#percy recognizes that its made him worse & he wants to be better for his friends & the world he intends to make better

[elliscousland]

thinking about how similar my two favorite muses i've ever written are. ellis & percival de rolo ( @xbadnews. ) i mean like they are both nobles who's families are betrayed & they go on a revenge kick about it but their journeys in that are so so so different. ellis is ultimately made worse by his journey, his morality shifts & he doesn't care about being better, he just wants to live. percy, on the other hand, recognizes what revenge did to him & spends his whole life atoning for it. it tickles my fancy i'll tell you what.

[percival-c-mcleach]

Haunted Not By Ghosts- a McLeach fic.

The atmosphere was as heavy and thick as smog, stuck in time. The house, the barn and the ramshackle sheds were worn down from years of neglect, the barn having been particularly hard hit by time, half of its body rotted and given way to mushrooms.

The house's exterior had once been blue, now stripped almost completely to its wood and brick, with speckles of paint the only indication of what it might had been. The windows were cracked, rusted with dust. Weeds had forced themselves up between the boards of the porch, nearly obscuring the wood. Hidden among the vegetation was a dog bowl, a bright firetruck red that had now faded to a dull pink in the blistering sun, the faintest of childish block writing had faded too much to be read.

Taking a shaky breath, McLeach surveyed his childhood home. For forty years, it had laid abandoned, but it felt just as forboding now as it did back then, if not worse. Anxiety roiled in the man's stomach as he forced himself up the sunken steps, feeling the wood groan beneath him.

Joanna followed her master's footsteps almost exactly, not trusting the structural integrity of the building. She watched as McLeach hesitated with the doorknob, as if it would suddenly come to life and bite him. He gave a gentle twist of the knob- no luck.

"Aw hell.." McLeach huffed, twisting the knob harder. He jiggled the door, but the ancient wood refused to give. He crouched to examine the old doggie door-one he used as his personal entrance to the house-but he was now too old and too round for such an endeavor. Joanna looked between him and the door, noticing his pointed look. She shook her head hurriedly-no way would she be able to fit through there, and she was not looking to get splinters in her sides. Letting loose a curse, McLeach kicked the door-and it popped open nearly effortlessly. Quickly shaking off his surprise, he shouldered the heavy oak the rest of the way open, coughing as a wave of musty air washed over them both.

Once natural sunlight fell over the place, McLeach felt his breath catch in his throat- sans a thick coating of dust, the hallway looked almost exactly as he remembered it being. It was as if the other three McLeaches hadn't left the house; most of the decor still hung in place, with the addition of cobwebs. The coat rack still held his father's old bag, four pairs of slippers lined up beneath the side table, waiting for owners who would never return.

The house felt haunted. Not in the way most people came to think of haunted houses, brimming with ghosts; haunted in the sense that you could feel everything that had happened in this place. The anxiety only grew stronger, the further the pair ventured in. The carpet had faded from direct sunlight, but the patches in the shade of the furniture still remained its dark green color. Dust rose in clouds as man and lizard ventured carefully down the hall, with Joanna trying her best to hold in her coughing.

The family portrait was still there, hanging above a boarded-up fireplace. McLeach didn't blame anyone for leaving it, it wasn't something you'd want to have in your house. The sepia-colored photograph was dust-covered, but the man could still feel the cold, hard glare of his father through it. He raised his hand to wipe away the dust. The first to emerge was his mother. Thin-faced and tired, with her dark hair pulled up in an untidy bun. In one arm she cradled the newly-born Casey in his thick wool blanket, the other dangled down, gently squeezing the hand of a seven-year-old Percival. He had been small back then, missing two of his front teeth and a head full of hair like his mother's, dark and messy. Rubbing away the rest of the dust, Mr. McLeach soon followed. Towering over his wife and children, not even the shadow from the brim of his hat could have hid the starkness of his unnaturally light eyes. His large hand had a rough grip on Percival's shoulder then, the man grimaced at the memory. He couldn't bring himself to look longer at his father than was necessary. Even in photographs, he seemed to be glaring directly at his eldest.

