mage grandiosely chanting what are clearly made-up words, and the old Warden dramatically pretending to be overwhelmed by the volley of snow. The elven girl is swearing revenge, right now. It looks the children are trying to steal the “body” and make a pyre out of snow.

Alistair says, “I always wondered. What my life would’ve been like, if she could’ve kept me. I always kinda knew she didn’t have a choice. King’s bastards are the king’s, not whoever carried them. If she were a servant and if I’d end up in the kitchens or, better yet, the dairy. I really like cheese. But if she were a mage, I guess we never had any of that. Unless she ran away.”

Fiona covers her face with her hands.

Alistair continues, “Then, yeah, being apostates suck. Believe me. I met a girl who lived in a swamp. But I think we could’ve made it work. Like since I pass, and I’m not magic—at least I don’t think so, but I think I’d know by now? I’m like, thirty-five. Or something. I could’ve gone to the villages and traded for food. And I would’ve known more about who I am. Than just Maric’s bastard. Who’s just a story, anyway. That’s how kings like that end up. Just stories.”

His mother is weeping now.

He says, “I have no idea how you started that war you said you did. But I think I know what I’m supposed to know.” He takes a step closer, and she doesn’t move. He says, helplessly now, “I think I have your eyes.”

Fiona leans against the balustrade, back to the courtyard below. She’s not crying now, but she’s not making any sound. Alistair is afraid to go closer. Her hands press into her face like a mask, restraining a scream. He thinks if he touches her, all that tension will explode. He gets overwhelmed like that too. Can you inherit that sort of thing? He has to wonder, does the way one expresses pain get passed down in the blood?

He waits for her to speak. A door behind them creaks open, footsteps scuffle to a stop, then retreat. The door shuts. The mage has come down into the courtyard now and is chanting what appears to be Nevarran over the pile of snow that is Blackwall’s pyre. The elven girl is leading the children in mourning—but then the mage flourishes, and the snow glows purple, then scarlet, then green as he sparks. Blackwall throws the snow off and roars. The children cheer.

Fiona breathes heavily, drawing herself out of wherever she retreated. She swipes at her face with her sleeves. She says, “Forgive me. It was better that you didn’t know. You couldn’t have become—you deserved—Maric needed—what are you going to do, I told the Divine to go fuck herself, you can’t have a mother who told the Divine—“

Alistair says, impressed, “You told the Divine to go fuck herself? I am your son, I knew it had to come from somewhere! This is your fault!” He gestures at himself, and Fiona manages a laugh.

“An exaggeration,” she says. “I merely said the Divine should fuck herself, right before we voted to dissolve the Circles and separate from the Chantry. I’d hoped to tell her that at the Conclave, which is why they sent Orsino rather than myself.” Her mouth twists into a rueful smile. “Perhaps the only time running off my mouth and losing my temper has saved my life.”

Alistair says, “Well, the Divine was kind of an ass. Somebody had to say it.” He laughs. “Oh, this is wonderful. My mother, the rebel mage.” He’s genuinely delighted, this is much cooler than anything he came up with as a boy. “This is so cool. Anora’s going to be so annoyed when I tell her. Not like she can complain, her dad betrayed the realm and got all the Wardens killed, so really on the scale of shitty in-laws, I win.” He pauses: he isn’t sure he conveyed what he wanted to by that. Fiona is just staring at him. “But seriously, I don’t know who you are. Besides, obviously, my mother.”

Fiona says, disbelief in her voice, “I’m the Grand Enchanter."

Alistair says, “Oh Maker, I should’ve recognized the belt, shouldn’t I?”

[dreaming-about-fanfictions]

Choose Me Instead II Draco Malfoy x Reader II Chapter 15 of 27: Fireworks

Summary: Pretending to be in a relationship with Draco Malfoy to get back at your ex might have not been the smartest idea you ever had. Especially during your last year of Hogwarts where you should be focusing on exams and your future plans. However, you were just pretending. There was no way in hell you could actually catch feelings for someone like Malfoy. … Right?

CHOOSE ME INSTEAD MASTERLIST

A/N: I was feeling sick for the past few days that’s why this chapter is a little late. Love you all so much for your amazing feedback and support! I hope you’ll like the chapter! <33

Words: 4.1k Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader, post-war Warnings: none

Whispers in a dark room, soft touches, kisses all over your bodies; a laugh so bright and full of life, it made his heart ache. Clothes on the floor, candles lit on the nightstand, your perfume lingering in the air. The way, he ran his fingers through your air; the sound of your heartbeat underneath your skin.

Draco’s mind kept wandering back to the moments in the hotel room. Every fiber of his body wanted to go back, wanted to feel close to you again. He hadn’t realized how starved he was for human connection until your lips found his.

“Draco!”

Draco flinched and almost dropped his knife, when his mother called his name sharply. Narzissa Malfoy sat across the table, sending him a warning look.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” he mumbled. “I was …”

“Dreaming,” she finished his sentence. “You’ve been distracted all day, Draco. It’s impolite to our guests.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Narzissa,” Mrs. Greengrass chirped. “Astoria is just as quiet today. Who can blame them, really? They don’t care about our gossip.” When she laughed, Draco noticed that her eyes grew so small, they were hardly visible anymore. It made him wonder where her daughters got their beauty from. It certainly didn’t come from their mother.

He looked to his side where Astoria absently stared at her table. She had barely touched the food yet. Something seemed to bother her.

Narzissa had invited Mrs. Greengrass and Astoria for lunch today. “Just to catch up,” she had said to her son. However, he knew that wasn’t the full truth. His mother was worried. Very worried.

In the beginning, she had believed dating a Gryffindor was just an excuse for Draco. A way to postpone the engagement a little longer. Those games happened more often than anyone would like to admit but she knew quite a few similar stories. However, after the holidays and after seeing him for the first time since the school year started – she had noticed something. A change in him. Small and tiny, like a daisy trying to grow in the cracks of old pavement, but it was there. And it kept on growing.

Draco had smiled when he came home – and when Narzissa asked him about you, there was a spark in his eyes and happiness in his voice. It left her wondering if the whole relationship thing wasn’t an excuse after all.

Narzissa wanted Draco to be happy, of course. He was her only son, her pride and joy, the love of her life. He had to endure so much pain and suffering in his young life and a lot of it was undoubtedly caused by her husband and herself. A fact that broke her heart and filled her with guilt, every time she looked at Draco. So what kind of mother would she be if she didn’t wish for Draco to find his way back to life and for him to be with someone who offered him the peace and stability he so desperately craved?

However … she was still a Malfoy – and a Black. And your family? Despite being Purebloods and also quite comfortable in their ways of living, they were different. She had experienced this first hand when they came to the Manor two years ago, demanding to know the whereabouts of their other daughter. No, after the scene that unfolded that afternoon, Narzissa highly doubted that a union of their families would bring anything other than chaos. It would be as if Draco tried to marry into the Weasley family. Not at all suitable for a man from his background.

But a marriage with a Greengrass? In Narzissas mind, it would be truly perfect. They had so many similarities – growing up in the same circles, living in the same Hogwarts house, sharing friends and values. Perfect, Narzissa had thought when Mrs. Greengrass asked her about a potential engagement between their children. And in a very self-centered way, she also realized that this would get her family back their former reputation. It would mean money and status and another chance at the life she had lost after the war. Draco just needed to marry Astoria. It wasn’t too much to ask. After all, Narzissa didn’t love Lucius when they got engaged – the feelings grew over time. Surely, it would be the same for Draco and she was certain that he would be happy with Astoria. There was nothing wrong with arranged marriages – they were practiced among pureblood families for centuries. So why break that tradition now, in a moment, where the Malfoys needed it the most?

When Draco came home after Christmas and spoke about you, Narzissa knew instantly that it was time to act. He didn’t realize it yet, but Narzissa saw it – if she didn’t put a stop to it now, Draco would soon know that his feelings succeeded the ones of a teenage crush. Under no circumstances could he find out, that what he felt – under all the confusion – was love. Luckily (at least for her in this exact moment), her son was an expert at swallowing down his true feelings and pushing others away. So there was still hope for Narzissa. He simply needed to spend more time with Astoria to realize that the future of his family was more important than you.

As a start, she had invited Mrs. Greengrass and Astoria over for lunch. Afterwards, Narzissa planned on going on a long walk with Mrs. Greengrass, leaving their children alone together. Now, she looked at the faces of the two of them, bored and distracted, and decided that maybe sooner would be better than later.

“How about,” she turned to Mrs. Greengrass, “we go for a walk and let these two catch up.”

Draco frowned. “We’re not done eating yet. Isn’t there des –”

„It’s alright, I’m not that hungry,” Mrs. Greengrass interrupted him. She had picked up on Narzissas undertone. The two women stood up, gracefully as always, and smiled at their children.

“You spent the whole morning talking about how you looked forward to this lunch, mum,” Astoria pointed out, barely hiding her annoyance.

Her mother laughed. “Nonsense, honey.” She put her hand to her daughter’s cheek. “Have fun, you two.”

When the door fell shut behind their mothers, Draco snorted and shook his head. Astoria stayed quiet. Her eyes were back on the plate. She still hadn’t touched the food.

“You don’t like it?”, Draco asked.

“Would you be offended if I said no?”, she asked dryly.

“Slighty,” he raised an eyebrow, “mainly because I know from first-hand experience that our house elves cook better than yours.”

“Right,” she scoffed. “Because for everything the Greengrasses have to offer, you find something better.”

Draco stopped his fork right in front of his mouth. Lowering it, he turned to look at her. “That took a conversational left turn.”

The black-haired woman simply stared at her plate, clenching her teeth.

Draco sighed. He sensed where this was going. “Just say it, Astoria.”

Finally, she reacted. With a little too much force, she slammed her fork down. “I said it,” she tried to keep her voice calm and steady. “Time and time again. Quite frankly, I’m tired of repeating myself.”

“Is this about Y/N again?”

“No!”, she spat. All gone was the attempt of acting calm. “Not everything is about that –”

“Careful,” Draco warned her and leaned back against the chair.

She raised her hand but then took a deep breath. “Not everything is about her.”

He waited for Astoria to keep talking – but she didn’t. Oh, how tired he was of having the same discussions with her all over again. “Then what’s your problem today?”

“You’re an asshole,” she snarled.

He shrugged. It was probably true.

Astoria shifted in her seat and for the first time, since they had sat down to eat, did she look at him. He saw the anger and frustration in her eyes.

“Why don’t you want to marry me?”, she asked.

The question – and the confidence she asked it with – took him off guard. Draco frowned. “What?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s clear that you don’t. I’m asking you why.”

Because I don’t want to end up like my parents, was the first thought that popped in his head. It surprised him. He loved his parents and had spent most of his life looking up to them – but the thought of entering the same lives as they did over twenty years ago … It scared him. A young marriage to someone he didn’t love, being surrounded by people like them, raising kids in an environment as hateful and strict as the one he grew up in … He didn’t want that.

It wouldn’t be that way with you.

He swallowed at the new thought, wondering where it came from. Well, obviously, spending so much time with you in a literal “What if?”-scenario, would give him all sorts of ideas. Yet, he couldn’t help but think that whoever you chose to spend a life with – you’d be different. The family you started would be different. Your house would be filled with love and laughter and you’d adore and support your family no matter what. He just knew.

As if Astoria had read his mind, she suddenly asked: “What can she offer you that I can’t?”

Everything. And nothing at all.

Draco was irritated at the wording. “Offer me?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “What can she and her family offer you –”

“She doesn’t offer me anything,” he clarified. “Neither does her family. She or you are not something I can buy.”

Astoria groaned and threw her head back. “Oh, Merlin, don’t go all Gryffindor-feminist on me. You know what I mean.”

He did. But he wasn’t keen on explaining to the young Greengrass why he preferred to spend his time with a Gryffindor over her. “I’m not planning on marrying her anytime soon, Astoria,” he said instead, a lot softer now.

“Great,” the sarcasm was dripping from Astorias voice. “Then we can get engaged.”

Draco let out a long breath. “No.”

She crossed her hands in front of her chest. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to,” he burst out. Merlin, why couldn’t she just leave him alone?!

“Why not?”

He wiped his hand over his eyes, suddenly feeling tired and exhausted. “Because I don’t have feelings for you.”

There was a brief moment of silence in which Astoria simply looked at him. Then suddenly the corners of her mouth began to twitch. Before he knew what was happening, she started laughing. It was loud and shrill. “Oh, Draco, that’s adorable,” she managed to get out. “Do you think I have feelings for you?”

Confused, he blinked.

The smile on her face vanished. “You know damn well that marriages in our circles are rarely about feelings.”

Draco shrugged. “Well, they should be.”

“What happened to you, Malfoy? Seriously.”

Again, there was this awkward pause between the two Slytherins. Resentment and frustration hung in the air and Draco wished for his mother to come back right this moment. Looking at Astoria however, a girl so proud and ambitious most of the time, another thought entered his mind. He had wondered about this a few times already.

“I don’t get it,” Draco began. “There are probably dozens of men who would love to marry you. Hell, even Blaise or Theo would say yes to an engagement. Why are you so set on marrying me? Especially if there are no feelings involved?”

Her eyes flickered away. She shifted uncomfortably. “We grew up together, I think you’d be a good fit.”

Draco scoffed. “Yeah, right, and Jesus was a muggle.” He didn’t believe her one bit. “Spill it, Astoria. All I have done for the past months is embarrassing you. Why do you want to marry me so badly?”

She pressed her lips together.

“Are your parents forcing you?”, he continued. “I honestly doubt that your father is thrilled about having me as his son-in-law.”

Astoria rolled her eyes at him. “They’re not.”

“Then what is it?”

Silence. She wouldn’t look at him but this behavior only sparked his curiosity even more.

When she spoke again, her voice was unusually quiet. Almost timid. “I just don’t know what you see in her. She’s not like us.”

That’s exactly it, Draco thought. He didn’t say it though. Instead, he leaned forward and reached for her hand. He stroked over it in a calming manner with his thumb. “Astoria, we’ve been friends for so long now. Just tell me –”

Quickly, she pulled away. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

 ***

New Year’s Eve …

Draco stood in front of the huge windows, overlooking the dark gardens of the Greengrass estate. It smelled heavily of flowers from all over the world in the greenhouse. The scent would have probably given him a headache if he hadn’t already finished a glass of firewhiskey. In the distance, he could see the lights coming from the big mansion. He saw silhouettes of the guests and wondered if they were really having a good time or if they were just pretending. Like he was.

After returning from the walk, Mrs. Greengrass had announced that Narzissa and Draco needed to join them for the night to celebrate the New Year together. He saw how it hurt his mothers pride to be invited so last minute, however, she accepted with a smile. And now they were here. It wasn’t a big party, just a few of their closest friends. Still, too many people for Dracos taste and so he hid in here.

Looking out at the window, he wondered what you were doing tonight. Since getting back, neither of you had sent a letter. Two nights in the hotel, memories that caused shivers to run down his spine, and a promise that it would mean nothing. It left him unsure of what to do next. How were you spending the night? Were you at a party? Getting drunk with friends, maybe even sharing a kiss with someone when the clock turned twelve?

He gritted his teeth at the though. Stop it, Draco reminded himself. Stop getting attached. You’re not dating, she’s free to do as she pleases.

“We used to play Hide and Seek here,” a voice interrupted his thoughts. “With Daphne. Remember?”

Astoria. He didn’t need to turn around to recognize her voice. “I do,” he nodded, still looking out in the gardens. “You were so bad at it.”

She chuckled. “I know.”

Draco glanced at her. They hadn’t spoken since the lunch earlier today and he had suspected her to still be upset. When she smiled at him however, the smell of wine hit him. Well, this explained her mood.

“I loved this place,” Draco said, knowing it was best not to address her drunken state. He raised the glass of firewhiskey to his lips.

“I know. You fucked Daphne in here.”

The words caused him to choke on his drink. He coughed heavily when he felt the burning liquid running down his throat. With red cheeks and tears in his eyes from the sudden reaction of his body, he turned to face her.

Astoria wasn’t fazed at all. “Didn’t you?”, her voice cheery.

Draco stared at her.

“She told me,” Astoria continued. “Summer before your sixth year.”

“Why are we talking about this?”, he finally asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

She shrugged. “Just popped into my head when I saw you standing here.”

She said it so nonchalantly and looked out of the window – it confused Draco even more. Truthfully, he was also a little shocked by her choice of words. He never heard her talk like that. Never. Draco shook his head and took another sip of his drink.

“What did you see in her?”, she asked innocently.

“In your sister?”

“Yes,” Astoria nodded.

He shook his head again. “Astoria, you’re drunk.”

“No, tell me,” she demanded with more force now and looked at him. Her cheeks were rosy and the hair messy as if she had spent the last hour dancing.

“Nothing, I –,” Draco groaned. “It was a summer fling. We barely dated.”

“But what did you see in her?”, Astoria repeated herself. “You choose everyone but me.”

Oh.

Here we go again. She looked at Draco and for the first time, he noticed something. Maybe it was a product of the alcohol or maybe it was truly because of him: she was hurt. Gone was all the pride and anger. Only sadness and a hint of desperation was left in those jade-green eyes, as she stared up at him.

Because of me?, Draco wondered. Was he the reason for her pain?

Astoria blinked and again, something changed. As if she tried to put on a mask, a smile appeared on her face. “Maybe you could see something in me if we just …” She made a step towards him. Draco backed away. Behind him were only the windows though.

“You’re drunk,” he stated again.

She giggled. “I’m just a little tipsy. It’s okay though …” Another step forward and suddenly she stumbled. Out of instinct, Draco put his arm around her waist to keep her from falling to the ground. She leaned against him now, pressing her petite body against his. He crinkled his nose when the smell of wine hit him again.

“Astoria … don’t,” he said softly.

She reached for the button on his shirt, clumsily trying to open it. Draco tensed up and she stopped. “Why not?”, she asked, tilting her head. In a sick way, it reminded him of the way you would look at him. The difference was, however, that he liked it when you did it.

He released his grip from her and carefully tried to get free of her fumbling hands. “Don’t, no, I can’t deal with this,” he mumbled and successfully took a step to the side.

Seeing her like this, it was a picture of misery. She cleared her throat, her hands shaking slightly. Draco wondered if she suppressed tears and the thought filled him with guilt. It made him choke up. So much guilt for so many things … he didn’t have room in his heart for anymore. He needed to get out of the greenhouse, he wanted to go home. No, not home. To Hogwarts. To you.

He reached for his tie. It was hard for him to breathe all of the sudden. Those fucking flowers, there was no air left for him. When he stumbled backwards, trying to get to the door, Astoria laughed. “Right because you can fuck everyone but me.”

“I ...”, Draco swallowed and right in this moment fireworks went off. Midnight. Outside, the sky was filled with bright colors. Red, orange, yellow, green. It was too much, too loud.

“Happy fucking New Year, Malfoy.”

 ***

“How much can you possibly fit in this book?”, Blaise asked.

Draco looked up at his question. “It’s not my first one.”

“Oh,” his friend made. “I thought it was a magic book or something.”

Draco shook his head before turning his attention back to the pages, filling them with what happened over the holidays. All the little details, he didn’t want to forget a single day. Well, except for the 31st of December maybe.

Draco, Blaise and Theo were currently sitting in a small section in the Hogwarts Express. They would reach Hogsmeade any minute now. It was snowing heavily outside, making Scotlands landscape resemble the one of a fairytale.

Draco was looking forward to returning to school. At home, he felt like he couldn’t breathe most of the time. Too many memories were left in the walls of the Mansion and seemed to haunt him whenever he wandered the now empty halls. If he were honest with himself, there was one more reason though. You. He’d see you again. For the first time since Christmas.

“I thought about starting one of those,” Theo suddenly admitted.

Draco looked up again, only slightly annoyed at the disturbance. He raised his eyebrows. “You were.”

His friend nodded.

“Why?”, Blaise asked.

Theo shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea. Besides, maybe it helps me get out of the therapy sessions.” He looked at Draco and added with a lot of sarcasm: “Thank your girlfriend for that, by the way.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

Blaise chuckled. “So, they’ve gotten to you.”

Theo nodded.

“It’s not that bad,” Draco said and added when he was met with doubting glances: “Just talk about what she wants and it’ll be over sooner than later.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem,” Theo replied. “What does she want to talk about with me?! I’m fine.”

“Are you?”, Draco asked but it was overheard when Blaise loudly announced: “Maybe she wants to talk about your messed up father.”

“Huh,” Theo made at that statement. He looked out of the window. Draco watched him and just before he could say something else, the train arrived in Hogsmeade. Theo got up abruptly, before they even stopped. “Well, anyways. Let’s go.”

“Hit a nerve there,” Blaise said quietly when Theo stepped out of their section.

Draco shrugged. He truly couldn’t tell how his friend felt. It wasn’t something they talked about, thanks to their Death Eater upbringing. Feelings were something you dealt with yourself and didn’t burden others with. However, he guessed that Theo wasn’t as happy as he pretended to be.

It was freezing cold outside. Thick snowflakes and an icy wind hit his face and Draco was mad at himself for forgetting to get out his scarf from his suitcase. They could hardly see anything and when someone hit them with a snowball, Blaise lost it and hexed a first grader.

“Missed detention so much?”, Draco snarled.

“He deserved it,” his friend replied and ignored the angry shouts of the first graders friends.

They arrived the carriages after what felt like an eternity. Did they magically lengthen the way to them? When Draco climbed inside, he sighed in relief. They were warm and cozy.

“Thank Merlin,” he mumbled and got out his wand to dry off the snow.

Theo and Blaise followed inside. Their eyes flickered only briefly to the Thestrals in front of the carriage. It had been quite a surprise for most of the students to come back in the beginning of the school year and see that the carriages weren’t driving by themselves after all.

Just when Draco made himself a little more comfortable and waited for the Thestrals to start making their way towards the castle, the door opened another time.

“Can I ride with you?”

You. Draco froze when he saw you, smiling at him nervously. You looked adorable in your Gryffindor attire – the hat pulled down over your ears, the red scarf tightly thrown around your neck. Adorable?!, he asked himself. What the hell, Draco.

“Sure,” Theo answered when Draco didn’t reply and changed his seat so that you could sit next to him.

“Thanks!” You climbed inside, lips trembling slightly from the cold outside. Just like he did, moments earlier, you sighed when you realized it was warm inside. You got rid of your hat and gloves, before looking at Draco again. “Hi.”

When Draco saw the smile on your face, it felt like a weight was lifted off his shoulders. It wasn’t awkward between the two of you. Nothing had changed. It would just be like the night never happened. “Hi,” he said.

“Nah, come on, Draco, don’t be shy,” Blaise rolled his eyes and Theo grinned. “Is that how you greet your girlfriend after a week apart?”

“Shut up,” he shot at them.

Looking back at you, there was a challenging look on your face. You had raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to act. He hadn’t expected it. However, he knew what you were thinking. He should probably kiss you. Just for the sake of keeping this charade alive.

Carefully, Draco leaned forward. Just a quick kiss, he thought. He closed his eyes and then his lips met yours.

Fireworks.

The only description, he thought was fitting. Your lips touched only for a few seconds and yet something happened. A wave of memories hit him when he breathed in the smell of your shampoo. Suddenly, he was back in that hotel room and it was only the two of you. Almost out of instinct, he raised his hand to your cheeks and the once innocent kiss changed. He felt your hand gripping his shoulder tightly as you leaned in, desperate to get more.

It was Blaise who ended the kiss – with a click of his tongue, followed by a disgusted: “Okay, by Merlin, get a room, you two.”

***

A/N: My looooves, please bare with me. I know this is such a slow burn :D I Hope you still like it! I promise you, the pretending will end some day! <33

CHAPTER 16

Choose Me Instead Masterlist HP Masterlist Tag List:  @writerdee1701, @youareinllve, @sjmahoney, @detroitobsessed, @takura-rin, @jadam268, @wynterwind, @mina672, @renaissance-confiance, @harpoon999, @doitforthevine67, @rinasrights, @flowerpowerpixie, @gold-flowing, @starkssnarks, @bookcornerkins, @harpersmariano, @markedsweetly, @iraniq, @pointlesscoconut, @hvrcruxes, @pillowjj, @idkatee, @jungjxxhyun,   @magicwithaknife, @graystherapy, @sophia-gwendolyn, @nxstalgicnxbxdy, @sunsetsofanemoia, @s4dthrills, @tommy-holland, @lordfxxker, @streetfighterrichie, @awaken-the-sirens, @destiels-assbutt13, @pockitparks, @just-addicted-to-bangtan, @cuddlykoala101, @zpandaqueen, @marvelpeters, @natsiboo, @jjjmaybank, @justmesadgirl, @books-and-tings, @slytherinprincedracom, @katiaw2, @saintkore, @nctnight, @lifestragedy, @obxmxybxnk, @spideydobik , @ladylizzieofdarbyshire, @aspiring-ginger, @dracomalfoyswifey, @jpow345, @realistic-breadstick, @h-annahayy, @abbs-is-tired, @alwaysbeanunknownfan, @niallsarmveinstho, @is-this-a-febreze-commercial, @acciowilltolive, @spideysmcu, @sexytholland, @faangirl101, @donttellany1iusetumbler, @mendesmuffinsss, @lilxnvm, @kill-the-teen-memories, @darkusangelus, @p0gue420, @itsbebeyyy, @hesaidimcrazy, @jenniweaslee, @hpxpjo, @brisbubble, @xomaymay, @shitnstuffillregret, @serialkillme, @angel-tears15, @panicattheeverywherekid, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything, @africana , @disgraceisonfire, @nobleking, @tashii-blr, @ddaeing, @randogirlo-fando-main, @sadgirlnumber92899, @captivateing, @bitchyegirl, @smiithys, @ninipoo1, @intheawks, @cherrylita, @nothanksnyla, @calpal-4ever, @dracosathenaeum, @belsandthings, @lifeasdreamgirl , @kiwi-sloan, @xdmx, @lexi-ravenclawdracomalfoy, @kvyenxay, @live-awkward, @babebenhardy, @bitchysweets-blog, @cravingmusic, @frau-moon, @ohissandhalasta, @noravirginia1994, @broken-but-beautiful-cassie​, @lil-black-heart​, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything​, @vminenthusiastt​, @dracos-slut​, @ohbabycal​, @saucysuazo​, @fuzzzwald​, @matsuno-nadeshiko​, @amber-arsenault​ , @virtuallawyergardenbailiff, @loveableasshole​, @thehippyprepster​, @spideycures​, @echpr​, @shiningstar-byulxx​, @profoundmoneyprofessoralmond, @twinklebug2282​, @bloodiedroses​, @klthmef​, @ostorian​ ,  @bi-chai-tea​, @maddieisnotok​, @amandaluvssupernatural​, @makeoutwithstiles​, @kelly182001, @holyranchgoopjudge,  @i-am-addicted-to-tea​, @tenclouds​, @lovingdracomalfoy​, @lannaax​, @dr-bitch-bby​, @lunardragon616, @fallinallinmendes​, @suckerforparker​, @runninglownad​, @piercinghorizons​, @dosicas​, @sarashuu, @yanaaaaaaa​, @desertdwellerwitch, @bittersweetthoughts–ofinsanity, @akzer300500​, @bbeautyybbx, @hoseokslily​, @dracofeltonmalfoy​, @emilianamason​, @tothemoonwithclifford​, @gcldreinhart​ ,  @piercinghorizons​, @angelofthorr​, @k-k0129​, @musicalmuffindog1410​, @andydre4m​, @mxl-foyrecs​, @seeinorange​, @vlgsqd​ , @strivingforelegance

Tell me, if you want to be added to my tag list <3

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

A secret fifth Hogwarts house… Don’t think you could just sneak that in and hope we wouldn’t notice.

This is why I love the strike-through feature on Tumblr. You can slip things in like they're unnoticeable but they're actually not, so it's like you can say things without saying them! But not really, because they're still there, but you crossed them out so it's like you didn't put them in. But you did. I could do this all day. But I won't. Instead I'll happily self-indulge and talk about this idea that may or may not see the light of day in a fanfic somewhere down the line. I'd need to actually finish my current WIP before I even considered that. Oh look I did it again.

So, what makes a Hogwarts House? Well, let's start with the naming.

The Hogwarts Houses are all three syllable words that draw some loose reference to their ideals, or really, more like the feeling you get when you think of them. Or, most of the time, it's a reference to whatever animal is their sigil. Oh, and alliteration. The first name has to start with the same letter as the last name. So how did I choose? Well, when I was creating The Founder in question, I came across this guy, Tukaram. I'll get more into this in a second, but that name really stuck out to me, and I ended up revising it a bit. I also remembered that Hagrid had a Thestral named "Tenebrous" and I got to wondering who he might be named after.

So in the end, his name was "Tenebrous Tuzuurim."

But who is he?

Tuzuurim was a Wizard who, at some point, rescued each of the Four Founders we know from certain death. Or so the legends say. Tuzuurim is more myth than man, by the time Harry Potter attends Hogwarts. Many history books that reference him have been lost or destroyed. Stories say that he financed Miss Helga Hufflepuff's attempt to buy a family of abused Elves, who she then freed. That he burned a cursed book opened by a curious young Rowena Ravenclaw, which only made her more curious.That he rescued a little boy called Godric Gryffindor from a manticore. (Or perhaps it was a Chimera? Accounts vary.) Which birthed his love for adventure. Reports say Tuzuurim sucked the venom out of a snake bite little Salazar Slytherin had, and he was thereafter immune to snake venom.

Whatever the stories, it would seem that he mentored and all but raised the Four Founders, who credited him with teaching them everything they knew. Altogether, he had very little to do with the formation of Hogwarts, to his deathbed he considered it to be the magnum opus of his students, not a project he took credit for. But he did stay on to advise them, to break the tie when they would put things to a vote. Unfortunately, everything went wrong. By the time Rowena had grown ill, by the time Salazar and Godric had their falling-out, and Salazar had left the school...Tenebrous was long gone. No one ever knew what happened to him, if he died, if he was murdered...or if he just took off. Stories say that he traveled the world, studying obscure branches of magic - legilimency, occlumency, divination, and things of the like. Some say he disliked using wands, preferring to avoid attachments to the physical world. Others say he was a wandmaker. Some say he could breathe underwater, there are even those who claimed to see him riding a sea monster (more likely just a whale.) across the Atlantic. Others say one of his Disciples killed him.

Ah yes, his Disciples. Tenebrous had a House at Hogwarts just like the others. The main traits of a Tuzuurim are peace, tranquility, and neutrality. Not unlike the values of the Jedi, as an example. Tuzuurim himself was always the intermediary, the peacemaker, and that's what his students sought to be as well. Involving oneself in conflict for any reason other than to create compromise is heavily frowned upon. Tuzuurims can have a reputation for being arrogant as they consider themselves beyond the petty House rivalries of other students yet also refuse to tolerate them and will attempt to intercede when not asked, and refuse to get involved when they actually are asked. It is said that the reason so few Tuzuurims are ever appointed Prefects or Head Kids, is because all of them already consider themselves enforcers of peace and order. Their sigil is a Humpback Whale. Their primary colors are Ivory and Violet.

But of course, the question arises - where are they now?

Short answer, they chose to leave the school, much like Salazar did. In fact, if one was present at the time, they would see how fragile Hogwarts' structure was at the time, and the school outlasting it's Founders was not a guarantee. With Rowena's death, Salazar's departure, and the disappearance of Tenebrous, Godric and Helena were the only ones keeping the school afloat, and they were wracked with grief. The Slytherin students considered leaving, so did the Ravenclaws. But only the Tuzuurims actually left. Deciding to seek their Founder, and angry with the other Houses for not assisting in the search. They vanished without a trace, they even vanished from history. Perhaps they were the ones who worked to erase mentions of Tenebrous from the records, because whether or not he even existed is a contested topic in modern day. A legend among some of the oldest Pureblood families in Britain, a conspiracy theory of sorts. Only the Portraits in the Headmaster's Office know for sure, and they aren't talking.

But eventually, The Tuzuurims return.

Now, the question about whether they are at Hogwarts to stay, depends on the story and on the era, of course. If they're coming back to stay, it can only be Next Generation or later. Otherwise, it's a foregone conclusion that they'll leave, unless we're changing canon history. But I envision the descendants of Tuzuurim and his followers returning to Hogwarts over a millennium later, to claim their birthright. To demand a place at Hogwarts like the other four Houses. Bonus points if it's after The Voldemort Wars, because then they can point out the hypocrisy of allowing Slytherin to remain yet barring access to Tuzuurim. See, neither the staff nor the students of Hogwarts school are entirely thrilled about this idea. After all, Tuzuurim's very existence, let alone his legitimacy as a "Founder" is questionable. But even if the stories are true, and even if one believes that the Tuzuurim descendants are owed a place at Hogwarts...who is to say that these people knocking on Hogwarts' door are who they say they are? It could easily be a case of fraud, with The Disciples having left over a thousand years ago, there's just no way to reliably prove it one way or the other.

In the end, whether because The Sorting Hat offers testimony, The Portraits speak up, or evidence is discovered in the Library...The Staff decide it's better not to antagonize this mysterious group of witches and wizards, and agree to let them join the school "on a trial basis." But it's an uncomfortable moment because once they're inside, it won't be so easy to get them out, and the teachers know it. I envision a moment where the protagonists, Albus and Rose perhaps, watch a fifth Hourglass being built, and filled with pearls....with an uneasy feeling as they glance over at the Tuzuurims. I can even imagine The Tuzuurims calling for any first years to be invited to get re-sorted, if they want to, just in case they might fit better in Tuzuurim. I can see the new "Head" of Tuzuurim taking over one of the subjects - or, something else I had in my outline was that she proposes the teaching of a brand new subject - Wizarding Law/Government.

They would later have a Common Room built, up in the top floors of the castle, closest to the Owlery and the Astronomy Tower. For this, it is nicknamed the "Tuzuurim Perch" similar to how Gryffindor/Ravenclaw are Towers, Slytherin is a Dungeon, and Hufflepuff is a Basement. The Common Room itself is very barebones and minimalist. The Dormitories are in a floor below and resemble the cabins of a ship, the Common Room itself having a furnace-like fire in the center, but it's not to be used frivolously, leaving this Common Room very cold. The walls are circular and made of white marble, with tattered rugs of a deep violet. The entrance is guarded by a statue of a hooded and cloaked man - implied to be Tuzuurim himself. The statue uses legillimency on you to see if you have a clear mind, unhampered by distractions and emotional drawbacks. If you do, it opens a secret passage for you. Nothing happens to you if you fail, but repeated attempts to get in without success causes anyone in the Tuzuurim Common Room to experience a terrible feeling of unease, a "bad vibe."

If they do wind up staying, it would be a story of acceptance between them and the other four Houses.

That's about all I got! That's all I have written in my House outline. This may all be in a fanfic one day.

[elmendea]

"butchered charas, cheesy dialogue, lazy linguistics, rubbery CGI, & subpar costumes"

YOUR WORDS YOU CLOWN

Sanctus fæx, spare me. But okay, let’s break this down, shall we? I’m in serious pain and a vile mood to boot. Let’s have at it.

Firstly, I have, do, and will continue to critique the show on all these points. To wit:

1. butchered characters -- I won’t really be able to tell if a character has been chewed up and spat out and turned into someone else until I watch the actual series. And no, “Galadriel being a warrior” does not count as this, to me. I’ve read enough of the lore to see where that concept could be extrapolated from, and frankly? Galadriel is not actually just a holier-than-thou mystic sorceress we get shown primarily in the Jackson films. By the end of the Third Age she’s been fighting the long defeat and she’s tired. In the Second Age? She still has plenty of fire in her belly and it’s not a leap to imagine she had an axe to grind. Her life during the First Age was a little tempestuous, to put it lightly. When the Valar offered safe passage for the Eldar to get themselves (back) over to Valinor, Galadriel’s response was essentially “nah fam I’m good”. This is a whole post in itself, though, so I’ll leave this here until Friday.

I don’t think a character’s aesthetic can be butchered, technically, since I find it less important than the character’s personality -- see Elrond, for a prime example of my thinking, here. I still have gripes about some of those aesthetics  for more-than-aesthetic reasons (the short hair on male elves bothers me a little, not just because I don’t like short hair personally, but because I think it adds to the ever-so-slight gender ambiguity and largely feminine [in a non-gender-essentialist context, and for lack of a better word -- maybe “yin” fits more?] energy of the elves; but using Elrond as an example again: Rob Aramayo’s performance shows this energy, which is what allowed me to set those preferences aside.)

2. cheesy dialogue -- I have called it out when I heard it. Nori’s “there’s wonders in this world beyond our wandering, I can feel it” still makes me cringe. Again, for a more thorough judgement, we’re going to have to wait until Friday. But also, at the same time -- cheesiness can be highly subjective. I’ve had differences of opinion with people who found that line perfectly acceptable.

3. lazy linguistics -- still call it out and always will. To a pernickety point, I’ll readily admit. I still think “Elanor Brandyfoot” is the laziest effing name anyone could come up with (no hobbits had been named Elanor BEFORE Sam and Frodo visited Lothlórien, that’s kind of the whole thing -- and Elanor Gamgee’s nickname was “Elanorellë”, not Nori, which has obviously already been used for a dwarf), hobbits didn’t seem to use surnames or clan names before the settling of the Shire anyway, “Bronwyn” and “Theo” are so incredibly primary world-esque that it actually teeters on breaking immersion (and the “they might be ancestors of the Rohirrim” doesn’t really fly, either, as the Rohirrim are canonically descended from the Northmen). Lissincë, I’m a linguist in training, and that is ENTIRELY the fault of Tolkien’s Legendarium. This is my jam. You think for one minute that I won’t be annoyingly nitpicky about names, even if I enjoy the show?

4. rubbery CGI -- have called it out and will continue to do so. The first trailer, to me, was not their finest offering in the CGI department. The subsequent teasers and trailers have improved vastly, but I’ve never hesitated to point out what seems a little too CGI-heavy for my own liking. But again: this can be quite subjective. A lot of people hated the use of heavy CGI in The Hobbit films; I personally wasn’t terribly bothered by it.

5. subpar costumes -- not once, not once, have I been impressed with the show’s costuming. I have made that blazingly obvious, repeatedly. The closest I can come to actually liking the costuming choices is thinking the dwarvish costumes seem fairly solid and Dísa’s makeup is actually flawless for a dwarf princess. As I said above, I still dislike short hair on male elves. I was astonished in the worst way when I first saw pictures of Charles Edwards as Celebrimbor -- how they made such a ridiculously handsome man look so utterly downright dowdy is beyond me. I stand by that. I continue to be unimpressed with the costuming on this show. I really, really hope in later seasons (or even episodes) it improves.

I hope that was elucidating for you. 🙄

[titilationexpress]

StarscreamxReader-Sweet Dreams are made of Screams Ch.1

First ever lemon. Please give your input. Reposting from my Ao3.