Feeling claws on his leg, McLeach glanced down to see Joanna attempting to raise herself higher, she wanted a view too. He scooped her up as one would a toddler, though with some difficulty given her hefty weight. "Ay, you know who that is?" McLeach smiled, pointing to his mother. Joanna tilted her head quizzically- the human woman looked very distinctively familiar, even though she knew they had never met. "That's your namesake," McLeach continued, "My mama, Joanna. I promised that I'd name my firstborn daughter after her...and well, you count, I guess." Joanna wasn't able to understand just how important that was, but she felt it was very, very important. She waggled her tail happily, inching her snout closer to the frame. She clearly recognized the young Percival, and let out a rasp that sounded much like a wheezing laugh. "Go ahead, you looked weird when you were a kid too." McLeach rolled his eyes. His arms had started to ache, and he set her back down. He continued down the hall, and froze for a brief moment when he came to the wall opposite the sitting room's entrance. Beneath a framed picture of Casey with his model airplane, a round hole was at shoulder-height, the impact having shredded and burnt the faded yellow wallpaper. "..Damn idiot didn't bother to get it fixed after I left, eh?" He scoffed, "You see this, Joanna? You can tell I didn't get my marksmanship from Pops. He couldn't hit the broad-side of a barn." A slightly alarmed chirrup arose from Joanna's throat as she realized what that hole was, but McLeach didn't seem bothered by it. He breezed past the bullet-hole and past the sitting room, after taking a quick glance inside and finding that the armchair and couch were overrun with a brackish mold.

The kitchen was small, and had once been cozy. The kitchen window had broken, and one of his mother's prized climbing rosebushes had wormed its way in, leaving a layer of generations of rotting petals over the linoleum. Nevertheless, the rosebush itself was thriving, its creamy white petals shining in the golden sunlight. Reaching out to touch, McLeach couldn't help but to pluck one of the roses off, holding it in his palm. He had forgotten how silky-soft the petals felt, and how sweet it smelled; he closed his eyes and inhaled, feeling a sharp pang in his middle. A sharp pang of an emotion he couldn't quite describe. It was happiness and sadness rolled into one, and it left an ache. The smell reminded him of sitting outside with his mother, tending to the rosebushes together; if a blossom had just fallen, his mother would pluck apart the petals and keep them in a jar, preserved in the icebox until she got around to making soap and hand-cream. McLeach opened his eyes. The strange emotion only grew. He dropped the rose onto the floor, to join the rest of the fallen flowers.

Joanna had gotten braver, and went ahead of the poacher. She still felt intimidated by the house; she seen that her owner was as well. It was odd, to see him so on edge in a place that was so familiar to him. Maybe if she showed she was brave, he'd feel better. Crawling up a set of stairs, she gazed down the dim hallway. Four doors, only one of them was left ajar. Curiosity got the better of her, and the goanna went to take a peek.

The bedroom looked as if its occupant had left in a hurry. She could still see old toys and picture books on the shelves, a small, rickety wooden bed with moth-eaten blankets neatly made, with a shapeless lump that at one point had been a teddy bear sitting atop the covers. The walls were wallpapered, though it was difficult to tell what color they had been, for it was now all a dull grey. The posters on the walls were faded yellow, with vague shapes of rubberhose cartoon characters etched onto them.

Hearing McLeach wheeze his way to the top of the stairs, Joanna looked over her shoulder, and sat outside the door until McLeach could join her. He leant in the doorway of his old bedroom, soaking in the scene. After what seemed like minutes, he finally walked into the room, slow and quiet.