You haven’t been able to sleep properly for weeks now. And frankly, you’re wondering if you ever will again in your lifetime.

Yet what caused you to have such a problem with something that once came to you so easily? Ok, maybe not easily. No, scratch that. It was never easy. You had to take some sleeping pills every night to even get a few hours in. Still, how did it happen?

Well, the trouble had started back not long ago. In fact, from what you could recall, it hadn’t even been a full month before your ‘problem’ started. See, you were a fairly average individual. You had your quirks, your habits, the little things that make each person an individual. One particular interest you had though was quite specific, and even more, came from a decade long before you were born.

Transformers.

Oh yes, your beginnings were humble when you first started with the franchise, and you looked with wide, awe-filled eyes. Your starting place was where you first discovered it, the one show that will remain in your heart forever. From that, you got into the characters, the story, the lore of what started as a toyline for young boys (though it was clear now that both sexes had a love for it), all of it. And from there, you went on to past and future generations from your starting point, and now, you were a certified Transformers fan! Hell, one of your favorite sites ever is TFWiki.

With this entrance into the fandom, you took to devouring everything that you could: the cartoons and animes, the books, the movies, fanfiction, fanart, fan comics, doujinshi, anything and everything that you could get your hands on, you did. And not long after, you began contributing yourself, drawing, writing, whatever you could to make your stand and have your place in the community. At first, it worked well enough, you weren’t exactly prolific, yet you were doing well enough. You managed to get a few requests for certain things to be drawn/written, believe it or not, but still, you weren’t overly big.

And then came your discovery of the Reader genre.

What is the Reader genre? Why, as far as you were concerned, only one of the greatest genres ever to be conceived! Well, to be more accurate, the form of writing wasn’t anything new, remembering the ‘Choose Your Adventure’ books. It seemed said genre now spread everywhere, you being very aware of the numerous games and dating sims that ranged from well done and engaging to outright ridiculous and stupid (but those were fun in their unique way). And since you didn’t have any knowledge or time to do that, you settled for writing them yourself. Your first piece was a simple Optimus x Reader with the standard plot and standard outcome, which was a declaration of love and a resulting kiss with the Autobot Leader. You were NOT expecting the overflow of response that it had gotten. You were quite shocked, but at the same time, overjoyed. Soon, you decided to try your luck with another one, this one being of Bumblebee, the scenario being mostly the same, albeit with a bit more cutesy fluff, as in your mind, Bumblebee was always the little guy. This one was just as successful, and you beamed, having finally found your calling.

Since then, you were getting requests left and right for more and more choices, all spanning different universes. From the animated cartoons to the comics, different universes, everything that spanned from the most well-known incarnations to the more obscure. It was through these that you managed to get even more into the Transformers multiverse as a whole and even discovered some truly overlooked gems. You opened yourself up to the people and declared that you would write whatever they requested, but you had some taboos that you wouldn’t touch. But any scenario, character, and universe, all of that was fair game.

You had originally begun working on more mundane, typical stories with expected outcomes (but sweet ones nonetheless), yet over time, the requests and your imagination began getting more creative and crazy. Soon, you were delving into several different areas that you had never touched. Elves, goblins, mermaids, vampires, forbidden love, love triangles, all of these were laid at your feet. And while it took a bit to find your rhythm, all of this having come on you so fast, you eventually got it and soon, you had a wide collection of X Reader stories, ranging from G1 to Prime and IDW’s run.

You mainly did Autobots, for you had to admit that writing for them, while they were still complex characters, came somewhat easier for you. True, each of them had their faults and quirks (both from canon and headcanons people had come up with), yet they were still the good guys, and even those with more questionable morality still came out as heroes in the end. But then one day came where you were asked to write about a Decepticon. This threw you for a loop, as, while the thought had intrigued you, you had been writing for good guys for some time, so a total shift in direction was somewhat off-putting and scary. Possibilities of it being too saccharine or sweet, or getting the characters wrong or out of character scared you a bit, yet still, you wanted to test the waters and see if you could do it. And if you could, this would open up so much more for you.

And judging from the input, you had just struck gold yet again.

Soon, not only were you flooded with requests for Autobots, but now their foes were also available, and, as you found out, people had just as much an attraction for the darkness as they did for the light. Again, the same scenarios were implemented, yet now, they had something of a darker edge to them, which allowed you to explore some subjects you couldn’t touch with the Autobots without toning it back somewhat. In a way, the Decepticons provided you with more freedom. Ironic, seeing as Megatron’s motto was “Peace through Tyranny.”

That said, you went through the list of available characters throughout the generations, and so far, those had been garnering quite a following as well, your Autobot and Decepticon stories neck and neck in popularity. Everything seemed to be going well for you.

Then that one question came.

‘Hey, where’s Starscream?’

Then another.

‘Could you write one about Starscream?’’

Then another.

‘Hey, hate to bother you, yet I think that Starscream could use some love here.’

More and more questions and requests for the particular Decepticon filled your messages, and frankly, you were at a loss on what to do. Truth be told, you and Starscream had something of a complicated history. When you had gotten into Transformers, you had heard of the character, yet at first, you never saw why he had gained such a large fanbase. True, he wasn’t a bad character, yet he wasn’t your favorite. But over time, as you wrote more and more for the Decepticons, as well as read X Reader stories from other people, you slowly began to, as one would say, gain an interest in the winged robot. And soon, you found yourself enamored by the smug jerk as well.

But this only made you reluctant to write for him.

True, when you started writing for the Decepticons, you were allowed to experiment with some more intimate and extreme situations, yet with Starscream...it was different. It was hard to explain, yet whenever you got a request to write for him, your brain seemed to seize up. Thoughts came to your head that you had tried to banish, thoughts that came every time you saw the Seeker’s name. You had no idea what was going on or why this was so difficult, yet it seemed the Silver Snake had taken to making your fingers not touch the keyboard.

You had no idea at all. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

And since you had gotten the slew of requests, your sleep problems began. The moment you shut your eyes, the scenario began all over again.

…

You needed no introduction to where you were or what you were seeing, it all quite familiar to you now. Around you were towering walls of a silvery mauve color, the only available light from above sparse and leaving several areas coated in darkness. This place was all too familiar, for you had seen it many times in your watching and reading of Transformers.

You were in Decepticon headquarters.

Your dreams had been filled with the base of the enemy faction of the Autobots, and at first, it had shocked you as to why you were here at all. But over time, night after night, you came here, and soon, you grew accustomed to the sight of it. You took on the form of your Transformers persona/OC or remained in your regular, human form, whatever pleased you as if you had some control over this environment. Yet as you grew more familiar (you were never sure if you’d be comfortable), you began to explore the place, finding that, to your surprise, there was no one here. No signs of any sort of life aboard the ship, and while it took a good while, you traveled everywhere you could think of, and still, nothing. No Megatron, no other Decepticons, no one but you had been aboard.

At least, that was what you believed when you first had this dream. Then, you heard it. The voice. His voice.

“Oooh, I’m the Boogie Man,”

Singing, serenading, just loud enough for you to hear, yet low enough for you to know it was far away. It always started this way.

“The terrible, horrible Boogie Man,”

Your ears/audio receptors registered the voice as it echoed throughout the ship. When the dreams had begun, you knew immediately who was singing, and then you were more surprised at how it sounded. Sure, it had its infamous high pitch, yet it wasn’t bad to listen to. Daresay, it was rather enjoyable in its own way.

“I come in the middle of the night and frighten bad little girls like you.”

The first few times you had this dream, it would almost always startle you, yet it led you to look down the other balls and corridors of the ship. The results were always the same though: no one was aboard. No one but you...and him.

“Beware, better have a care,”

The song changed each and every time you entered the dream, tonight being a track you heard on a video game you played not too long ago (Bioshock 2 you believed). Yet the songs always had the same effect on you.

“I’m going to follow you everywhere.”

Despite your trepidation, you wanted...needed to follow it.

“I crawl through the ceiling and the wall and call on bad little girls like you.”

Walking, then running, you traversed the winding path before you, taking several left and right turns, having no sense of direction but that voice. A voice that, despite its infamous sound, held power to it, a siren’s song in a way. Ironic, you thought. Still, you followed, for you had reached your limit. You knew what would happen if you didn’t find him.

“I’ll torture you and hunt you,”

And never leave.

I’ve got you where I want you,”

And never let you escape this dream.

“A victim of my dark and dirty plot.”

And he knew it too. He knew he had power over you. And you hated it.

“And at the slightest whim, I’ll tear you limb from limb,”

Or…

“In other words, I’ll put you on the spot.”

Did you?

“Oooh, I’m the Boogie Man,”

You were close. So dangerously close.

“The terrible, horrible Boogie Man.”

Just a turn around the corner.

“I come in the middle of the night and frighten…”

He paused, you stopping in your tracks at what you saw. There he was. Situated behind violet bars of energy in a cell, the Decepticon stood there with his arms folded and looking upon you with satisfied, hungry red eyes.

“...bad little girls like you.”

It was him.

Starscream.

Your favorite incarnation of Starscream, those ruby orbs boring into your own eyes/optics. You stepped back from the cell, eyes/optics wide at what was before you. Sure, if you were to go by dream logic, some part of you always knew that it was ‘him’ that awaited you at the end of this journey, but still, to actually see him, standing there so casually when it looked like he was locked up, it chilled you. As if he had absolutely nothing to worry about.

“My, my, so you finally found me,” he said, his voice perfectly matching the incarnation that stood before you. “Or rather, I found you. Whichever way it goes, it doesn’t matter,” he smirked. “For I already know the outcome.”

You blinked a few times, still trying to see if who was before you had truly been there. “St…” you began nervously. “Starscream?”

The Decepticon chuckled and stepped out of the shadows, allowing you to fully see him. “In the mesh,” he said. “And I see that introductions won’t need to be made either, will they, Y/N?” your eyes/optics went wide. “That’s right, pet, I know everything. This IS your mind after all.”

“Wh-What?” you stammered. “I don’t understand.”

Starscream’s grin only grew wider. “You will soon. You will understand EVERYTHING.”

Just what was he talking about? From the looks of it, he seemed to be enjoying your tension and trepidation, very amused. Your mind went into fan mode, recalling every fact you had known of Starscream and his various incarnations, which then led to you going on the defensive. “You…” albeit, it took you a try or two. “You’re the one that’s been doing this to me. Giving me these...these weird dreams.” the Decepticon didn’t answer, yet it was clear that he already knew that the secret was out (even if it wasn’t much of one). “You’re also the one that’s not letting me have one decent night’s sleep without being trapped here!”

“Or me serenading you?” he added in. “How do you like it? I don’t do it often, yet if I wish, I can stretch out my vocal components if I want.”

Your cheeks grew hot. Damn, this bastard was already making you too wound up, and you had only gotten a few words in! “Well...I’m here now,” you said, trying to sound confident, and, ironically enough, trying to channel Megatron’s dominating aura. “So, what do you want?”

This didn’t phase him in the slightest. Despite him being the one locked up, you were the one who felt like his prisoner. “I think you already know that dear Y/N,” he said. “But to put it simply, I’m feeling left out.”

You were confused. “Left out?” You asked. “Left out of…” you paused. Indeed, you knew well what he was talking about. “My...my reader inserts.”

Starscream nodded. “Quite an extensive library you’ve built up over time.” He told you. “Though your choices could be much better.” he scoffed. “Of course goody-good Prime would be on the list, along with the rest of the Auto-dolts.” Then he grimaced. “Yet there are those that actually want to FRAG Megatron? Ugh! No taste at all!” He then looked back at you. “You’ve written for everyone, from either faction, of every series,” he then pouted. “But none for me. Truly, Y/N, I’m hurt.”

You felt quite awkward. True, while you were known online for your stories, it was your username and persona they were seeing. They weren’t someone that was right around the corner that could walk in and see you writing these things. While you loved doing it, the thought of your family or friends discovering you wrote in this genre was a thought you dared not entertain, as you swore that you’d die from embarrassment. Thus, you were very careful whenever you did it, your room completely locked tight so you could focus without fear of someone barging in. The only times you left during your writing periods were for bathroom breaks and/or to eat/drink something. It was a big secret...and thinking about it now, it was a secret no more to the most infamous backstabber in all of Transformers. You had been found out.

“Well...so what? Are you going to keep haunting me until I do?” you asked. “You can’t do that!”

Starscream didn’t seem phased by this at all. That damned smirk of his both frustrated and made you excited, a combination that left you very unsure. “Can’t I?” he asked.

You didn’t like his tone. “What do you mean?”

“Well, let’s consider for a moment, Y/N,” he said. “You believe that I’m merely a figment of your imagination, yes? A stubborn thought that is lodged in your subconscious. Am I right?” you shifted a bit, knowing well what he was saying would lead to something else. Something that probably would flip everything on its head. “Well...who’s to say that I am?”

“I...I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t. But what I say might just jog your memory.” he then went on. “In your last X Reader, you spoke of multiple versions of the characters, such as Prime and...yes, even Megatron,” Starscream scoffed. “And how it would’ve been peculiar if they met. Then, one of your readers linked you to a page on the TFWiki.” Starscream then chuckled. “Quite an array of knowledge, I must say. Especially for a primitive species such as yourselves. Anyway, said page spoke of what is labeled as the Transformers Multiverse, which, if I may say, is an excuse for you all to toy with and shape us into what YOU want. But back on track, you did a small amount of research on that, then went on about your business.”

“...and what does this have to do with why you’re here?”

Starscream smirked. “Then, after some time, you went and read the entries of me from various series and incarnations. To get a better feel for what you were thinking of writing. What you wanted to write. Only, you never did.” You were about to speak again, but the seeker spoke again before you could. “There was one detail from my earliest incarnation that spoke of a ‘ghost’, an immortal spark that couldn’t be snuffed out. One that could travel through space and time.” He drew closer to the bars. “And then discovered a way to travel through dimensions. Wherein, I found out all about how so many humans have seen my reality behind a television screen.”

What was he talking about? What did any of what he said mean? It was then that it all clicked for you. Sparks were essentially the ‘soul’ of a Transformer, which Starscream’s was indestructible. You read that he made an appearance in Beast Wars, and had made cameos elsewhere. What was before you right now...mere feet away…” Are you.. “ you stammered. “Are you really…”

The Decepticon nodded. “Yes. Yes, I am, Y/N.”

You were left speechless. No. No, this...this was impossible. It...it couldn’t be him! It couldn’t be the REAL Starscream! He was a cartoon, no, a toy! A damn toy! A toy from the eighties that were made to be marketable to young boys (and the girls that were secretly into it) among several other toys that were made be marketable to young boys (and again, the girls that were secretly into it)! There was NO way he was in your mind right now! He wasn’t real! He wasn’t real! He wasn’t-

“You step out into the chilled air, wrapping your arms around yourself as you do.” the Decepticon suddenly began. “He’s there to pick you up. He’s there to pick you up. You’re both terrified and exhilarated, eager to start the night, but also to make it fly by just enough so nothing embarrassing would happen between the two of you.” your jaw dropped when you heard him say that. How did he- “Know that you recently read over your very first entry? The one that started it all?” he then ‘rolled’ his eyes. “The one that clearly displayed that you had little taste at first?”

Of course, you did! That was from your very first X Reader story! It told of Optimus Prime and you, a human, in a relationship. Odd start, you knew, especially given that Transformer x Human relations was sort of controversial, yet overall, it wasn’t a bad one. Still, the fact he knew that…” No.” you said aloud. “It can’t be.”

He smiled. “I am.”

You stepped back until you hit a wall. “S-Starscream.” you stuttered. “You’re him. You’re the...the real one.” he was quite satisfied with your reaction, you clearly flustered yet cautious at the same time. The sensation drove you mad. But then you remember, this was just a dream! You were just making up all this stuff! You were relieved by this revelation...yet at the same time, you were...curious. Just where would this go if you continued? “Well...well, what are you doing here? What do you want?”

“Exactly as I said before, I feel left out,” Starscream told you. “And considering my popularity in this universe, I’d think me being here should tell you something.”

You knew what he wanted. “You want me to write about you.” it was obvious. “I-I know. I mean, I’ve been wanting to. Really, I have. But...but I...I just…” you sighed. If you knew Starscream (and you had at least a decent enough faith you did), you knew that this could potentially earn you his anger. Yet, to your surprise, he didn’t try to order you around. Instead, he seemed like he already knew you were going to say that.

“You can’t,” he said for you. “Understand, I’m the one in YOUR mind. Thus, you could say, I know everything about you. A perk of being something that, in this universe, started out as a drawing on a piece of paper.” you were confused, this seemed to humor Starscream even more. “Oh, come now. Surely you know that concept art exists, right?”

All of this was so insane for you, yet it was then that you felt the urge to speak up and say something for yourself for once. “Well, if you’re here from the...well, YOUR universe, what are you doing here in the first place?”

“Why, this is one of the few places I win!” Starscream exclaimed. “Of course, when I first came here, I was quite perplexed about how I and many others were known as products from a company called ‘Hasbro’. But overtime, I discovered your version of the internet, and, well, as you flesh bags say, the rest is history.” he then continued, not giving you a chance to speak. “And bring that I am an idea in this universe, I can go freely as I wish, peering into minds,” his red eyes looked upon you. “Become one’s permanent muse or vice versa.”

God, you felt weird. You felt so confused and conflicted. You wanted to sink into the wall to get away, but you also wanted to know more about this. You had to know more. You needed to know more. “So…?”

“So, I’ve come to you, as you’re truly in need of some inspiration,” Starscream said. “As well as some changes in your thinking.”

“Like what? Worshiping the ground you walk on?” you ask, feeling a little bolder.

“Oh, you already do.” he said. “If you didn’t desire me, I wouldn’t be here.” he grinned at your shocked expression. “That’s right, Y/N, I know what truly holds you back from writing about me. Your fears, your anxieties, your loves and lusts.” you had no words. “You fear that you may get me wrong if you will. That I won’t be in character. Or you fear that you won’t be able to satisfy the wants of your readers, as I AM so highly anticipated. Or…” he leaned closer to the bars, the only barrier separating you two. “You fear exploring those more intimate pleasures with me. You’re intimidated and unsure. After all, writing for Autobots is easy, yet us Decepticons are more difficult. But it HAS awakened things in you that you wish to explore on either side. Things that you are dying to let out.”

You had no words, he was completely right. Damn him! The smug bastard knew he had you in the palm of his hand...and yet also probably knew that’s what made you so hot and bothered right now! “So...what? Are you here to force me to write those things with you in them?”

“Dear Y/N, I can’t technically make you do anything,” Starscream told you. “Oh yes, I can stay and torment you night after night until either I pass onto another universe or I grow bored of you, but my reason being here is for both our benefits.”

“How?”

“It’s quite simple,” he said. “We shall go through those scenarios in your head.” his ruby red optics bore into yours/your eyes. “Together.” he then reached out from in between the bars and traced a digit around your jawline. “Believe it or not, I want to help you, Y/N.” his voice was smooth and sultry, something you never expected from a voice like his. “But only you can allow me to do so.” he then stepped back from the bars. “This prison of mine is something you’ve constructed from your fears and insecurities. Allow yourself to embrace what you fear…” he then extended his hand again, yet stepped back as well, sinking into the darkness. “Only then, will you truly be free.”

You were at a standstill. You knew what he wanted, and, to your horror, you were wanting to give it to him. Deny it all you want, this was something that had been in your mind ever since you got the first request for the Seeker. You approached the bars, trying to get some sign that he was still there. Surely he hadn’t left you, had he? No, he hadn’t. He was still there, you could feel him. Watching, waiting, and perhaps, knowing what you would do before you did.