The thing of interest for McLeach were the picture albums on one of his shelves. The ones left exposed to the sun were faded-but maybe these were saved. He grabbed on and flipped it open, feeling a large lump rise in his throat when he seen that they were untouched. Smelled a little mildewy, but were still visible. He choked down the lump, flipping through each page slowly, wanting to savor every picture. His baby brother in his bassinet, wearing a goofy-looking baby bonnet. Flip. Their old dog, Blueberry, sleeping on the rug in the sitting room, a chewbone lolling out of his mouth. Flip. A photo of his parents on their wedding day, both looking much younger and happier than he had ever remembered them seeing; Mr. McLeach had looked kinder then, gazing at his bride with all the love and adoration that a husband was supposed to have for his life partner. Flip. His childhood friend, Ruby, sitting with the nine-year-old Percy on the river's rocks, holding baby ducklings. Flip. Flip. Flip.

These were happy memories; why did his heart ache so much looking at them? He shouldn't feel like this, looking back on what were the happier years of his life. Flip. Flip.

Percival's heart sank to the bottom of his stomach.

Of course there had to be pictures of Mr. Wells in here; back then, the McLeaches considered him as good as family. A tall, scrawny, unassuming man with shoulder-length brown hair, who had kindly and selflessly looked after Joanna and the boys while Mr. McLeach was away in the army- a second father figure, the reliant one, one who wouldn't yell and scream at the smallest of slights. After spending the summer with Mr. Wells as a boy, Percival wished he had stayed home. At least his father didn't play mind games with him, and when he hurt him, it was out of rage, and not premeditated. Not passed off as accidents that were all Percival's own fault. Not passed off as something he deserved, for something he couldn't even recall doing. The picture seemed so innocent. Just a kindly man with the boy he called his honorary son, on the back of a old mule at the fair. Percival knew better; he knew that under his child self's sweater was a nasty deep bruise, a bruise that hurt for weeks. Mr. Wells had claimed it had been an accident, that he hadn't meant to swing the shovel so hard into him. It was Percival's fault, for sneaking up on him like that.

'You'll be hurting for a while, Percy..' He could still hear that soft voice, too soft to note any real remorse, 'You frightened me something awful...I guess we learned our lesson on sneaking up on people, didn't we?'

We. As if it was a lesson they both learnt. As if it wasn't just one of the many thinly-veiled excuses used to hurt him. As if he didn't do worse, as if he did not permanently scar him physically and mentally. As if he didn't one day stop giving his excuses, once Percival had gotten too old to fall for them. As if it was the both of them having a knife held to the soft skin of their throat. As if it were the both of them who had to endure a full day and night in the skinning shed, surrounded by the dead, staring eyes of hogs. As if it were the both of them who had to endure nightmares, long after the torment had stopped.

It had always been 'We'. Never a 'I'm sorry.' It was always 'You.'

He had been brave only once. Brave enough to go to his father for help. How foolish of Percival to believe that his father would have stood up for his son. He never did such a thing before. The entire ordeal had been Percival's fault-his fault for being too stubborn, too much of a brat. If he had behaved better, Wells wouldn't have resorted to harsher punishments-it had been his fault he was treated so poorly.

For once, Percival stood up for himself.

Mrs. McLeach had tried to deescalate the fight. Mr. McLeach found himself with a broken nose, as Percival helped Joanna off the floor and out of the room. He only heard the safety click off before he had dove down the hall, sprinting from the door and into the night. "DON'T YOU EVER COME HOME!" For forty years he stayed away.

The strangled scream had terrified Joanna spitless. The goanna had been nosing around underneath McLeach's old bed, when her master emitted a sound so animalistic, that for a moment she feared that a big-cat had been hiding somewhere in the room. She immediately balled herself against the corner as the photo album was flung into the desk hard enough to shatter the frail wooden handle. The lump was back in McLeach's throat again, tighter and more painful than before, forcing tears to swell and blur his vision. His breathing came in ragged gasps, trying to keep the deep pain in his middle from winning. He crouched where he had stood, clenching his hands so tight that he felt as though they may break. He shouldn't be getting upset over this. He shouldn't be getting this upset over a goddamn picture.

It had been forty years. Why does it still hurt so bad? Why does it still feel so fresh?

The sudden warm weight crawling onto his lap tore him back into the present. Joanna scrambled as far up on him as she could. Percival hugged her as tight as he could, until his heart rate slowed back to normal, until he could breathe without choking. "Thanks." His voice was barely more than a croak. He took his bandana to dry his eyes with, "I'm sorry..I just.." he couldn't explain what had happened. Joanna understood though. She gently headbutted his shoulder, before slithering off of him and towards the photo album, picking it up in her jaws. McLeach took it from her, holding it in his lap. He'd tear out the pictures he wanted to keep, and leave the rest to rot in this forsaken house. The sun had just started to set as they made their way back to the truck, parked in the barren field next to the rotting barn. McLeach didn't even bother to give the house one last look before they drove off. Maybe now hadn't been the right time to come back. Maybe there never would be a 'right time.' Eventually, something had to be done about the place. Maybe he'd torch that haunted house to the ground. A house haunted, not by ghosts.

[thebigqueer]

Can you do an au where Percy dies in Tartarus and Nico is absolutely devastated and Will helps him accept that he's dead?(fluff+ angst? Idrk) Sorry if it's a lot and you can't do it. Love your writing btw, you're really talented💕

"Plant Your Roots and Grow" - Solangelo - One-Shot

Summary: (basically the ask lol) written for the free day for @solangeloweek !!

Notes: I started falling asleep while editing this so if it sounds bad... sorry lol. Also I'm not sure if this is exactly what you wanted, anon, but I hope you like it nonetheless!

Word Count: 1980

Read on AO3

Nico gazes out into the water, trying his best to ground himself with the sound of the lake. White sand prickles underneath his feet and hands, and a wave of cool ease falls over him, but that doesn’t stop the anxiety that trickles down his back any time he closes his eyes to blink.

All he can see is Percy’s ghostly face, screaming as his life drains from his very body.

Nico wasn’t there when Percy died in Tartarus. He knows he couldn’t even have saved him, but that doesn’t mean that he feels any better. Any time he thinks about the late demigod, grief seizes Nico’s heart like a vice. He could have done something.

When Nico came back to camp, his guilt relaxed a little. He took time to himself and prepared to take on the biggest challenge he’d ever had to take - to spend time for himself. And for a while, it worked. His mind wandered into a temporary bliss. He learned to love, to care, to be himself again.

But then the dreams started coming. Memories of Percy dying, screams of terror, the scent of hot, sour air. Terror gripped Nico at night; fear crawled down his throat and stripped him of his dignity. He could barely find the will to get up in the morning. All that he could even think about was Percy, Percy, Percy.

It’s been months, but still Nico can’t let go of him. He can’t accept his death.

The son of Hades sighs as a brush of wind strokes his face. The blue sky above blends into a pink hue, and with a sudden chill, Nico realizes that evening is approaching soon.

He doesn’t want it to be dark already. He’s not ready to face the shadows.

Nico pulls his knees to his chest and bows his head, curling himself into a ball. His body shudders as a deep, shaky breath releases from his chest, and his fingers twitch and shiver as another gust of wind blows past. Tears press against Nico’s throat and prickle in his eyes, but he tries his best not to let them fall.

He can’t fall apart. Not right now.

A soft crunching sound rumbles behind him, and in surprise, Nico twists around to meet his intruder. A golden human emerges onto the beach, gleaming like bronze under the orange sun. Nico blinks as he tries to outline the figure, but when he realizes who it is, a warm, soothing warmth overcomes his system.

“Will,” he whispers over the lapping water. “What are you doing here?”

The gleaming human points his blue gaze to Nico’s dark eyes, and for a second, Nico almost swears the world around him stops spinning. It’s only him and Will, drifting in the silence, absorbing each other’s presence.

Then Will settles down next to Nico, his arm brushing against the son of Hades’ as he does so, and he offers a shrug. “I thought maybe you’d want company.” His eyebrows arch in concern. “How are you? Are the dreams getting worse?”

Nico sighs and scrubs his hands over his face in exasperation. “Yeah,” he mutters. “It’s like… like he’s calling for me now. Like he’s asking me to come save him.”