Yet would you do it? Would you bite into that forbidden fruit?

Some while after pondering this question, you looked at the cell, the energy bars vanishing. Why fight it when you could already taste the sweet tartness of said fruit in the back of your throat?

[bamf-jaskier]

Who the Fuck is Eskel?

If you have ever gone on The Witcher tag on Tumblr, I’m sure you’ve seen dozens of blogs dedicated to this guy named Eskel and for people who have just seen the show you might be wondering - who the fuck is this guy? 

Hi, I’m Aaliyah, and this is Part 5 of my WTF Series - a crash course in subjects from The Witcher Books. 

Post under the cut

Let’s jump in by talking about what books Eskel is in. He’s only mentioned in one line in The Last Wish, The Tower of Swallows and The Time of Contempt. He has a flashback scene in Lady of the Lake and the only book where he plays a heavy role in is Blood of Elves. 

For all you Eskel Stans out there, this is good news, because it looks like S2 of the show is going to be taking some cues from Blood of Elves and we do know Eskel is going to be appearing so these scenes might be showing up in some form or another in the show. 

We first meet Eskel in Blood of Elves when Geralt is first bringing Ciri to the keep:

“Who comes?” Ciri heard a menacing, metallic voice which sounded like a dog’s bark. “Geralt?”

“Yes, Eskel. It’s me.”

“Come in.”

The witcher dismounted, took Ciri from the saddle, stood her on the ground and pressed a bundle into her little hands which she grabbed tightly, only regretting that it was too small for her to hide behind completely.

“Wait here with Eskel,” he said. “I’ll take Roach to the stables.”

“Come into the light, laddie,” growled the man called Eskel. “Don’t lurk in the dark.”

Ciri looked up into his face and barely restrained her frightened scream. He wasn’t human. Although he stood on two legs, although he smelled of sweat and smoke, although he wore ordinary human clothes, he was not human. No human can have a face like that, she thought.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” repeated Eskel.

She didn’t move. In the darkness she heard the clatter of Roach’s horseshoes grow fainter. Something soft and squeaking ran over her foot. She jumped. “Don’t loiter in the dark, or the rats will eat your boots.”

Still clinging to her bundle Ciri moved briskly towards the light. The rats bolted out from beneath her feet with a squeak. Eskel leaned over, took the package from her and pulled back her hood.

“A plague on it,” he muttered. “A girl. That’s all we need.”

She glanced at him, frightened. Eskel was smiling. She saw that he was human after all, that he had an entirely human face, deformed by a long, ugly, semi-circular scar running from the corner of his mouth across the length of his cheek up to the ear.

“Since you’re here, welcome to Kaer Morhen,” he said. “What do they call you?”

“Ciri,” Geralt replied for her, silently emerging from the darkness. Eskel turned around. Suddenly, quickly, wordlessly, the witchers fell into each other’s arms and wound their shoulders around each other tight and hard. For one brief moment.

“Wolf, you’re alive.”

“I am.”

“All right.” Eskel took a torch from its bracket. “Come on. I’m closing the inner gates to stop the heat escaping.”

Couple things here. First, for all the game fans out there, Eskel’s scar in the books is VERY different. It’s not the lightening-like claw marks that go over his eye but instead it goes from the corner of his mouth to his ear. This is interesting because it really parallels in my mind Ciri’s scar she gets later on that extends from under her eye to her ear. 

Also, the little reunion between Geralt and Eskel, so sweet. The line about Eskel in Last Wish establishes that they were close friends so here is the snippet just to give more backstory to the two of them: 

“Once, years ago, when a little snot-faced brat following his studies in Kaer Morhen, the Witchers’ Settlement, he and a friend, Eskel, had captured a huge forest bumblebee and tied it to a jug with a thread. They were in fits of laughter watching the antics of the tied bumblebee, until Vesemir, their tutor, caught them at it and tanned their hides with a leather strap.”

Childhood friends and brothers is just so damn great. Actually, speaking of brothers, it is stated in Blood of Elves that Geralt and Eskel actually look very similar and are often mistaken for brothers such as in this scene from Triss’s POV. 

Eskel stood next to Geralt, resembling the Wolf like a brother apart from the colour of his hair and the long scar which disfigured his cheek. And the youngest of the Kaer Morhen witchers, Lambert, was there with his usual ugly, mocking expression. Vesemir was not there.

“Welcome and come in,” said Eskel. “It is as cold and blustery as if someone has hung themselves. Ciri, where are you off to? The invitation does not apply to you. The sun is still high, even if it is obscured. You can still train.”

“Hey.” The Enchantress tossed her hair. “Politeness comes cheap in Witchers’ Keep now, I see. Ciri was the first to greet me, and brought me to the castle. She ought to keep me company—”

This really interests me because Ciri is very young child when she meets Eskel and she is very terrified of him and intimidated. Which makes sense, she is very traumatized. But, when Triss meets Eskel she only makes a short note of his scar and focuses more on his resemblance to Geralt and commenting on the lack of politeness. It just goes to show how different characters perceive people differently. A child’s perspective of a warrior is not going to be the same as a Mage’s. 

“You didn’t even know.” She nodded in what was now a calm, concerned and gentle reproach. “You’re pathetic guardians. She’s ashamed to tell you because she was taught not to mention such complaints to men. And she’s ashamed of the weakness, the pain and the fact that she is less fit. Has any one of you thought about that? Taken any interest in it? Or tried to guess what might be the matter with her? Maybe her very first bleed happened here, in Kaer Morhen? And she cried to herself at night, unable to find any sympathy, consolation or even understanding from anyone? Has any one of you given it any thought whatsoever?”

“Stop it, Triss,” moaned Geralt quietly. “That’s enough. You’ve achieved what you wanted. And maybe even more.”

“The devil take it,” cursed Coën. “We’ve turned out to be right idiots, there’s no two ways about it, eh, Vesemir, and you—”

“Silence,” growled the old witcher. “Not a word.”

It was Eskel’s behaviour which was most unlikely; he got up, approached the enchantress, bent down low, took her hand and kissed it respectfully. She swiftly withdrew her hand. Not so as to demonstrate her anger and annoyance but to break the pleasant, piercing vibration triggered by the witcher’s touch. Eskel emanated powerfully. More powerfully than Geralt.

“Triss,” he said, rubbing the hideous scar on his cheek with embarrassment, “help us. We ask you. Help us, Triss.”

Now, if you can’t tell, Triss’ favorite is Eskel. This scene is also implies that Eskel is more magically powerful than Geralt which Is very interesting. But Triss is an Eskel stan, in fact a couple lines later Triss thinks to herself: 

Vesemir hawked again. But Eskel, dear Eskel, kept his head and once more behaved as was fitting.

“Of course,” he said casually, smiling. “We understand and clearly we will postpone your exercises until your indisposition has passed. We will also cut the theory short and, if you feel unwell, we will put it aside for the time being, too. If you need any medication or—”

Eskel definitely has the older sibling energy where he ends up in charge sometimes and knows how to keep a cool head. He’s also the most aware of societal norms of behavior which is why Triss likes his so much. She really respects people who know how to move in society. 

There’s also this scene in Blood of Elves where Eskel is drinking and offers Triss some:

“White Seagull.”

“What?”

“A mild remedy,” Eskel smiled, “for pleasant dreams.”

“Damn it! A witcher hallucinogenic? That’s why your eyes shine like that in the evenings!”

“White Seagull is very gentle. It’s Black Seagull that is hallucinogenic.”

“If there’s magic in this liquid I’m not allowed to take it!”

“Exclusively natural ingredients,” Geralt reassured her but he looked, she noticed, disconcerted. He was clearly afraid she would question them about the elixir’s ingredients. “And diluted with a great deal of water. We would not offer you anything that could harm you.”

I think it’s very funny how secret The Witcher keeps all their potions and elixirs. Whether it’s mushrooms or potions, they gotta keep those secret drugs locked down tight. Also the fact that Eskel is the fantasy equivalent of high every night? Love that for him.  

Eskel really is the peace-maker of the group. He’s not a push-over by any means but he is definitely more willing to play along that any of the others. When Triss is talking at night, Eskel is really the only one listening and engaging, even if it’s very half-hearted. 

In the evenings, consistently and determinedly, Triss guided the long conversations held in the dark hall, lit only by the bursts of flames in the great hearth, towards politics. The witchers’ reactions were always the same. Geralt, a hand on his forehead, did not say a word. 

Vesemir nodded, from time to time throwing in comments which amounted to little more than that “in his day” everything had been better, more logical, more honest and healthier. 

Eskel pretended to be polite, and neither smiled nor made eye contact, and even managed, very occasionally, to be interested in some issue or question of little importance. Coën yawned openly and looked at the ceiling, and Lambert did nothing to hide his disdain.

And he is really the only sort-of listener to Triss’ stories and retellings of events: 

This time it was Triss who began to yawn and stare at the ceiling. This time she was the one who remained silent – until Eskel turned to her with a question. A question which she had anticipated.

“And what is it really like in the south, on the Yaruga? Is it worth going there? We wouldn’t like to find ourselves in the middle of any trouble.”

“What do you mean by trouble?”

“Well, you know…” he stammered, “you keep telling us about the possibility of a new war… About constant fighting on the borders, about rebellions in the lands invaded by Nilfgaard. You said they’re saying the Nilfgaardians might cross the Yaruga again—”

“So what?” said Lambert. “They’ve been hitting, killing and striking against each other constantly for hundreds of years. It’s nothing to worry about. I’ve already decided – I’m going to the far South, to Sodden, Mahakam and Angren. It’s well known that monsters abound wherever armies have passed. The most money is always made in places like that.”

“True,” Coën acknowledged. “The neighbourhood grows deserted, only women who can’t fend for themselves remain in the villages… scores of children with no home or care, roaming around… Easy prey attracts monsters.”

“And the lord barons and village elders,” added Eskel, “have their heads full of the war and don’t have the time to defend their subjects. They have to hire us. It’s true. But from what Triss has been telling us all these evenings, it seems the conflict with Nilfgaard is more serious than that, not just some local little war. Is that right, Triss?”

Once more, Eskel is the peace-maker of the conversation and he brings it back around to what Triss originally said and also points to her expertise. Basically, Eskel is not really a fan of verbal conflict. 

This is actually the last line we see Eskel in a scene outside of the flashback in Lady of the Lake. After this, Triss, Geralt and Ciri head off. It is important to note that near the end of Blood of Elves Ciri says this about Yennefer:

The lady magician knew a surprising amount about a witcher’s sword and “dance.” She knew a great deal about the secrets of Kaer Morhen; there was no doubt she had visited the Keep. She knew Vesemir and Eskel. Although not Lambert and Coën.

Yennefer used to visit Kaer Morhen. Ciri guessed why – when they spoke of the Keep – the eyes of the enchantress grew warm, lost their angry gleam and their cold, indifferent, wise depth. If the words had befitted Yennefer’s person, Ciri would have called her dreamy, lost in memories.

So clearly Yennefer is also friendly with Eskel and knows him. I love the idea that Yennefer regularly visited Kaer Morhen before Ciri came into Geralt’s care and I would literally cry if they did a flashback sequence in S2 of Yennefer visiting Geralt in Kaer Morhen. 

The flashback sequence in Lady of the Lake with Eskel goes like this: 

The fire in the huge fireplace went out. A gust of wind from the mountains whistled through the crevices of the walls and screamed through the improperly closed shutters of Kaer Morhen, Home of the Witchers.

“Damn it!” Eskel said, standing up and going to the cupboard. “Seagull or vodka?”

“Vodka,” Geralt and Coen said with one voice.

“Sure,” interjected Vesemir, hidden in the shadows, “Yes, of course! Drown your stupidity in vodka. Damn fools!”

“It was an accident…” muttered Lambert. “She had already mastered the comb…”

“Shut your big mouth, you idiot! I don’t want to hear any more! I warned you, if something happened to that little girl…”

“Enough,” Coen interrupted him, softly. “She sleeps peacefully. Deep and healthy. She will wake up a bit sore, but that’s it. About the trance, and what happened, she will not even remember it.”

“As long as you remember,” said Vesemir, panting angrily. “Cabbage heads! Pour for me too, Eskel.”

They were silent for a long time, listening intently to the howling gale.

“We will need to call someone,” Eskel finally said. “We will need to bring a sorcerer here. What is happening to the girl, it is not normal.”

Eskel is one of The Witcher who really pushes to call Triss in order to help with Ciri’s trances. Also, once again this guy is hitting the drinks. 

So yeah! That’s Eskel in the books. Based on how in the non-canon wedding short Asaps wrote where he ended up having Triss and Eskel get together, I think his hints of them having a connection in the books is very intentional and if The Witcher wasn’t such a god damn tragedy and Triss wasn’t mooning over Geralt, I’m willing to bet they would have gotten together at some point. 

Eskel is the peace-maker of the family and is the best at recognizing the norms of “polite society” (or at least noble society) and while Ciri might have been scared of his appearance, it isn’t enough to phase Triss who is considered rather vain. In fact, she seems to respect Eskel the most out of the Witchers. Just imagine a dark-haired, scarred Geralt and BOOM, you got yourself an Eskel. 

[missdawnandherdusk]

Beautifully Beastly

Reader X Draco

Summary: It’s over ten years since the Battle of Hogwarts, and you stumble upon an old classmate and his son. Soon you find yourself in a large house, tutoring a young protege, and acquiring feelings for his father...? 

A/n: Okay, so this is the cutest thing in the world. I changed cannon of course, but isn’t that the point of fanfiction? Anyway, I know I tortured you guys with the last chapter of my Hufflepuff!Reader series, so here’s a cute one shot with a brooding older Draco and a lively Scorpius who just wants to learn everything. I love you guys so so much, let me know what you think!!

“Draco? Draco Malfoy?” I asked, pausing at the park bench.

The same white blond hair was not longer and tied back at the nape of his neck. I would have mistaken him as Lucius if I didn’t linger. He had grown into his features, his eyes still the same piercing blue. It had to have been maybe ten years since I had seen Draco last. They were memories I didn’t dwell on often.

“Y/n,” Recognition flirted across his face. “What... what are you doing here?” 

“It’s a park?” A smile found its way to my lips. “I come here to clear my head,” 

He nodded, as if in understanding.

“So, what are you doing here?” I mused.

“I’m here with my son,”

“Son?” I was surprised. “I didn’t know you had a kid,” my eyes scanned the park and narrowed in on a little boy with white blond hair. “Should have known though,” I smiled. “His mother?” I sat on the opposite side of the bench.

“Died when he was seven months,” His eyes stayed on his son’s playful form in the distance.

“Sorry,” I offered, wrapped my arms around my midriff.

“It’s fine,” His lips pressed into a tight line, letting me know that it was not fine.

“I hear you’re a Head Auror,” I tried to keep pleasant conversation. “Brought in a lot of his followers,”

He didn’t comment. His jaw clenched and he kept a cool mask on his features. He clenched his left fist and drew it to himself almost defensively. I heard a lot of other things about Draco as well over the years. It was hard to escape the politics and news of the Wizarding World, but I knew Draco better than a news article, even if I hadn’t seen him in a decade—which spoke to how much the papers knew.

“Where did you end up?” He asked finally.

“Um, well, I’m a writer. Historian.” I clarified. “It’s been a lot of work lately trying to get everything written correctly. So many biased petty people wanting to get their two cents in,” I scoffed, my thoughts drawing to Skeeter, who still wouldn’t retire.

“Historian?” He mused. “So, you’re well versed in a lot of topics then?”

“I guess, yeah. McGonagall sent me a letter not too long ago asking me to come and teach. I... I couldn’t bear to think going back...” I looked down at my hands. “That place still haunts me.”

“Are you for hire though?”

That caught my attention.

“Hire?” I pressed, my brows quirking together.

“Private tutor, for Scorpius.” Draco nodded towards his son. “I’ve been looking for someone to come and start his schooling.”

“You want me to tutor your son?” I asked, quite shocked.

“You’d have lodging at the Manor, and all the books and supplies you needed, as well as a salary,”

I gaped at him. “Okay...?” I finally got out.

It took about a week, but soon I was moved into the Manor with access to the library wing, and the rest of the house as I pleased. The house elves had orders to answer to me as if I was there mistress—even though I hated the notion and protested.

Scorpius was hesitant around me for a few days, until he caught me practicing spells. He was delighted to see even a bit of magic, and I wondered if Draco ever did magic in front of his song. Draco gave me a vague outline of what he wanted me to cover with Scorpius, leaving a lot of it up to me. Which was for better or worse, the best mistake he could have made.

Draco seemed to realize that when he came home one evening and Scorpius and I were in the front lawn, covered in bowtruckles. The little boy was laughing joyously, playing with the small plant creatures. Draco started to yell, but seeing his son laugh, he paused and gave me a cold look before heading inside. I rolled my eyes at him and brought Scorpius inside to wash up for dinner.

“If you have something to say to me,” I baited, leaning against his study door jam.

“No,” He said curtly, his back to me as he leaned against his desk. “He should be well versed in herbology,”

I made an exasperated gesture and let it drop.

A few months passed, and I spent the days teaching Scorpius anything and everything. I had the weekends off, but still didn’t mind taking the young Malfoy to the park or lake or wherever else he wanted to go. Sometimes Draco accompanied us, sometimes he’d be gone weeks on end on a case. In those long periods of time I did my best to keep Scorpius happy. I taught him how to bake cookies and other sweets. I read to him bedtime stories, both muggle and wizarding—after getting a pinky promise from Scorpius that he wouldn’t tell his father.

There were some nights that Draco and I spent together, not intentionally. But he’d be in the library, reading from a pile of large old books, and I’d flit around, finding the material I wanted. Sometimes I’d ask him for a certain book, and he’d raise the one in his hands. It was always left on my desk in the morning.

A few nights I’d find him asleep in his large chair, the book that was in his lap fallen onto the floor. I’d pick up the book and drape an afghan around his shoulders. Neither of us mentioned it.

We shared tea and coffee in the early mornings before he was off to work and I had been up all night reading, our internal clocks aligning for no more than a quarter hour.

After seeing Scorpius to bed, one night in late November, I retired to my own room, picking up my book, continuing to read. The hours slipped away, and I was forced to stop reading and turn in for the night. It was a silent night... almost.

My eyelashes flickered open at the nudging on my arm. I met a teary eyed blond little boy.

“M-miss Y/n? I-I had a nightmare and d-dad’s not h-home,” He hiccupped, trying to hold back further tears.

I was immediately alert and awake, a gentle smile on my face. The light from the hall softly lit the room. I scooched back in the bed and held up the covers.

“Well, come on,” I encouraged. “It’s alright,”

Scorpius hurried under the duvet and curled up to my side without hesitation. My arms draped around him and my hands stoked his hair softly. I had no idea what I was doing, but it seemed to calm the young Malfoy.

“Nightmares, huh?” I asked softly and he nodded into my shoulder. “Can I tell you a secret?” Starling blue eyes met mine shining with tears and hope.

“There’s a way to beat nightmares,” I smiled widely and pulled my wand from under the pillow. “It’s called a Patronus,”

With practiced movements I casted the charm and a silvery ferret emerged from my wand. My eyebrows furrowed. The last time I casted the charm, it was a housecat. The ferret, however, bounced around in the air, circling around the room before hovering in front of Scorpius.

“You have a Patronus, Scorpius,” I let the charm fall, tucking my wand back away. “And it’s always protecting you,”

“But I can’t do magic,” The little boy pouted. “I don’t even have a wand.”

“A Patronus isn’t cast by a wand,” I watched confusion fall upon his face. “It lives inside you, in your happiest memories. And it always protects you.”

The little boy nodded, and I went back to stroking his hair softly. 

“I miss daddy,” He mumbled.

“I know sweetheart,” I sighed softly. “But he’s out there protecting you too. He takes down bad wizards who want to hurt you and everyone else,”

“People say that daddy is a bad wizard,” Scorpius was almost scared to say it.

I took a sharp breath in and exhaled slowly.

“I grew up with your dad,” I told him, rubbing his back. “And he made some... difficult choices. We all did. His choices didn’t work out so well, and people hold it against him. But we were just kids,” I sighed softly thinking of my last few years at Hogwarts. “I should have done something...” Shaking the thought I looked back down to Scorpius. “But your daddy loves you. So much Scorpius, and though it may not seem like it, you’re his entire world.”

He nodded into my shoulder again, and I pulled the covers around him. His eyes had a hard time staying open. I smiled, running my fingers through his hair still. Humming an old lullaby, we were both calmed to sleep.

“Scorpius!?” A harsh worried voice called.

My hand went to my wand as I cradled Scorpius protectively watching Draco burst in through the door. We both seemed to relax at the sight of the other. Scorpius stirred in my arms, blinking up at me sleepily.

“Nightmare?” Draco asked softly, kneeling beside my bed, reaching out to stroke his son’s head.

I nodded and uncurled my arms from around him, letting him cling to his father, he was now wrapped up in Draco’s arms. Draco disappeared from the room for a few minutes then returned. I sat up, turning on the lamp.

“I’m sorry about that,” Draco looked at the floor. “He’s been having a hard time lately.” 

I nodded. “It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

“Thank you,” There was a weight in Draco’s eyes.

“Dray,” I called. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, long day, that’s all,” He rubbed his face. “One too many hexes... we got him though,”

“That’s good,” There was a silence that hung around us.

“How did you get him to calm down?” Draco asked, changing the topic. “It takes me at least an hour,”

“Patronus Charm,” I smiled. “And an old muggle lullaby,” I tacked on.

“Are you contaminating my son with muggle things?” The words were harsh, but there was a smile at Draco’s lips.

“A bit,” I smiled back. “He loves you Draco,” I confessed to my duvet after a moment.

He nodded and leaned against the door jam, his eyes slipping closed. I called his name and his eyes snapped back open. He grumbled a goodnight and lumber down the hall. I shrugged mentally and spent the next hour staring at the ceiling trying to figure out why my Patronus had changed all of a sudden.

It was a few nights later and I was awoken again, this time by muffled screams and cries. I sprang from my bed, wand in hand, Lighting Charm casted as I tore down the hall. The sounds were coming from Draco’s room. I barged in and saw him thrashing on the bed.

Nightmares must have been a commonality in the Malfoy household.

“Draco!” I called, setting down my wand and shaking his shoulder. “Draco! Wake up!”

His eyes didn’t flash open. He didn’t seem to notice me.

“Daddy?” A small voice called from the door.

“Scorpius go get me a glass of water, please,” I threw the task at the young boy to get him out of the room. He scurried off.

“Come on, Draco,” I whispered, throwing back the sheets. “You can beat this,”

Grabbing my wand, I went through a mental list of spells that might wake him up, but I took the notion after dealing with Scorpius’ nightmares and casted my Patronus. The ferret instantly soared towards Draco, diving into his chest and disappearing. I stared, awaiting.

“Draco?” I asked again, sitting beside him on the bed. Hesitantly, I reached out and took his hand. “Please wake up Draco,” I pleaded softly. “It’s just a dream,”

Blue eyes flashed open and wrestled me to the ground, wand under my throat, a wild look in his eyes. I raised my hands in surrender, raising my eyebrows at him.

“It’s me,” I soothed. “It’s just me,”

Draco groaned and released me, rubbing his face. He sat on the floor, leaning against the bed frame. I sat next to him. We didn’t say anything. There wasn’t much to say. The patter of little feat had us both looking at Scorpius enter the room, glass of water in his shaking hands. He offered it to me, and I passed it to Draco who downed it instantly.

“Are you okay daddy?” Scorpius asked meekly.

“Yeah, I’m okay bud,” He nodded. “Just a dream,”

“Don’t you have a Patronus like Miss Y/n? She says it protects you from nightmares,”

“It’s okay sweetheart,” I smiled tiredly. “I let him use mine tonight,” Standing, I lifted the little boy into my arms. “Let’s get back to bed, huh?”

It took a while, but Scorpius did finally settle down enough for me to feel comfortable to leave him—it did require a bit of spell work. A simple spell that left his bedroom ceiling reflecting the starry night outside—what my parents used to do for me. Another soft muggle lullaby and the stars beckoned the young Malfoy to sleep.

When I turned to leave, Draco was waiting for me in the hallway. Something gripped my heart when I saw the brushed away tears on his face. Without thinking, I wrapped him in my arms, pulling him close. He didn’t push me away. Instead he clung to me, the same way that Scorpius did.

My hands laced into his long silvery hair, carding through it. He pressed his face into my shoulder—having to hunch himself down to accomplish the feat—and inhaled deeply.

Before I wanted him to, he pulled away. Again, we didn’t say anything. Deciding that I wasn’t going to leave Draco on his own either tonight, I took his hand and led him back to my room. He didn’t protest. I nodded to the bed and got in on one side and he got in on the other. There was a tension between us that dissolved when I reached out for his hand in the moonlight.

“Has your Patronus always been a ferret?” He asked softly. 

“It was a cat up until recently,” I confessed.

We fell back into silence and remained like that until my eyelids became too heavy to open again.

“Thank you,” Was the last thing I heard before being pulled under.

In the morning, he was gone. I expected it though, he had to work at the Ministry. It was the entire point of my being at the Manor, to watch after Scorpius while his father worked. That and tutor him, but that was become less of a priority the more time I spent with the small family.

That night, however, I was on the verge of sleep when I heard my bedroom door open. A familiar silhouette slunk through the darkness, padding across the wooden floor. A small smile grew on my face as Draco slipped into bed next to me, lying very still. My heart raced. I rolled onto my back and we both stared at the ceiling in silence. Our soft breaths were the only thing heard. His hand reached for mine in the darkness.

He was gone again in the morning. I sighed and sat up, rubbing my face. My feelings were confusing themselves as questions swarmed in my mind. Draco was home for dinner that night. Scorpius went on and on about the day we had: I introduced him to Latin.

“They’re just like spells!” He exclaimed. “Miss Y/n showed me!” 

“You know Latin?” Draco looked at me.

“Spent a few semesters at a muggle college learning it,” I shrugged. “Some records only have copies written in it.”

He didn’t comment.

I retired to my room early that night, worrying my lip the entire evening, trying to figure out what was going on. It was all so confusing. Sometimes I thought I saw something in Draco and he in me, but... what did I know?

Draco was preparing for another long-term case. It was only a week. Scorpius tried not to cry in front of his father, but later the young Malfoy ran to me in tears. I lifted him into my arms and rocked him softly. I began to sing another muggle lullaby, a new one. It caught his attention as he calmed to listen to my new melody.

“How do you know all of these songs?” He asked with watery eyes.

“I used to get scared too,” I confided in him as I laid him into bed. “Sometimes I still do. They’re another secret to keep from being afraid.”

“But where do they come from?” He asked.

I smiled and pulled his covers up. “That... is something I’ll have to talk to your father about. It’s complicated,”

“Why?”

“Because they’re all muggle songs,” I explained softly. “And your father is...”

“Against muggles?” Scorpius frowned.

“No,” I responded immediately. “But though I teach you, I don’t have liberty to tell you everything my dear,”

“Why not?”

“Because...” I sighed. I’m not your mother.

“It’s complicated?” Scorpius gave a familiar smirk that once belonged to his father. 

“Quite so,” I replied and stood. “I’ll talk to him before he leaves.”

“Night Miss Y/n,”

“Goodnight Scorpius,”

I closed his door and leaned against it for a moment before finding my courage to go and find Draco. I found him packing in his study, gathering books and various magical items. I knocked on the door frame.

“Yes?” He didn’t look up.

How was I supposed to start this conversation?

“Y/n?” This time he did look up, worry in his blue eyes. “What’s wrong?” He set down his bag and came over to me. “Is Scorpius alright?”

“Yes, he’s fine,” I answered quickly. “He... Am I allowed to show him muggle movies?” The question was barely audible.

Draco’s expression sobered as he went back to his desk.

“They’re just fairytales, Draco.” I reasoned softly. “Just stories...”

“And they were just lullabies,” He snapped. “I should have stopped you the first time you sang to him... muggle songs... my son wanting to hear muggle songs... and movies...”

It was like a slap to the face. I took a small step back. Maybe I had been wrong, and Draco was still against muggles.

“If they’re so awful, why didn’t you stop me?” I snapped. “You had every chance to stop me.” 

“I’m stopping you now,” His voice was ice.

“You can’t do that,” I argued back. “He wants to know!”

“I do as I please! I am his father! You work for me! You will do as I say!” He threw down a book and stormed over to me, fury written on his face.

“Then I resign,” I bit out.

He faltered and froze.

“What?”

“You heard me,” I tilted my chin back. “I will not be treated like a child. And I will not keep secrets from yours. He deserves more than that,” My voice was calm and even.

“And what do you know about what he deserves!?” Draco spat. “He isn’t your child! You aren’t his mother!”

“I know that!” I yelled back, tears in my eyes.

I turned away, covering my face, biting back the tears that wanted to fall. I took a deep breath. 

“I’ll stay until you return, for Scorpius’ sake.” I gritted out. “Then I’m gone,”

I ran down the halls of the Manor and slammed my door shut, locking it childishly. Then I broke down into tears, leaning against it. I quieted when I heard footsteps coming down the hallway. They lingered outside my door but made no attempt to knock or open the door.

The next morning, he was gone.

Scorpius noticed my somber mood almost immediately. He asked me why I was sad. Then he asked me what I fought with his father about, bursting into tears when I told him that I was leaving within the week.

“But you can’t go Miss Y/n!” He sobbed, crawling into my lap. I bit back tears and cradled him close.

“I have to,” A few tears escaped. “But that doesn’t mean I love you any less,” I stroked his face softly, brushing away tears. “But I can’t keep things from you, and your father won’t let me teach them to you. I can’t do that to you my darling,”

“I don’t care! I don’t want you to go!” He clung to me. 

“Scorpius, darling,” I tried to reason with a four-year-old. 

“No! I won’t let you go!” He cried.

I held him close, hiding my face from him so that he didn’t have to see me cry. I started to whisper out another song. It quieted his crying once more but didn’t stop my own. He slept with me every night that week. I knew it wasn’t a smart idea, but I couldn’t seem to get out the word ‘no.’

There was a loud crack in the foyer while I was teaching Scorpius how to write his letters—he had a habit of mixing up runes and letters. I rose, knowing the sound of apperating and rushed down the hall. Draco was lain on the floor, scantly breathing and bleeding, severely.

I froze at the sight and turned, catching Scorpius in my arms and ushering him away from the sight.

“Scorpius, I need you to listen to me very carefully,” I set him down, kneeling in front of him. “In my room there’s a green carpet bag with purple flowers on it. I need that bag. Please Scorpius,”

He nodded and took off up the stairs and I rose, shedding my cardigan and rolling up my sleeves. I hurried over to Draco, kneeling beside him, drawing my wand.

“Medicari,” I chanted, running my wand over his slain skin. 

The gashes on his skin vanished, but he still looked deathly.

“Draco? Draco can you hear me!?” I fought back tears, lifting his head softly, placing it in my lap.

Scorpius came in, my bag in his arms. I thanked him and ripped the bag open. He took his father’s hand, silent tears on his face as a house elf showed up behind him.

“Get out!” I shouted at the elf, drawing a vial from my bag: Elixir of Life. “Just one drop,” I whispered softly to myself.

Uncapping the bottle, I took the dropper and placed it to Draco’s lips that were parted, scarce breaths drawing through them. Just one drop.

Slowly Draco became less a sickly green and restored back to the beautiful pale complexion. His breathing became deeper, healthier. His lips were no linger blue, but the soft pink color they had always been. His eyes remained closed, however.

“Daddy?” Scorpius asked softly.

“He’ll be fine,” I whispered, mostly to myself.

My eyes trailed over his body, making sure I hadn’t missed anything else, and I noticed that his shirt sleeve had been torn and the Dark Mark was opaque black and surrounded by red and irritated skin.

“Death Eaters,” I hissed. “Scorpius, come here,” I opened my arms and the little boy ran to me. I held him protectively and drew my wand, casting Protective and Shielding Charms around the Manor.

“What are Death Eaters?” Scorpius asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” I murmured softly. “Just stay close for now.” My eyes kept darting around the room, expecting to see the dead walk again and my old nightmares come back to haunt me.

“Are you still gonna leave?” Scorpius sniffled, his tears staring to fall again. 

“No, sweetheart,” I consoled. “I’m not leaving you on your own.”

I was decided in that moment. It didn’t matter what Draco said to me or ordered me to do. I would stay for Scorpius’ sake. Even if that meant laying aside my pride. I would stay.

With the dreadful feeling that Draco might not wake up soon, I called a house elf—whom I apologized to upon seeing—and had her apparate Draco up to his room, and into bed. Scorpius was glued to my side the entire evening. The house elf came in later with soup and tea for dinner as well as a bowl of water and washcloth.

After dinner, Scorpius fell asleep in my lap. I gently laid him on the chaise lounge that was next to the bed and covered him with an extra blanket. Then I took the water and washcloth and began my task.

I took my time and gently washed the sweat and grim from Draco’s face, moving to his neck and arms. He looked peaceful like this. Years of harsh and cold looks were gone. Instead I found something reminiscent of a young boy at Hogwarts evident in his features. Without knowing it, I began to sing softly.

I unbuttoned Draco’s black shirt and continued to wash away the dried blood and dirt. It was a slow process, but it gave me something to focus on; rather than the crippling anxiety that loomed over me. My fingertips traced old scars that littered his chest in an abstract pattern. I wondered how many of them he had to mend alone...

I sat on the floor, leaning against the bedframe and tried to read my book, but failed. I just stared at the fire in the hearth and sang absentmindedly. The grandfather clock in the hall chimed three o’clock.

“Y/n?” A scratchy groggy voice called.

I sprang up and met tired blue eyes.

“Merlin, Draco,” I cried, tears springing into my eyes as I crouched beside him stroking his face.

He tried to sit up and I aided him, tears streaming silently down my face.

“Don’t do that to me!” I squeaked, cupping his face between my hands, sitting on the bed. “What were you thinking!?”

“I-I’m sorry,” He stammered, shocked at my cry of emotion.

I drew him into a tight embrace and buried my face in his shoulder. Tentatively his arms wrapped around me. After a moment, they started to rub my back as I cried into his shoulder.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” I confessed through tears.

“No, never,” His vow baffled me.

I withdrew and studied him, confusion and heart break on both of our faces.

“I’m sorry,” He took my hand in his. “It was wrong for me to yell at you like that. Or to say the things I did. Please, don’t leave. Even if you can’t stand to be near me, nor say another word to me again, Scorpius needs you,” A pause. “...I need you.”

Saddened blue eyes met mine and I pressed my lips to his without a second thought. His lips melded to mine instantly as he drew me into his arms. My hands went to his hair, knotting themselves into his long locks. His lips were hot and desperate against mine—mine even more so against his.

“Daddy?”

We quickly parted, both of our attentions snapping to a sleepy Scorpius.

“Why are you kissing Miss Y/n?” He asked, rubbing his eyes. “And why is she in your lap?”

After a moment of shock, I dissolved into laughter, hiding my face in Draco’s shoulder. I felt him shake with laughter too. One of Draco’s hands left my waist, beckoning Scorpius into our embrace. It took a bit of finagling, but soon we were all laying on the bed, Scorpius tucked between Draco and me. Draco pulled a blanket around us, pressing kisses to Scorpius’ head and to my forehead. My fingers combed through Scorpius’ hair as I watched him fall asleep to the soft melody that fell from my lips.

When I was positive that he was asleep, my gaze shifted to nervous blue eyes. I searched for answers, for an explanation. Draco seemed to pick up on that.

“They... Polyjuice Potion,” He started. “It was you; they were you... I... Merlin, Y/n,” He reached out and took my hand. “It was a living nightmare... your screams... they wouldn’t advance... it was days before...”

“Stars, Draco,” My heart broke at the picture that he was piecing together for me.

I could only imagine if the roles had been switched and it was Draco that I had heard screaming from pain and torture for days... not being able to do anything... trying to prove to myself it wasn’t real... What would I have done?

“You went in alone,” I realized. “You... Draco, what were you thinking? You could have been killed!” I whispered harshly, careful not to wake Scorpius.

“I... They weren’t going to take away someone else that I cared for. I wasn’t going to sit by and watch it happen,” His voice was firm and sure.

I reached out and stroked his face softly, his eyes connecting with mine. Nothing was said but everything was meant. It was moments like these that my regrets shone the most. I should have done more in school... I should have done something...

“I was going to stay anyway,” I confessed, my gaze dropping down to the young Malfoy. “I couldn’t leave him like that.”

“You... you would have let me order you around... for the sake of my son?” Draco’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Yes,” I whispered softly. “And I still will, if that’s what it takes.” 

My eyes met his again. There were tears in them.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” Draco whispered softly.

I smiled and shook my head softly.

“It’s never about what we deserve, but what we do in spite of it,”

We fell asleep, the three of us, curled up and clinging to each other. It was peaceful, for once. When I awoke in the morning, I was alone. Frantically I looked around for Scorpius but relaxed when I heard laughter and a loud clatter downstairs.

Snagging Draco’s house coat, I made my way downstairs to find Draco and Scorpius in the kitchen, in various states of disaster. Scorpius was covered in what looked like flour—Draco not faring much better—and the kitchen counters were covered with pretty much every baking utensil and dish that the Malfoy’s owned. It was very hard not to laugh. So, I did.

“Scourgify,” I snapped my fingers and the kitchen began to return to a less chaotic state of being.

Scorpius marveled at the wandless magic as everything was placed in its proper order. I carefully made my way over to the two Malfoys, avoiding dishes and pans that floated around in a hurry to find their proper homes.

“Good morning,” I drawled, raising an eyebrow at Draco.

“He insisted we make pancakes the muggle way because someone taught him,” He raised an eyebrow back at me.

“I almost remember how to do it Miss Y/n!” Scorpius cut in between us, pulling at my hand.

Chuckling, I pulled him up into my arms and set him on the counter. Then I went around and gathered what was actually necessary to make pancakes. Draco watched quietly, offering things I needed before I could ask for them. His gaze and hands always lingered when they were upon me, and it left me a bit redder than I cared to admit.

With breakfast on the small kitchen table, coffee and tea brewed—a glass of milk for Scorpius— we ate in the company of one another. Draco started to chide Scorpius about the amount of syrup he was using, and I gave Draco an amused look and he refrained, sighing and reading the Daily Prophet. (It meant having to give Scorpius a bath afterwards because of the sticky mess, but it was worth it).

“How did you do it?” Draco asked as we walked the grounds, Scorpius chasing the wild peacocks.

“Do what?” I asked, eyeing a peacock that was getting a bit too aggressive for my taste.

“Last night,” He gave, but I still wasn’t quite sure what he wanted me to explain. “you saved my life. I know about every spell and potion out there... how did you do it so quickly?”