Will winces. “What does Dionysus say about this? Does he think your dreams are… real?”

Nico turns his gaze back to the waters, eyes reflecting the sorrowful blue of the lake. “He thinks it’s definitely something that means something. Whether they’re real or not… I’m not really sure.”

“Do you think that maybe it’s Percy who’s calling you down to Tartarus?”

Nico shrugs and bites his lip, trying his best to force the tears back down. “I- I don’t know. I don’t think so. I felt his life force slip away. I don’t think he’s the one calling for me.”

Will nods solemnly, turning his own gaze out to the sea. Together, the boys stare off into the distance, allowing the chirping of birds to crack the air and letting the soft breeze of the lake whisper against their skin. Will’s hand snakes through the sand and touches Nico’s gently. After a second of hesitance, Nico allows Will to hold onto him.

“Nico,” Will murmurs, “do you think it’s possible that Percy’s showing up in your dreams because… you haven’t let go yet?”

Something hot and painful slices Nico through his core. His hands turn to ice, and his heartbeat quickens its pace. Nico’s body hums with some kind of excitement, some kind of giddiness as Will’s words trickle over him.

“I…” Nico sighs desperately, considering how to answer. “Maybe. I guess.” He groans. “I don’t know, Will! I just… I don’t know anymore.”

And, suddenly, it’s as if someone’s dropped a bomb over Nico’s feelings. His emotions burst from the dam he’s built up; his body shakes with each sob that racks through it. Tears trail over his cheeks like shimmering cracks and slip through his fingers, and he’s leaking all over, pouring his sadness and grief out into the world. His fingers tangle into his dark hair and brush against his feverish forehead, and his ears turn red and hot as each sob cracks into the open air.

“I’m losing control,” he murmurs through the tears. “I don’t know what I want from me. Why am I still thinking about him? I saw him die when I was on the Argo II. I’ve already accepted that I liked him. I’m supposed to move on, but I’m not. Why can’t I just grow from this? Why is he tying me to my past?”

Will watches Nico with apprehension, considering how to act. He’s better with physical wounds than anything; emotional pain isn’t something he can take care of. But nevertheless, his heart aches at the sight of his boyfriend so broken and deprived of his dignity.

He’s cracking.

After another beat of hesitation, Will shifts closer. His body pusles next to Nico’s, and as his arm touches the other boy’s elbow, Nico looks up. His obsidian eyes are lined with the red hue of grief, and crystal tears tear through his cheeks.

Will’s own lip trembles at the sight of Nico. He pushes his hand closer into the son of Hades’, filling any holes or gaps between them. He wants to offer Nico any warmth that he can, to give him any semblance of comfort he can muster.

“I don’t know what it’s like to be you, Nico,” he says nervously, watching his boyfriend’s expression. “But… I know it can be hard to deal with things that have hurt you. Especially when that thing is the death of a friend.” A shaky sigh slips through Will’s lips, and he turns his gaze to the waters ahead, hoping to find solace in the rhythm of the blue ripples. “When I lost Michael and Lee… I lost myself, too. I felt like two important pieces of my identity had just… left. I broke apart. I didn’t know who I was. I kept holding on to the idea of them, hoping that if I just kept them in my heart, they’d never truly have to leave.” Will sighs again as a pang of grief strikes his heart at the thought of his deceased brothers. “I kept them because I didn’t want to lose them. I thought if I let go of them… then I’d permanently recognize that they weren’t a part of my family anymore, and I never wanted to do that.”

Nico stares at Will, his eyes glassy with tears. “How did you move on?”

“I just… I took some time for myself. I decided that instead of trying to hold on, maybe it was time to finally confront my grief for what it truly was. I talked to Dionysus, I talked to my siblings, I talked to friends.” Will pauses, considering how to continue. “I think my biggest issue was that I was afraid letting them go meant I was going to pretend they never existed. But really, it just meant I wasn’t going to tie myself to them anymore. I wasn’t going to align my entire grief and personality and actions on people who were dead. It didn’t mean I was going to forget their entire existence and move on - it just meant I was going to detach myself from making all my decisions about them.”