“Elixir of Life,” I paused and teetered my head. “Sort of. It’s the juice of the Fire-Flowers that grow in the Mountains of the Sun. Cures any illness and injury... as long as the person still has breath.”

“That what of what?”

I laughed. “Historian, remember?” I nudged his side. “You learn a few things. I think I have what’s left of it... no one has been able to find the flowers or the mountain any longer.”

“What did you go and waste it on me for then?” He exclaimed. 

“Um, you were dying?” I argued back. “It wasn’t a waste.” 

“I’m hardly worth keeping alive,”

“That’s not true,” I refuted stubbornly. “You mean so much to Scorpius, and to me for that matter. What would either of us do without you?” I looked to Scorpius who had a peacock feather in his hand, waving it proudly. We both waved back.

“He’d be fine. He’s strong,”

“He’s four, Draco,” I snapped. “He doesn’t need to be strong; he needs to be a kid.”

Draco pursed his lips and sighed. “Suppose you’re right,” He finally admitted. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing this right...”

“There is no right way to raise someone, Draco,” Then mended, “Okay, there’s no one certain way that you have to raise someone. And I think you’re doing just fine with him. He’s a great kid, Dray,”

“Miss Y/n! Look what I found!” Scorpius ran over, a small bowtruckle in his hand.

“Look at that!” I crouched down. “But you better go put him back, he needs to be with his family,”

The little boy nodded and ran back into the yard, crouching down beside a bush. Our conversation of the matter seemed to end there. Draco was called back into work and Scorpius and I remained outside for the rest of the evening. When he returned later that evening, Scorpius was fast asleep in bed and I was staring at the family portraits in the great room. Though the figures moved, they gave me no guidance on what to do. Draco came and stood beside me, gazing at the paintings as well.

“She was beautiful,” I whispered softly, looking at the painting of Draco, Astoria, and an infant Scorpius. “With more courage than a lion,”

Draco nodded and stared at his late wife. I gnawed at my lip and sighed softly.

“Sometimes I wonder how things would have changed if she was still here,” Draco confessed to the painting. “If they would have...”

“Well, you wouldn’t need me,” I smiled sadly.

“And why not?” He turned to me, confusion on his features. “Scorpius would still need a teacher,”

“But we never would have met in the park that day. It wouldn’t be me here...” My gaze shifted back to the portrait.

He went quiet at that, and with a deep breath, bid me goodnight and retired to his room for the rest of the evening. I gave the paintings one last glimpse and turned in myself. I was alone that night, not getting much sleep.

We fell back into an odd sort of routine as December ended. I attempted to keep my emotions for Draco under control as I continued to teach his son. I may have failed at the notion completely. I had convinced Draco to throw a small party for Scorpius for his fifth birthday and though it was only the three of us as well as Narcissa and Lucius, the youngest Malfoy was the happiest five- year-old in the world.

“Miss Y/l/n,” Narcissa gestured for me to join her in a quiet sitting room.

Setting down my plate of homemade cake—that I showed Scorpius how to make upon his request and pouting—I followed her. Anxiety grew in my chest as we sat by the warm hearth.

“It’s my understanding that you are tutoring my grandson,” She said softly. 

“Yes ma’am,” I nodded, fidgeting with my sweater.

“And that you care deeply for my son,” She gave me a knowing look.

I pressed my lips together and stared at the crackling fire.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel,” I repeated my mantra. “I can’t...”

“And why not?” My eyes snapped up at hers, a startled look on my face as she continued. “Draco has been through a lot, and I cannot change the past. Astoria aided him through some of it, setting him back on his feet, but you my dear, have brought back life to my son’s eyes.”

“Mrs. Malfoy,” I started, but she raised her hand to stop me.

“I understand if you do not wish to take on the family name, nor commit to a very broken man.”

“That’s not the issue,” I amended quickly. “I... I don’t know if Draco is ready... Sometimes I think yes, then other times I don’t know what’s going through his head... and I don’t want to lose him or Scorpius if I’m wrong...”

“We are never truly ready for anything my dear,” Narcissa spoke softly, reminiscing. “But I know my son, and I know that he has changed so much since you’ve been around. Do not be afraid of not being ready, it’s when true character shines through,” She rose elegantly and gave me a warm smile. “You are good for him,”

“Everything alright in here?” Draco stood in the doorway, a curious look on his face. I did my best to offer an encouraging smile.

“Yes, quite,” His mother smiled and swept out of the room with the grace of a swan.

I stood and readjusted the shawl around my shoulders. Draco’s eyes didn’t leave me as I walked over to him. He was still waiting for me to explain.

“It’s nothing,” I smiled and looked down. “We just talked about Scorpius and his studies, that’s all,” It was an easy lie, and I knew that he could see through it, but he didn’t call me out on it.

“Miss Y/n! Look! Daddy got me a book! Just like yours!” Scorpius bounded over to me, a thick leather-bound book in his hands.

“Isn’t that wonderful!” I beamed, bending down, examining the book’s cover.

Walt Disney’s Classic Storybook Collection: Volume Three

Shock flitted across my emotions as I looked up at Draco, my eyebrows drawing together. 

“They’re just fairytales,” He offered a lopsided smile and a small shrug.

I couldn’t stop the smile on my face or the warmth in my heart that grew. I rose, giving Scorpius his book back and went over to Draco.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I whispered softly. “I told you, it was alright.”

“You were right, Y/n,” He spoke in a hushed tone. “He deserves to know, and he deserves to be a kid,” He pulled me beside him, nodding to his son that played with a mix of muggle and magic toys on the floor, Lucius eyeing him warily and Narcissa beaming.

I leaned against Draco and watched Scorpius play in the firelight, pondering what Narcissa had told me. Was I really the one that brought life back into this small family? Could Draco hold the same regard for me as I did for him?

With his arm wrapped around my side, keeping me close, I thought that just maybe he could.

The night after Narcissa and Lucius had gone, Scorpius begged me to read from his new book as a bedtime story. I gave in and opened the gold leaf pages and skimmed the table of contents. I chose a familiar tale: Peter Pan.

“Is one of your songs from this story?” Scorpius asked, his eyes shining.

“Not this one, no,” I smiled. “But we’ll get to those, I promise,”

He nodded and settled in as I began to read the fairytale. Scorpius was fast asleep before Peter saved Wendy from the mermaids. I closed the book and set it on his bedside table, smiling and leaving his room, the door cracked open. Draco was in his study, hunched over a book on his desk, deeply focused. Passing the room, I headed to the kitchen and made two cups of tea before returning. Setting one on his desk next to him, I stood behind him, leaning against his desk chair.

He murmured a thanks and didn’t look up from the book. Gathering my courage, I sat my mug down as well.

“Draco, can we talk?” I bit my lip and looked down.

His blue eyes looked up from the book, his eyebrows raised, waiting for me to continue. I took a deep breath. Hopefully this conversation would go better than the last time we ‘talked.’

“I... have had a wonderful time, here over the past year, with you and Scorpius,” I began. He sighed. 

“I understand,” There was an air of melancholy in his voice.

“You do?” I wondered what he was referring to or if we were on the same page. It seemed like we weren’t.

“You wish to leave,” His gaze didn’t meet mine. “You tried, and it didn’t work, I understand.”

“What?” I took a small step back, wrapping my arms around myself. “Where in the world did you get an idea like that?” I paused. “Do you want me to leave?” My voice was as small as I felt in that moment.

“No,” He confessed softly. 

“Then what do you want?” His eyes flashed to mine.

“The truth?” He seemed nervous and afraid. I nodded. “I... I don’t...” He pursed his lips together and stood, his back to me, like it would make it easier. “I don’t sleep well when you’re not beside me. I don’t go a day at work without thinking about you. I feel the same need to protect you as I do with Scorpius.

“You understand my son in a way I’ll never comprehend, and I see you in him more and more every day. I’ve given you everything I can, and I still fear it’s not enough to make you want to stay. Because I’ve spent months trying to deny and conceal what I feel about you from you and myself and I can’t do it anymore.”

I gaped at him.

“And maybe keeping you away will keep you safe,” He whispered.

I rounded his desk and reached out, placing my hand on his shoulder. He turned, desperation in his eyes. I reached up and stroked his cheek softly.

“I love you Y/n,” As if the notion broke him. 

“I love you too, Draco,”

His hands cradled my face as he drew me into a scared, hesitant kiss. My hands splayed over his shoulders and pulled him closer. Holding another close, we melted into the other. Past fears, regrets, pains, and nightmares all laid aside for one shining moment.

“Don’t go away,” He whispered softly against my lips.

“Never,” I vowed. “You’re stuck with me now,” I smiled up at him. 

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

It was a soft and gentle night. Draco continued to read, I brought my book and joined him in the sitting room that his mother and I spoke in not hours before. He was sitting in the center of the sofa and my legs were draped across his lap as we read into the late hours of the night.

With unspoken words and requests, we curled up together in his bed, in ridiculously expensive silk sheets and down pillows. My fingers absent mindedly traced the scars across his chest, my head nestled on his shoulder and his arm around me.

He rose early in the morning, placing a kiss to my forehead before heading to get ready for work. In his house coat again, I saw him off, kissing him softly before he departed. Contented, I went to wake Scorpius, humming softly to myself. He insisted that I read him another fairytale after lunch, and I compromised and agreed I would after his lesson.

Draco returned that evening, in a pleasant mood, placing a kiss on my cheek, before lifting Scorpius into his arms, asking about his son’s day. The young Malfoy babbled about the tale of Peter Pan and Captain Hook, saying he wanted to fly like Peter.

“Do you still have your broom?” I mused, curious. “I remember someone being quite the quidditch player,”

Scorpius’ eyes lit up. “You know how to play Quidditch!?” He exclaimed.

I laughed as Draco set down his son, the three of us heading out to the backyard where Draco produced two broomsticks. The wood hummed in my hand the same way that my wand did and responded to my thoughts. Draco and I hovered just above the ground. He pulled Scorpius onto the broom with him and kicked off, soaring high over the Manor. I laughed and chased after them. We flew until the setting sun provided no more light.

Scorpius was asleep in my arms as we headed back inside. Draco followed me up the stairs, helping me tuck his sleeping son into bed. With his arms wrapped around me, Draco and I watched the peaceful slumber that Scorpius had claimed.

“You’re a good mother to him,” Draco whispered lowly, not to disturb his son’s slumber.

My heart fluttered at his words, my lips curling into a smile. A new sort of anxiety set into my chest.

“And you’re a great father,” I gazed up at him through my eyelashes.

Again, Draco and I curled up together in the quiet of the night, talking about anything and everything. What we had been doing the past ten years, what jobs we had taken, how our families were. Some nights Scorpius would join us in bed, either from loneliness or nightmares.

We hold him, as I found another melody to put him to sleep again. In fact, my lullabies had a habit of putting both Malfoys to sleep.

In the park one spring afternoon, Scorpius went off and played with other kids his age. It made me smile, knowing that he probably craved the company of those his age. Draco and I sat together on the same bench where it all started.

“Does that boy look familiar to you?” Draco mused, nodding to the child that Scorpius was laughing with, chasing around the swing sets. There was another little girl with them, with bright red hair and an older boy who held more of a likeness than the younger one.

My eyes started to scan park for the Potters.

“There,” I pointed inconspicuously towards another couple a few benches down from us. “Should we go say hi?” I mused.

Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you’re still harboring a grudge.” I laughed. “We were kids, Draco. Besides,” I nudged his side. “It looks like Ginny beat me to it.”

The two Potters came walking over, one sulking, one smiling brightly. Draco and I stood, mirroring the other couple.

“I thought I knew a Malfoy when I saw one,” Ginny grinned at me and Draco. 

“Ginny,” I beamed, and we hugged.

“It’s been too long Y/n,” She smiled.

The two boys seemed to be having a stare down, neither giving in. I slipped my hand into Draco’s and Harry’s eyes darted to the gesture, then to my eyes. I offered a smile and Harry seemed to backtrack a bit.

“Daddy! Daddy!”

Both Draco and Harry turned.

Scorpius came bounding over smiling hugely. Draco crouched down, a smile on his face as well.

“Daddy! I made a new friend! We’re lost boys together!” Scorpius beamed. “And his brother is Peter Pan and his sister is a lost boy like us!”

The other three children came over, all flocking to Harry and Ginny, telling about the same story that Scorpius did, who was now in Draco’s arms, still going on about their adventure.

“You son knows about Peter Pan?” Harry asked skeptically. “Isn’t that a bit muggle for your lot?” There was a snide tone in his words.

“They’re fairytales Harry. Let them be kids,” Draco responded coolly, like I hadn’t spent months trying to get that through his head.

“Miss Y/n knows all about fairytales! She’s really good at singing them too! She’s been teaching me about so many things!” Scorpius could barely hide his excitement.

Harry looked at the three of us, baffled.

“Seems we have a lot to catch up on,” He finally spoke.

“You’ll have to come by the Manor sometime with the kids,” Draco offered to everyone’s shock, including mine.

“Er, yes.” Harry narrowed his eyes. “I’ll have Ginny send an owl,”

Draco gave a small nod and set Scorpius down.

“Men,” I heard Ginny muttered and grinned.

The young Malfoy clung to my side, holding my hand. This seemed to surprise Harry and Ginny both.

“Are you ready to go, darling?” I asked Scorpius, crouching down. Scorpius gave a small pout. “No crocodile tears,” I tickled him, lifting him into my arms. “Or I’ll just have to make dinner myself tonight...”

The young Malfoy perked up at that. Every once in a while, I’d cook dinner myself, the muggle way and Scorpius was always keen on learning how. Draco joined us on those nights, showing his son how magic also worked in the kitchen.

“I’ll send an owl,” I smiled to Ginny and Harry. “Say goodbye Scorpius,”

A chorus of goodbyes rang about the four children and Draco and I apparated home. Scorpius bounded off to the bathroom to wash his hands at my request before we started dinner and Draco cornered me against the counter in the kitchen.

“Was that so bad?” I smiled up at him, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Terrible, absolutely dreadful,” He smirked, pressing a kiss to my lips. “Potter,” He snarled in a familiar tone that had me laughing.

“Oh, some things never change, do they?” I laughed into his shoulder.

“Afraid not,” Draco chuckled. “Thank you, for staying by my side.” His words were soft and low.

“Of course, always,” I murmured, tugging the hair tie from his hair and running my fingers through it. His eyes closed as he relaxed under my touch.

“I love you,” His tone was soft. 

“I love you too,”

Something lingered in his eyes. Something that he hid and something that made the butterflies in my chest flutter anxiously. A question that we both waited for.

It was a few days later that the Potters came over to the Manor, along with the youngest Weasleys and their parents, and another teen who was just as much family as the five kids that accompanied them.

It was tense and awkward for some time between Harry, Ron, and Draco, but with some easy planning and quick thinking between Ginny, Hermione, and me, it faded. We all sat comfortably

out on the back porch, watching the kids play in the yard. I couldn’t help but smile watching Scorpius finally having someone his own age to play and imagine with. Draco seemed to have the same thought because his hand found mine.

“So how did you two end up together?” Ron asked, not so stealthily to Hermione’s dismay.

I laughed and Draco smiled.

“Draco hired me to tutor Scorpius,” I shrugged. “And well...” I looked to Draco and smiled.

“That explains why Scorpius knows so many muggle things,” Harry laughed. “I never thought I’d see the day,”

Soon we all began swapping stories, catching up with each other’s lives. It was nice to be beside Draco and other friends from school. The memories that always haunted me about Hogwarts seemed to fade as the afternoon went on. Dusk came and the two other families bid us goodnight. Scorpius was sad to see his friends go, but with a promise that they would be back, he seemed alright. It wasn’t hard to get him to bed that night, he was fast asleep after the first verse of my lullaby.

An early June day, Scorpius insisted that we make another cake for Draco’s birthday. I laughed and let the young Malfoy pull me to the kitchen as we started our adventure. When Draco came home from work, he found us both covered in frosting, laughing. At least some of the frosting made it onto the cake.

“Happy birthday, Daddy!” Scorpius yelled. “We made a cake!”

“I see that,” He grinned, setting down his case and shrugging off his robe. “And a mess,”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my cheek then lifted Scorpius into his arms. The little boy giggled, and like every day that Draco came home, began to talk about his day.

“Happy birthday love,” I smiled, leaving them to catch up.

I snapped my fingers and the kitchen began to clean itself again as I set the cake onto a cake stand, I had found in the pantry. With dinner eaten and cake devoured—and no longer all over Scorpius and I—the night was quiet once more.

“Now,” Draco sat Scorpius on the counter. “A little birdie told me that someone wants to see a certain movie?”

Scorpius’ face lit up and nodded enthusiastically. I raised an eyebrow at Draco, who grinned. He lifted his son into his arms and led us both to a small sitting room where a screen and projector had been set up. I gasped, covering my mouth with my hand, tears pricking my eyes.

“Dray,” I breathed out. “You didn’t have to...”

“It’s about time he gets to see them, no?” Draco set his son down on the mountain of pillows and blankets that resided on the floor. “He deserves to be a kid.”

I pulled Draco into a hug. “I love you,”

“I love you too,”

Drawing away, I looked at Scorpius who was waiting more or less patiently.

“And every kid deserves a pillow fort.” I drew my wand and crafted a structurally sound fort, big enough for the three of us.

Nestled down into the fort, Peter Pan began to play. Scorpius was glue to the screen, taking in every moment. In fact, both Malfoys were. Laying my head on Draco’s shoulder, I combed my fingers through Scorpius’ hair.

“If you father knew about this,” I murmured into Draco’s ear, causing him to chuckle. 

“He doesn’t have to,” He grinned like a rebellious teenager.

About twenty minutes into Beauty and the Beast, Scorpius was fast asleep in my lap. I chuckled and Draco helped me up as we put him to bed. I headed back down to the makeshift movie room where the movie was still playing to clean up, but Draco caught my hand. I looked at him expectantly. With a snap of his fingers the room cleaned itself and he pulled me to the cleared floor.

“Dance with me,” He gestured to the dancing pair on the screen.

I laughed and nodded, taking his hand and letting him lead me in a familiar waltz. Though I hadn’t done it in some time, my feet remembered what to do. It was intoxicating, dancing with him. It took me to a world of far off places, magic spells, and a prince in disguise. I sang softly with the music playing, the words setting in both of our hearts.

Ending the dance with the fading melody, our eyes locked both panting softly. He leaned down and pressed his lips to mine in a sweet loving kiss, something hidden in his warm eyes when he withdrew. My gaze dropped, a blush on my cheeks.

“Y/n?” He called softly.

I looked up, expectant. Waiting for those four words, dreading their moment but wishing their arrival.

“When we were younger, we lived in a different world,” He began softly. “Things were a lot less complicated. And if, as we are now, met back then... I would have courted you. I may have stolen a kiss or two but only after asking your father’s permission... but we are both very different people now, and I know it’s not the same, but if it were...” He took my hands and slid down onto one knee. My heart hammered in my chest, tears welling into my eyes as a smile grew on my face.

“I would have got down on one knee and I would have presented you with a ring.” He pulled out a small velvet ring box from his pocket and opened it, revealing a ring. “Y/n Y/m/n Y/l/n, I promise to love you every moment forever, would you do me the extraordinary of honor of marrying me?”

With tears streaming down my face I nodded. 

“Yes,” I cried. “Yes, yes, yes!”

A smile broke out across Draco’s face as he scooped me into his arms, spinning me around. We were both crying and holding each other. Little ‘I love you’s left our teary-eyed kisses. He slipped the ring onto my finger: a silver band woven with diamonds and emeralds that enchanted itself to fit my ring-finger.