Nico allows Will’s words to pour into his ears and drown over his heart. He turns his gaze to their interlocked fingers, and at the sight of Will’s tan skin mixed with Nico’s own olive tone, his chest blooms with a soft, comfortable warmth.

He’s not alone.

Nico takes a deep breath, waiting for the right words to fill into his mouth. “I… I had a lot of trouble with accepting Bianca’s death,” he whispers, rubbing his finger over Will’s thumb. “I kept holding on to the thought of her. I went as far as to try to bring her back to life. I guess for me it was… I was scared I was going to lose an important part of my past. I was going to lose another person who was incredibly important to me, who had been with me through everything. I was scared of that.” He sighs. “With Percy, I just don’t want to accept that he’s gone. He’s one of the best heroes of our century. Letting him go means… means he isn’t truly here anymore.” He shakes his head as another wave of tears overwhelms his chest. “I don’t want him to not be here anymore. He was such an important piece of demigod history. He’s made an impact on so many lives.”

Will’s eyebrows arch in concern once more. He slips his hand out of Nico’s and stretches an arm out tentatively, asking silent permission to hold his boyfriend. Nico stares at the tan skin of Will's arm, and after a moment’s hesitation, he lets himself indulge into the comfort of the blond’s warmth. Will falls over Nico’s shoulder, and the latter leans into the blond’s side, allowing himself to submerge under the weight of his grief.

Will’s fingers linger over Nico’s shoulder, brushing against his skin softly in an attempt to comfort him. “I know it’s hard, especially knowing your history together,” he murmurs. “It can be really difficult to let go of someone who you’ve had such a strong emotional connection to.” Will shifts his gaze to face Nico’s head-on. Sincerity bleeds into the rim of his eyes. “But you’re not going to immediately get over it. It takes a lot of time and healing. You’re not going to wake up one day and decide you’re okay. Everyone feels and heals a little differently, and that’s okay.” A soft, encouraging smile lingers over his lips. “But you’ve got me, and Dionysus, and your other friends. You don’t need to be alone in this, Nico. Not anymore.”

Nico nods, but his gaze seems faraway, reaching for something in the past. Though he’s solid and real in Will’s embrace, his soul is dissolving internally, bleeding out into the world around him and leaving him as a hollow shell.

He’s not quite existing in this moment.

Nevertheless, he accepts Will’s words. As worthless as they feel to him right now, he knows Will’s advice is helpful - he’s trying his best, and he’s right, too. Nico needs time to forgive and move on. He just needs time to grow.

He sighs and brushes a few tears from his face. Leaning his head against Will’s shoulder, he whispers, “Thanks, Will. That… means a lot.”

The water around them continues lapping and overwhelming the white border of sand in front of them. Another breeze flits by, and birds continue chirping. The world goes on moving and growing around them.

Maybe it’s time for Nico to plant his roots and grow, too.

[enkelimagnus]

A Castle in the Forest

Percy x Vex’ahlia, Chapter 8, 4107 words,

A Modern AU, in which Vex is a park ranger taking over the Alabaster Sierras post, and finds much more than she bargained for

Read on AO3

Daddy issues, emotional breakdowns and rash decisions

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

Snow falls almost continuously for the next day or so, covering the forest and the mountains in blinding white. Every time Vex goes onto the look-out post over the cabin, may it be to clear the path for eventual work or to actually check on her surroundings, she finds herself unable to tell white stone from snow.

Her eyes meet an endless ocean of white, she’s forced to wear sunglasses when the rays bounce off of the snow and ice and blind anyone trying to watch the surrounding nature. It’s breathtaking.

She spends as long as she can on the lookout post, sometimes alone or sometimes with Vax. The endless white makes her feel incredibly small. When she’s alone, the only thing across the valley from her is the castle, in its white glory. It doesn’t loom the way it does when it rains. It stands, proud and tall.