We didn’t let go of another that night. A night that was filled with soft words, gentle kisses, and loving touches. In the morning, Scorpius burst into our room and bound onto the bed, pulled my left hand into his sights as soon as he was close enough, squealing when he saw the ring.

“I told you daddy!” Scorpius beamed. “I told you she would say yes!” 

“That you did,” Draco ruffled his son’s hair.

I smiled at my boys and pulled them both close. The morning was lazy and filled with laughter and moments that I wanted to hold close forever.

.

.

List of Muggle Lullabies: 

Stay Awake, Mary Poppins

Feed the Birds, Mary Poppins

My Favorite Things, The Sound of Music

Edelweiss, The Sound of Music

Once Upon a December, Anastasia

Lavender’s Blue, Cinderella

A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes, Cinderella

You’ll Be In My Heart, Tarzan

Beauty and the Beast, “”

Remember Me, Coco

You Are My Sunshine, Jasmine Thompson

.

.

Part 2

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Tags: @coffee-addicti @msmcsmutt @ravn-87 @artemismohr18 @whygz @crazywritingbug @fuzzy-panda@bitemebro522 @zombiesnips-blog @jillanaholland @shookyungsoo @savingdraco @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @akari180 @slytherin-emerald @chaotic-good-gemini @memalfoy-spidey@theres-a-dog-outside-omg @queenfeatherwings @fanficflaneuse @go-whovian-universe @spicyshenanigans @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise@dietkiwi@katsukink @takemetothekingdom @strangerr-things@tmnt-queen @mccloudchloe @hxneybgb @justsomerandomgur @belcvayelena @moviesbooksandfandoms @howdycharlie@xtrashmouthxtozierx @cocochanelthepupper@ninacotte@mccloudchloe @braelynn-j @jiggllyy @honeymarvel@go-whovian-universe @darcypottah @atomicpunkrock@thiccheerioss @lottie289 @boredashaeck @beautiful-pegasus @tceedlmao @deadlynyghtshayde @iconjuresnapeingrandmaclothes @anonymous034 @bi-andready-tocry @lunna-does-real-doodle @dragonsandbread @atomicwonderlandmentality @okaydraco @the–queen-of-hell @langdonzvoid @cmxreader @alienmotel @oh-itsnothing @tulippings @thestressedprincess @sunflowerxsadnessw @caps-wilsonn @fattycooter @angelotakunerd08 @thisisahugemistake @fanficsigottaread​ @gweaslvy​ @okaydraco​ @strawberriesonsummer​ @ughjjloveme​ @honeymarvel​

[marabrosca]

[REUPLOAD] - What You Seek Will Find You (Cullen x Lavellan)

a commission for @cullenvhenan with her OC immy 

words: 3k

summary: Cullen reflects on his heart's desires, and comes to the one thing he wants the most. (Cullen’s pov fic and his falling in love with Imryll Lavellan)

tags: pining, soft, romance, kissing

warning: contains mentions of racism/colorism but is never directly said to any poc

Read it on AO3

It was uncomfortable to see a chantry half full, Cullen decided. He couldn’t remember a time where he and his family would attend a sermon, and be joined by only a dozen people. The chantry in his youth accommodated with every seat and then some, as many late arrivals would continue to listen to the Revered Mother’s litany whilst standing in the back by the front door. Having the room be so scarce, having so many pews be empty, made the ceremony feel far more serious and intimidating than intended.

It was here that Cullen would be fulfilling his dream of joining the Templar Order, taking his vows and swearing to protect Thedas at the behest of the Andraste Herself. He peered over at the towering statue of the prophet, Her pyre burning brightly but expanding no more light into the room than a few candles. He felt himself shrink into his armor, picking nervously at his embroidered skirt as Andraste’s stone eyes bore into him. It was a dull service he had to admit. A withered old chantry Sister recited the Chant Of Light in an almost monotone voice, pausing every few lines to include the sacred blessings given to those joining the Order.

Cullen had practiced his vows more times than he could count. There were formal promises to make, but they came strictly with a list. When he had been given the list, the scroll lay heavy in his hands. The gold ribbon around it had made it seem as resplendent as the Chantry’s interior, and no less important than the impression it made. Each Templar was to choose their own vows, their own honest promises to the Maker.

Everyone is different, and we are all here for different reasons. But now we join as one, and must do what is expected of us. Therefore, it is the responsibility of one who chooses to walk the path of sacrifice, to pave the road they walk on.

It was something that was repeated to him in the upcoming weeks of the ceremony. There were many ways, as it turned out, to prove one’s faithfulness to the Maker. There was fasting, sacrificing of material goods (not that Templars had many personal items to begin with), excessive prayer, public preaching, and at least ten other things that Cullen could remember. There was only one that gave him pause: chastity, and the detachment to romantic relations, even within marriage. Cullen felt weak for admitting it, but the idea of a future in solitude wasn’t exactly appealing. Not that it was supposed to be. The idea was that a Templar-to-be would set aside personal desire and focus solely on duty, devoting themselves entirely to their service.

But Cullen saw no reason why he couldn’t do both. A part of him, a part he hid from others, was enamored with the idea of marriage. He’d caught himself many times dreaming of the day his soul-mate would enter his life, accepting the promise to live in each other’s hearts. It was indulgent and juvenile, but he wondered if perhaps one day he’d be in chantry taking entirely different vows than the ones he would proclaim that day. As far as Cullen could see, there were no obstacles in finding someone who was Andrastian. They’d have to be, wouldn’t they? Followers of the chantry and the Maker filled every space in Ferelden, and certainly he wouldn’t be traveling far from Kinloch Hold after the ceremony. Frankly, there was no reason to worry.

The young man heard his name and he stood, almost too quickly, and shuffled out of the pew, making his way to the Revered Mother. She looked at him with a kind smile, and he bowed his head in response. The woman’s hand hovered above him, pausing.

“Have you prepared your promises to the Maker, accepting His blessing as a holy child and servant of Andraste?” “Yes.” He replied firmly, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

-

Decades had passed since that day, disappearing like a dream interrupted by daylight. At no point would Cullen expect anything he had experienced, or where he was now. Snow crunched under his boots as he surveyed twenty new recruits to the Inquisitor’s forces- the DalishInquisitor – yet they served just as devout to the chantry as he had once been. An uncomfortable, heavy force weighed on him at the thought; a reminder of his skewed mind from the past. It was a part of him he didn’t want to forget, so that he would never become that man again. He didn’t, however, want it to swallow him whole. That part was harder.

Two of the newest recruits, George and Elliott, were sent to fetch a requisition officer that had been surveying the Storm Coast for some time. The men seemed eager, and promising, and gave off an air of charisma that delivered a boost in morale. Soon enough they returned with the aforementioned officer. She was a tall, lanky elf with pale skin and large, striking emerald eyes. Her black hair fell to her mid-back, lips pink and puffy in the cold. Cullen greeted her politely, taking the missives from her hands as she smiled pleasantly at him. The officer followed Cullen to the desk planked beside the staircase extending from the ramparts. He didn’t miss the almost pungent smell of perfume on her, but made no comment. The commander settled the forms into a neat pile, getting ready to turn to his scouts, when he looked up and noticed that she was still standing there. He cleared his throat when she did not have anything to say. “Thank you, Deanna, for going out of your way.”

“No problem at all, Commander.” The elf smiled at him, folding her hands behind her back.

“Ah…was there something else you needed?” Deanna twirled a finger through a lock of hair, her cheeks turning pinker than before.

“Actually, I was wondering if you were busy tonight.” She replied, eyeing the desk quickly before settling her sights on his face. George and Elliott watched the sight, impressed with their Commander’s obliviousness to her body language.

“As it happens, I am very busy tonight,” Cullen answered, turning and handing the papers over to a scout without pause. “There is still much work to be done if Skyhold is to ever be inhabitable. And I fear the most difficult challenges are yet to come. Why? Does something require my attention?” Deanna’s smile sunk to her knees with her shoulders following suit. “Um, no, it was nothing. Thank for your time, Commander.” “And you, as well.” Cullen responded with a nod, watching the elf turn and make her way up the stairs.

-

As busy as the ex-Templar seemed to be, he had set some time aside that evening to have a walk down the ramparts with Inquisitor Imryll. Soon the easy stride had turned to a pause, then to a conversation, then to a kiss. It was clearly unplanned and unexpected- quite the opposite of how Cullen had always carried himself- but there was no doubt in the way Imryll held onto his back and caressed his hair, that she didn’t object to it.

Gossip spread like the Blight within Skyhold regarding the Inquisitor’s supposed “dalliance” with the Commander. A couple of messengers and guards that had been making their way by wasted no time sharing the tale of what they had witnessed, or exaggerating it.

“It was a sweep of passion! He grabbed her and they nearly dipped as if they were dancing!” “I wasn’t that close, so I couldn’t really tell, but Ser Rutherford appeared very harsh with our Lady Inquisitor. Do you think he treats all his women that way?” “She hypnotized him with blood magic, I swear!” The only things the tales had in common was that a kiss was involved, anything else could not be answered, much to the disappointment of the staff who were almost growing bored of the mundane. When the news reached Elliott, he was quick to share what he heard over a drink on the grass with George, who turned his nose up in disgust. “See that, I just don’t get.” “What’s not to get? You don’t know what a kiss is? Do you revolt women that much?” “No, smartass.” George took a swig from his flask before continuing. “I don’t get how someone would, ya know, go for an elf. Does he seem like the type? And that elf on top of it- what’s next, a Qunari?”

Elliott let out a cackling laugh, almost catching his lip between his browning teeth. “Not your type, eh?” “Not anybody’s type.” George tried to adjust himself on the ground, reaffirming his seat in the same spot once the dizziness ceased his actions. “At least you got- at least you got some lookers here, right? Like that one from before…that, uh, Deanna. Them ones with the big eyes and the curves and all- and have you ever seen an elf that was so dark?” “Not before the Inquisitor. Her eyes are black, did you notice? Do you think she’s blind?” “I thought all elves were ivory and lanky and- where did she even come from?” “Somewhere up north.” “Up north, bah.” George, not heeding the warning his body gave him before, took another large gulp. “If you asked me, I’d kiss an ogre any day before I’d even think about kissin’ her. She wouldn’t-”

Before he could finish his ramblings, a pair of hands grabbed them both from behind, lifting them by the collars and onto their feet. George almost vomited, feeling the searing burn shoot up his throat at the assault. Both men turned sharply to be met with the fiery eyes of their Commander. The men could feel their faces turn numb and a pulse beat in the back of their skulls. Elliott dropped his mug without thinking, licking his lips in an attempt to speak.

“Commander-”

“I don’t want to hear another word.” “But-” “Not. One. Word.” Cullen’s teeth stuck out starkly against his reddening face.

The recruits gulped, bugged-eyed as George swayed slightly from the alcohol. Cullen’s gaze locked onto the mug spilling yellow liquid onto the grass. “I see that your night of leisure has given you loose tongues.”

Cullen pondered what kind of punishment should bestow them. Perhaps they were to be bound and brought to the Inquisitor on her throne, and beg at her feet for mercy after confessing their crimes? The idea was enticing, but it was likely the display would embarrass Imryll, and he needn’t put more on her shoulders regarding her reputation. Besides, she hadn’t heard the words herself, so why hurt her feelings? No, that simply wouldn’t do. They needed to learn a lesson…a long-term lesson. Without warning Cullen grabbed them by the collar again and pushed them both face-first into the dirt. “You will clean this mess, and then pack your things. At dawn, you will be deployed to the Hissing Wastes, where you will remain until the hole in the sky is welded shut.” The Hissing Wastes was the most miserable landscape in Thedas Imryll had ventured to that he could think of. It was a constant scorching mass of dry air and sand, flipping the coin completely when all was frozen over at night. Only the most hardened travelers could tolerate its climate. It was a long-lasting punishment for a crime that could permanently scar having landed in Imryll’s ears.

Without another word Cullen turned on his heel and walked back to the fortress, ignoring the groaning coming from behind him. As he moved out of sight, Elliott wobbled down to pick his mug off the ground, and George let go of all the liquid courage in his stomach that had sealed their fates.

-

Days had passed since the new blood of the Inquisition seemingly vanished overnight, but Cullen’s hands still upturned into fists at the memory. He hadn’t been there when they were carted off, but it was reported right before that they wished to beg forgiveness. Cullen dismissed the messenger with a wave of his hand and went back to his business like he was the only one in the room. He scowled, eyeing the ground with intensity as not to scream, a look that caught the eye of the curly-haired elf standing across from him. She walked up to him before he could react, kissing the knot between his eyebrows. All at once he melted, tense muscles going loose for a brief moment as he looked up. Her smile was concerned, and he felt his face relaxing as not to worry her further. “Are you alright?” she asked, grazing the back of her fingers along the side of his face, leaving goose bumps in her wake.

“Yes…I’m fine.” He let out a breath, willing himself to calm down. His hand reached up to grasp hers, bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss. It made them both blush, and Imryll’s fingers curled in his grasp.

“I had been wondering this for a while,” she started, not pulling away from his hold.

“That day you kissed me on the battlements…how long had you wanted to do that?”

Cullen couldn’t help but let out a laugh, smiling despite the heat in his cheeks. Her tone wasn’t mischievous, merely curious. A part of him advised against telling her; it was unprofessional at the very least to admit that he had wanted his lips on hers not too long after meeting, before Skyhold, even. Despite not being the best of friends at the time, Cullen found himself gravitating towards her, and desired her approval for more than just reasons regarding their duty.

He smiled sheepishly before finally answering her query.

“Longer than I should admit.”

-

Springtime scarcely differed from winter when it came to living on a mountain. Everyone still wore furs up to their noses and the courtyard was rarely full. Merchant deliverers unloaded their cargo as quickly as they could before ducking into the tavern. Orlesian noblewomen paraded their flower-adorned shifts about, calling attention to their “eye to detail”, modeling their appearance after the Skyhold garden. This, in reality, was meant to turn attention away from their unseemly reddening noses each time they needed to lift their mask and cough into a handkerchief.

Despite this -and despite her own hatred for the cold- Imryll could still be found tending to her plants- the ones that would survive the elements. She frowned as she lifted a limp stem with her finger, disappointed she wouldn’t be able to expand her alchemy skills just yet. Vivienne had warned her it was too early to start studying potions that required foliage, but in an effort to impress her, Imryll had tried it anyway. And now she was thinking of a way to dispose of the dead roots without embarrassing herself.

The sound of familiar footsteps behind her turned her attention away from the frozen soil, lifting her mood in an instant. “There you are. I was worried you’d still be out here.” Cullen sighed.

“Oh, yes. I was seeing how things were going,” she replied, gesturing to the frozen soil “Don’t tell Vivienne.” Cullen chuckled and removed his cloak, draping it over her shoulders.

“You’ll catch cold out here.” His touched his forehead with hers, watching as she scrunched her nose at the tickle of the wind.

“Walk me back?” Imryll guided them the long way around, entwining her arm with Cullen’s. Halfway there her legs had “gone completely numb from the cold”, and their only solution was to duck into an archway that housed a small stone bench. The elf laid her cheek on the part of his armor still covered by cloth, and sighed as his fingers glided down her arm.

“Feeling better?” “Not yet,” she replied, moving ever closer into his arms. Cullen held her tighter, making the Inquisitor smile. Her soft, round cheek was squished up against his chest, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing. The atmosphere was too serene to believe. The moon now overshadowed the sun, leaving the walkway empty aside from them. Imryll gazed out at the greenery that still grew around them. But Cullen’s eyes were transfixed on her. In these escaping moments of peace, he found himself wondering what he would do in the future. If she survived- when she survived the impending battle with Corypheus- what would he do? He had been only a child the last time he lead a normal life, even though nothing for him would be truly normal again. Would she go with him? Would she go back to her clan? His stomach coiled at the thought, as selfish as it was. He wouldn’t blame her for returning to her people when this was all over, but surly he could not join her. The Dalish didn’t welcome humans as passersby, let alone a human lover. What if she left him? Did she not feel as strongly about their relationship as he did? Would she have to choose?

And more importantly, how would he declare the choice he’s made?

He couldn’t imagine a life without her. Despite the hardships and horrors he’s endured, having Imryll walk out of his life would be the breaking point. His gaze solemnly drifted to the bare blackness of the sky, subconsciously tightening his grip on Imryll.  

“Cullen? Is something wrong?” she asked, lifting her head.

“Oh- I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” “No…” the Inquisitor waited for an answer to her question.

“I think we should go back inside. I’m sure you’d be far more comfortable with warm tea in your bed, wouldn’t you say?” Imryll perked up at the thought and reluctantly sat up to stretch.

“Will you be joining me?” Imryll asked over her shoulder, half flirtatiously. “If my lady wishes so.” Cullen responded, chuckling and standing to join her on the walk back to her quarters.

“I do. But is that what you want?”

What I want… Without warning the commander hoisted her up into his arms, leaning his head down to kiss her lips. She let out a yelp before laughing, slapping lightly at his chest as he carried her through the garden. Wind brushed roughly against the pathway flowers, sending a few white petals into the air, catching onto Imryll’s curls. Their white littered the stone, creating an almost snowy effect as he walked. They went unnoticed by Imryll, who was too distracted reaching up to playfully peck at her lover’s chin.

What he wanted…

He knew now more than ever.

-

Imryll had taken some time to teach Cullen threads of Dalish before, but nothing like this.

“Sylaise enaste var aravel…”

The sound of her native tongue caressed his ears. Everything in that moment disappeared except for her; and although he couldn’t understand the words, he felt them in his heart. He wanted her promise to be true, and he trusted that it was.

“I swear unto the Maker and The Holy Andraste to love this woman the rest of my days.”

As the words left his lips, they connected with hers. Perhaps he should have waited until Mother Giselle made the official decree, but he couldn’t wait another moment.

The kiss ended with the faint tickle of Cullen’s breath against her lips. His nose stayed atop hers, soft chestnut eyes barely open beneath his lashes. It was their first kiss as a married couple, a term they could barely comprehend. Cullen sighed blissfully, capturing the moment in his mind down to every detail as the setting sun painted them in golden light, as if the world turned just for them. Imryll’s skin blended with the rays. Her eyes reflected, but were not illuminated by the shine, creating a stark clear surrounding of white around the onyx that seduced him so many times.

Imryll took but a single step before she was whisked off her feet. A surprised yelp quickly turned to giggles as her husband hoisted her into his arms in a true bridal-fashion. Mushy bounced excitedly at Cullen’s feet and wagged his tail, attempting to angle himself so that he could leap up to join Imryll.

“Blasted-get down! I can’t hold the both of you.”

Imryll laughed joyously, taking her lover’s face into her hands.

“How long have you wanted to do that?”

Cullen smiled down at her.

“Longer than I should admit.”

[smaidjor]

and i pay for my place by the ring (Chapter 1)

Hey guys! Welcome to another angsty fic by yours truly, provider of flower husbands pain.

Some things you should know before you jump into this:

1. This is a companion fic to my fic "i know they're losing". You can understand it without having read the other one, since it's the same story from two different POVs but I think the overall experience is better with both!

2. The overall title of each fic is from the mitski song I bet on losing dogs. Chapter titles are from the Last Goodbye from the Hobbit films.

3. There is a lot of lord of the rings lore in both fics, and I mean a lot. You may be kinda confused if you've never read tolkien's works. It will all be explained eventually, though!

4. With the fact that it's a companion fic and a lot of people came here from Jimmy's POV in mind- this is a lot heavier of a fic. The content warnings are heavier and the angst is more intense. You have been warned.