Whitestone exhales in winter. It chases away the heaviness. The sky is bluer right now than she’s ever seen it here. Syngorn doesn’t get this beautiful in winter, it gets drab and wet and disagreeable. Whitestone thrives in the snow. Vex finds herself exhaling with it, breathing hard and free in the cold.

It’s exhilarating, the way the air almost hurts when you breathe it. She wants to stay here forever.

She’s spent a few early morning hours watching the sunrise on the lookout post, black sky turning to gorgeous colors and the winter sun making the white come to life suddenly. It goes from darkness to light so fast it’s almost dizzying. But she can’t stand forever watching. She’s getting a little too frozen for comfort, and she has other things to do.

She climbs down the almost frozen ladder, careful of where she steps and how she grabs. She makes it back down with no issue. The warmth of the cabin envelops her as she steps into it. It stings her fingers and feet a little as warmth and blood comes rushing back in. She busies herself making coffee in the morning, puts the aluminum pot on the stove.

Vax is still asleep, curled up on himself a little. His hair has gotten free of the tie at some point during the night and it’s going to be a bitch to entangle. She can already hear his whines as she brushes out the tangles. He’s always been sensitive when it comes to his scalp. It would be easier if he cut his hair, really, but he will probably kill her before he does that.

Like this, with his hair covering his ears, he looks almost full-blooded. Vex swallows.

She hates those thoughts. They’re not hers. They’re the ones of the Syngornian elves. They’re the echoes of their comments, of their looks, of their whispers. They’re the memories of their father’s very words when they first arrived. He’d watched them so critically, observed their ears and their hair and their faces, searching for where the human ended and where the elf began. He hadn’t found what he’d wanted, of course.

The disappointment and contempt in his eyes at the moment he’d realized that they would never be mistaken for anything other than what they were is carved into her mind forever.

Maybe that’s one of the reasons Vax never wanted to cut his hair.

No, that couldn’t be it. Vax isn’t her. He was somehow much stronger than she was when it came to their father and Syngorn. He hated them, was clear about it and had given up on their approval years ago. Now he just lives his life and flips them off both literally and figuratively every single day.

Vex isn’t the same. She never could shake the desire to make Syldor Vessar proud. She never could shake the desire to be part of Syngorn, of its society, of the culture. Still now, it comes to her sometimes, the question of whether he cares about what she’s doing. Whether he’s proud of her.

She knows he isn’t. She’s not a full-blooded daughter, she’s not part of Syngornian society, she didn’t take to the education he tried to give her. She was supposed to become part of the courts, to look and act noble-born. She wasn’t supposed to sneak out of the house at night to go run in the woods for hours, sometimes even days. She still could dance well, she could cast a couple of spells, could carve woods and care for leather and saw if needed, she knew how to put her hair up the most appropriate way, knew how to apply makeup in fashion, but she wasn’t noble in any way. She wasn’t a good daughter.

She admits it has gotten easier since Velora, his new daughter, their half-sister, came along. She’s now the full-blooded perfect daughter. There’s no expectation on Vex and Vax anymore, just sighs and demands of good behavior, of not tainting the Vessar name further, as if they were responsible for their own existence, as if he wasn’t the one who conceived them. But Vex doesn’t feel any better.

She feels worse actually. Being discarded can be worse than being a disappointment. When they set fire to the Shademurk Bog and she couldn’t leave her own room for days, terrified and in pain, wounded in more ways than one, all he did was barge into the room and yell at her for endangering an important alliance with the Fey. In that moment, she realized she didn’t matter to anyone anymore but Vax.

And it still hurts, a slowly pulsing, forever seeping, ugly wound, that remains even when the ones Saundor had gifted her with are healing. She knows she’s stupid to care so much about a man that never loved her. But what else is she supposed to do?

The coffee pot starts gurgling and she turns back to it. Vax stirs in the bed, warm and almost soft this early in the morning, when thoughts and memories have yet to come to his mind. Vex busies herself with eggs and bread as he sits up groggily.