(Obligatory disclaimer that this is about characters, not ccs, and do not ship real people, as always!)

Chapter Title: to these memories i will hold

Chapter Wordcount: 4000

Content warnings: suicidal thoughts, self-esteem issues, panic attacks, past death, very frank discussion of death. (In general, if suicide or death are triggering topics for you, this is probably not the fic for you. Stay safe and take care of yourself!)

AO3

Actual fic under the cut:

Scott didn’t expect to survive 3rd life. No one did, he thinks, but especially not him. Clever, clever Scott, who knew his fate too well for his own good. He could have chosen his allies carefully, he knows, could have played on their emotions to make them think he was loyal until the moment he turned on them to win. He knew who the strongest factions and warriors were, the most cunning and intelligent participants in this death game they were forced into. Instead, he chose Jimmy. Sweet, dopey Jimmy, who had the personality of a golden retriever and only a handful of braincells at any given time. Jimmy, who was worth more than all the stars in the sky to him. Who made him feel alive . No, Scott didn’t expect to win. Not when it was Jimmy by his side- when it was Jimmy by his side, winning didn’t matter. All that mattered was Jimmy’s blush when Scott pressed a kiss to his cheek, the way his hair looked like gold in the sunlight and his smile lit up Scott’s whole world.

After Jimmy died, Scott stopped wanting to survive 3rd life. What was the point? The stars can shine on without the sun, but all life on Earth would wither and die. The same happened to Scott’s broken, bitter heart, he found. Jimmy was the first person in years to love him truly, wholly, with no strings attached; it was terrifying how quickly Scott fell for the first person to look at him and not expect him to be anything but what he was. Scott’s world, which used to be mountain peaks and endless blue sky, narrowed to warm brown eyes and a grin like sunshine quicker than he could comprehend. Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy, it all came back to him. What was Scott without Jimmy? The unwanted twin, the unloved child, the un-elven elf. Because who cared if he was a good shot with a bow or good at organizing teams or building pretty little houses? He would always be second-born, second-best.

It was fitting, really, that when Scott died, he died alone. Some might find it ironic that the man who knew enough people to fill the roster of a championship held by a god every month died without a single person to witness it save his enemies, but in the end, it was always going to be like this, Scott knew. He hadn’t been there to see Jimmy die, he hadn’t been able to hold him in his final moments and soothe the agony of death. Maybe this was his punishment. He wouldn’t be surprised; the gods of this world did not smile on him and never would. Why should they, when he had failed the only person who had ever found him good enough?

When he woke up in Rivendell, he was almost disappointed. Almost. He considered ditching the rest of the elves, up and leaving to somewhere that didn’t make it feel like the noose of immortality was slowly tightening around his neck. If nothing else, Noxite would let him crash at the MCC server for a bit until he found somewhere to go. And yet, in the end, Scott’s stubborn sense of duty won out. The elves needed a ruler. Xornoth had disappeared to god knows where, and though they had been braver, wiser, better in every way, Scott was the one who had stayed. Who was willing to take up the crown that weighed so heavily on its bearers. So Scott, who no one ever expected to rule, took up the burden of leadership.

Now, he tries and fails to get out of bed and wonders what the point of that even was. He’s fading, and worse than that, he’s fading over a human. His ancestors are probably rolling in their graves. Rivendell will be leaderless within a decade, and this time there are no heirs to take control. Not even a ‘spare’ like Scott used to be. What a mess.

There are footsteps on the stairs. They’re unfamiliar, meaning they could be a threat, but he’s too tired to bother sitting up. If he dies, well- it’s inevitable, really, in the same way watching the mortals he loves dies is.

The person comes around the corner, and Scott realizes with no joy that he won’t be dying today after all. Katherine looks both curious and concerned, but her voice tilts towards the latter when she asks “Scott?” and then, more hesitantly  “Lord Smajor?”

He blinks at her, exhausted. “Hi, Katherine.”

“I came to talk to you about some empires stuff, but, I mean, if this is a bad time, I can come back later…?” She sounds so thrown off by his state that Scott almost feels bad.

Whatever it is, it must be important if she’s come all the way here, though, so he gestures her to a chair. “No, no, stay. I can muster the energy for a meeting, just don’t ask me to get up.”

Katherine takes the seat. “I came to talk about the corruption on the server, but- are you okay? Are you sick?”

Nothing about the question is funny in any way, but Scott laughs regardless. “In a way, yes.”

“What do you mean?”

“Take my hand.” He offers it out, knowing the unnatural cold is unsettling no matter if you’re elven or not. Katherine does as he asks, the concern on her face only growing as she grips his icy hand.

“Elves don’t get sick like mortals do,” Scott explains. “Nor do we die of old age. But we get...heartsickness, you might call it. We call it fading in our tongue- the cold hands are a symptom of that. Our souls are fragile, and the grief of the mortal plane can be overwhelming. If an elf is too struck by it, they fade away and die.” The words taste bitter on his tongue, a frank reminder of the slow and painful death that awaits him.

Katherine gasps, and Scott knows he’s alarmed her.

He goes on, though. “It usually happens to old elves, world-weary.” Ironic, it’s ironic that he’s saying that as a young elf explaining his own death. “Those who are tired of existence. But any elf who has experienced enough grief is at risk.”

Her face is nothing short of horrified. “You’re- fading? But doesn’t it usually happen to old elves? Wait, are you old?”

“I’m fifty-five.”

“Is that old?”

He has to laugh. “Fifty is the elven equivalent of eighteen for humans, the age of maturity.” Though he feels so much older than that, both in elven terms and in human.

“Oh.”

There’s a moment of silence, then, “How can you be so calm if you’re dying?”

“I’m tired, Katherine. The world tore me away from the people I loved, and..I’m tired of fighting it.” He’s so, so exhausted. So sick of having to claw and scrape and struggle for the barest scraps of happiness.

“Is there a way to reverse fading- to fix it?” Katherine sounds so hopeful that the question seems almost naive even though she’s far more capable of a ruler than he is. Naive in the affairs of elves, maybe, much as she’s intelligent in so many other ways.

Scott tries not to flinch at the innocent inquiry, thinking about the deaths from fading that he’s watched. “Technically, yes. If an elf recovers enough emotionally, it’s reversible. But whatever caused them to fade the first time can- and often does- cause it again.” And again, and again, until there’s nothing to be done but let them die , he finishes in his head.

Katherine nods, a look of determination overtaking the hope. “We’ll just have to reverse it, then.”

“That’s sweet, Katherine, but I’m dying.”

“No. You’re not going to die. Now come on, you can show me your empire while I fill you in on what’s happening on the rest of the continent.” She sounds so firm that he doesn’t dare disobey, though his exhaustion makes a fair effort at convincing him to. Will this really fix anything? Unlikely. But it’s worth it to try, if only to humor Katherine. At least this way she’ll have the comfort of having tried to save him when he inevitably fades away into nothing

Scott takes her hand, though it brings him little warmth, cold from her trek here. “Alright.” He swallows the bitter grief in his throat before it can seep into his words. “We can try.”

He leads Katherine around Rivendell, taking some pride in the way she oohs over the decor. If there’s one thing he can do right, it’s building. While some elven rulers might see it as below themselves to help build houses for their citizens, Scott finds building soothing. It’s one of the few skills he picked up during his time away that people really appreciate; no one wants to live in a shitty house.

As they walk, she also tells Scott about the demon, Xornoth. “The demon’s already visited a lot of people, I think. Gem and Shubble for sure, and Fwhip and Sausage. That’s not even mentioning the corruption that’s been spreading.”

If Scott said that the name Xornoth didn’t make him flinch, he would be lying to himself. It’s not your sibling , he tells himself. It’s just a coincidence .

It’s through the virtue of years of lying that his voice comes out steady. “There’s corruption in Rivendell too. Likely Xornoth’s work. And given that Jimmy still has Vilya-” his heart doesn’t ache when he says Jimmy’s name, it doesn’t- “well, I haven’t been able to do much.”

“Vilya?” Katherine asks.

“A ring of power. My inheritance from the Noldor.”

“Why does Jimmy have it?”

He doesn’t answer. He won’t- can’t talk about Jimmy, not without remembering how he looked with an arrow through his throat, bright smile gone and face frozen in fear. How does he explain how much Jimmy meant to him? How much he’s now giving up, knowing he’ll have to lose it one way or another?

Katherine drops the topic, seemingly sensing that she’s stumbled on something sensitive. When she has to go home, she leaves with a friendly goodbye and a promise to visit, and Scott believes neither. Who would put the effort into visiting him? He’s not a good friend, he’s not a good king, and god knows he’s not a good husband. In fact, he’s actively avoiding his husband. He may have kept the pufferfish Jimmy gave him, but that doesn’t mean anything. He can’t fall in love with Jimmy again. Loving Jimmy will kill him. (Scott ignores the small voice at the back of his head that whispers that he’s still in love with Jimmy and it’s already killing him just as he always knew it would.)

To his surprise, Katherine does come back next week, and the week after that. He’s ashamed to admit it, but there’s some part of him that’s pathetically grateful when she shows up at his doorstep. It’s a chance to not be alone . Much as he dreads the day when she finally gives up on him, it’s nice that someone cares enough to try and save him from himself.

The third week, Katherine doesn’t show up. Instead, the footsteps on the stairs are familiar in a way that makes Scott’s heart twist painfully.

He takes a deep breath. “Hello, Jimmy.”

“How’d you know it was me?” Jimmy asks. Scott can tell he’s startled by the way his voice goes up, almost frightened.

Scott steels himself, taking a deep breath before rolling over to face his ex-husband. “Do you think I could ever forget the sound of your footsteps?” He forces himself to not get distracted staring at Jimmy, instead going on before Jimmy can open his mouth. “What are you doing here?”

“Katherine asked me to visit, I’m not sure why, but...here I am. Say, why is she visiting every week?” Jimmy’s so curious. So naive, as always.

Scott laughs, bitter. “Katherine thinks she can save me.”

“Save you from what?”

Scott hears the concern in Jimmy’s words, and he can’t bring himself to break the news. It’s not as if it matters. It’s not as if Jimmy would care; he came here because of Katherine. Maybe he cared at the start of Empires, but Scott’s been nothing but rude to him since. There’s no reason for him to care. (He cares. Scott’s lying, like always. Jimmy cares and Scott knows it.)

“Save you from what?” Jimmy asks again, more insistently.

He refuses to say it. He needs Jimmy out, out of his room and out of his life before he does something he’ll regret. “You should go.” To prove his point, he tries to stand, finding himself too dizzy to quite pull it off. Jimmy rushes to catch him, and Scott hates himself just a little for how that still gives him a warm feeling.

“Scott, what is going on?”

He brushes Jimmy off, letting go of his arm and hurrying for the stairs. He can’t let Jimmy work his way into his heart again; Scott won’t be strong enough to let him go this time.

“Scott, seriously! Answer me, are you okay? What’s happening?” Jimmy sounds almost angry, but Scott can hear the distress under it and that’s what breaks him.

“I’m fading, alright?” His voice nearly breaks at the concern on Jimmy’s face when he whirls to face him. “I’m dying, now leave me alone!”

Jimmy sputters, seemingly caught off guard. “You- what- but elves don’t die, right?”

“We do. From poison, from swords-” Scott thinks back to third life- “from arrows through the throat, from grief.” The words come out more raw than he intends, leaving him scrambling to recover his composure. He takes a deep breath in and out, forcing his voice to steady again. “Come on. If you’re not going to leave, I might as well show you around.”

“You can’t just drop something like that on a man, you know!” Jimmy calls after him, although Scott can hear his footsteps following as well.

“You did ask, to be fair.” Scott replies. His voice is calm. He’s fine.

“I guess so, but- but still, dude.”

Scott pushes open the side door, holding it for Jimmy. “Here.”

Jimmy nods and slips through the door.  “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Scott starts towards the bridges, intending to show Jimmy the enchanting tower and then the door. He doesn’t care about how fast he’s walking, Jimmy can keep up. He’s taller than Scott and probably has better balance at the moment too. Scott’s struggling not to fall, honestly, but his pride won’t let him go slower.

Jimmy breaks the awkward silence with the question Scott least wants to hear. “So, uh..are we going to talk about 3rd life?”

“No,” Scott says firmly.

“Why not? We need to talk about it some time-”

“I said no .” He can’t talk about it.

“It’s literally killing you to not talk about it!”

The words strike right at the raw wound of Jimmy’s death, and Scott freezes. Inhales. Exhales. Tries to keep calm.

“Tell me I’m wrong, Scott!” Jimmy cries. He sounds so upset, Scott’s heart aches. “I dare you, tell me I’m wrong! Tell me you never cared about me, tell me you didn’t bother to bury me, tell me it didn’t hurt even a little when I died! Tell me I was just stupid little Jimmy, a toy for an elf who’d live far beyond my lifespan! Tell me whatever, just tell me the truth! ”

Scott takes a deep breath. “Fine. You want to know what happened after you died?” He can’t think straight through the rage clouding his head, the desperate need to prove that Jimmy’s wrong , that Scott loved him so much it’s killing him. “You want to hear about me screaming until my throat went raw? You want to know that I kissed your face and sobbed and begged you to wake up, over and over until I couldn’t speak at all? You want to live with the knowledge that Grian had to physically pull me away from your body? Is that what you want to hear, Jimmy? ” His voice damn near breaks on his husband’s name, and Scott thanks the gods he stopped believing in a long time ago that it doesn’t.

“No,” Jimmy says. His voice is soft, gentle, almost as if Scott is a wounded animal that needs a delicate touch. “That’s not what I want to hear, not at all. I’d rather you be happy than love me.”

The words punch the air from Scott’s lungs, raw and soft and real. Scott is an excellent liar. Jimmy isn’t. Scott knows that Jimmy is telling the truth. What he doesn’t know is how to handle that level of devotion. He wonders again how Jimmy- sweet, genuine Jimmy who wears his heart on his sleeve and is hopelessly devoted to an elf who can’t be fully his- chose Scott of all people. Scott, who’s as bitter as Jimmy is sweet, who’s sarcastic and snarky and hasn’t been good enough for just about anything in his life. He certainly wasn’t good enough to save Jimmy, Scott thinks bitterly.

He shakes off the thought. “I buried you on the hill above our houses. I planted a poppy over your grave.”

“Oh.”

“Grian came over the next day. I didn’t want to see anyone who wasn’t you, but I let him in because I had to. He helped me do the straps on my armor and asked me if he could do anything else to make things easier. I told him to bury me next to you.”

“Did he?”

Scott almost laughs at the innocent question. “How would I know? Grian was honorable enough, though, loyal to his allies. I like to think he did.”

“He was a good guy,” Jimmy agrees. “A little bit bloodthirsty, I guess, but good. I don’t suppose he survived any better than the rest of us, though maybe being bloodthirsty helped.”

“Maybe.”

“Can I- can I ask you why you hate me so much now?” Jimmy’s tone is uncertain, hesitant and it hurts . “I mean, if you mourned me in third life and all.”

Scott looks away from his earnest gaze, but he can’t stop the truth slipping out. “I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t?” Jimmy asks, seemingly bewildered. “But you burned the pufferfish-”

“I didn’t. I kept it.” Scott doesn’t want to think about this, wants to say it even less. “I never hated you. I don’t think I’m capable of it.”

“Then why do you keep avoiding me?”

“I’ve been kind of busy dying,” Scott says wryly, unable to resist a bit of morbid humor at his own expense.

“Scott! That’s not funny!”

“It was a little funny.”

“No!”

Jimmy sounds genuinely distressed, and Scott drops the wry smile. “Jimmy, I’m an elf. I won’t live far beyond you, but only because I’ll fade without you.” It’s a simple statement. The truth, as much as he can give.

“So your solution is to isolate yourself and fade now?” Jimmy’s outrage is justifiable, but Scott just shrugs.

“It does sound stupid when you put it like that, doesn’t it?�� It really does. “But I lost you once, and I don’t think I could bear it again.”

A hand lands on Scott’s arm, and he turns, startled. Jimmy doesn’t give him time to react, throwing his arms around Scott and pulling him close. Scott almost lets out a very undignified squeak at the sudden contact, though he slowly relaxes into Jimmy’s hold.

He should pull away. He shouldn’t give Jimmy false hope like this. But Jimmy is so warm , and Scott is so unbearably cold. Every fiber of his being is screaming that this is what’s right; screw Rivendell and obligations and too-heavy crowns, Jimmy is home to him. He’s warm for the first time in months, and the most heartbreaking part is that it can’t last. He can’t do this again.

He pulls away, ignoring the painful hope on Jimmy’s face. “I’m sorry, Jimmy.” For the first time all conversation, his voice well and truly wobbles. “I can’t. Not again.”

“But-”

Scott shakes his head. “Losing you will destroy me. We dared to love, and now all we can do now is lessen the pain when it all comes crashing down.” The words are like glass in his throat, but he forces them out anyways. They have to be said.

Jimmy’s silent, and it hurts more than if Jimmy had yelled at him.

“Goodbye, Jimmy,” Scott manages, turning away before Jimmy can see the way his face twists in pain. He makes his retreat as quickly as possible, stumbling and nearly taking a tumble just before he reaches the door. Unlike before, there’s no helpful ex-husband there to catch him, to make sure he’s alright and ask a million questions until Scott’s forced to admit that he’s not okay and hasn’t been in a long time.

He fumbles with the latch, hands shaking and vision blurring. Finally, it clicks, and Scott stumbles inside and slams the door shut before sliding to the ground. He won’t cry. He won’t . He doesn’t love Jimmy, he can’t love Jimmy anymore. Jimmy was never meant to be his. They might have carved out a few precious moments, stolen them from the universe and giggled like kids with their hands in the cookie jar as they kissed amongst the flowers, but those brief moments were all they were ever going to be allowed. It was always going to end this way, Scott tells himself. There’s no use crying over a mortal who will be dead in the blink of an eye to an elf. What would his parents say? That this was typical of him, probably. Typical Scott, always wanting what he would never be able to have. Typical, predictable Scott, loving a mortal who shouldn’t be worth anything to him.

He’s crying. There are tears spotting his cyan robes, splashing onto the wood floors he worked so hard on. Scott rubs at his eyes furiously, but that only makes it worse, sobs shuddering through him and leaving him hollow and aching. He’s so cold . The ache in his chest has returned tenfold, stealing away his breath, and he curls further into himself, struggling for air.

He’s going to die. He is going to die , alone on the floor of his house because he fell for someone he couldn’t have. For all that he’s spent every minute since Jimmy’s death in 3rd life wishing for some way out of this cruel world, he’s terrified now that it seems inevitable. He’s scared in a way he hasn’t been in forever, breath coming quick and shallow. He's scared, and he is so, so tired of this ache that haunts him, the chill that he can never get rid of.

“Jimmy,” Scott whispers. There’s no way for the human to hear him, but the name brings him some comfort. “ Jimmy .” He wants his husband. He wants someone to hug him. He doesn’t want to fade away freezing and alone, no one there to hold his hand or reassure him that the pain will be over soon. Internally, he begs for someone, anyone who cares to come looking. To find him, even if they’re too late to save him. Someone. Anyone. Please.

No one comes, and Scott lays on his floor until his breathing steadies out again. His head spins when he forces himself to his feet, and he has to lean against the wall for a few moments. There’s no time for dramatics, he tells himself sternly. He has a kingdom to rule. He cannot afford to break over a mortal he never should have fallen for in the first place. He doesn’t love Jimmy anymore, he can’t .

(He’s lying. But Scott has always been an excellent liar, even when it’s to himself.)