“Early riser,” he mumbles. “How long have you…”

“A couple of hours,” Vex shrugs and grabs two of the metal plates and puts them on the table, next to two mugs for coffee. “Did some work and made you breakfast.” She reaches to flip the toast over on the pan. It takes a lot of attention to toast bread that way. She enjoys it though.

Vax huffs and gets out of bed, stretching a little and walking over to the table and the food she’s now putting there.

“What’s the program for today?” He asks, as he reaches for his bag.

Vex follows his arm and raises an eyebrow. “Hmm… We should probably hunt while the weather is pleasant. It could start snowing and just not stop for a while and finding meat then will be a struggle.” She points out.

Vax ruffles through his bag before he takes out a couple of little pouches and a glass vial. The spices and vinegar Vex requested.

“Well that sounds fun. Do you want me to come?” He puts the spices on the table with a smile towards her.

“I’m probably going to need some extra hands to get it back,” she points out. “Unless you want to wait for my text and then come get me, you should probably come along. Besides, some time in nature will do you good.”

Vax puts on a falsely offended hair, hand going from the coffee-filled mug to clutching his chest. “That feels like an insult, stubby.”

Vex reaches over and taps his cheek slightly. “You’re pale. You spend too much time in city shadows.” She shrugs. “They won’t recognize you when you go back home. All tan and full of winter air.”

Vax nods quietly, looking down at the mug. He’s usually not that quiet when she mentions his lifestyle, especially disapprovingly. Something’s up, she can tell. He leans back a little, still staring at his cup. The coffee is steaming hot, and he seems to be fixated on the patterns the steam is making in the air between them.

She leaves him in the silence for a moment. Vax doesn’t like when people push for information, even her. And she had toast to watch. She finishes watching the toast right when the eggs on the other pan are done.

She piles the toast on a plate and turns around with the pan to put the eggs in their plates. Vax has shifted slightly, a hand up to his face, fingers against his brow bones. He looks preoccupied by whatever it is that’s not making him snap back at her.

When she finally sits down, he exhales and looks up at her.

“I can’t go home,” he says quietly. “Not to Syngorn.”

Vex frowns a little, leaning away from her chair a little bit. “Did something happen?”

Vax looks away from her, swallowing. She doesn’t like this at all. Bitter dread starts pooling in her stomach.

“Father doesn’t want either of us around Velora,” he says after a moment. “He’s made sure we weren’t welcome home anymore. We won’t be able to make it through the door of the house. And…” He stops, sighing. “I think he made sure the people I usually hang with would push me away too.”

Vex sits shell-shocked in her chair. The eggs and toast and coffee are all growing cold, but so is her heart, right now.

She should have expected it. She should have known. When she left for Whitestone, she’d made sure to let Velora know that she didn’t have to be what he wanted her to be. That she could run and fall and come back home with bloody knees. That she could punch anyone who bothered her, no matter how highborn. That she didn’t need to be a perfect elven daughter. Syldor had been furious. He’d basically slammed the door behind her.

Vax takes a piece of paper out of his pocket and slides it over the table. It’s cut roughly and the words on it are messy. Elvish. Don’t come back. It’s not their father’s handwriting, nor is it Devana’s, his wife. She guesses from Vax’s pained eyes that it’s from one of his so-called friends.

“What are you going to do?” She asks after a moment. “Do you still have things there?”

Vax shakes his head. “Nothing important. All I have is here, right now.” He points his chin towards the bag next to the bed. It’s small. “There’s some of your things too,” he points out. “I thought you’d want them here… I didn’t know then we wouldn’t be back.”

Vex’s head is spinning. A second piece of paper is put on the table. This time, the paper is beautiful, the handwriting perfect, and it’s signed by Syldor himself. Her eyes skim over it. The gist of it is the same as the other paper. The house next to the tower, the deep green velvet of the bed canopy.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” she asks. She wishes she didn’t sound as remorseful as she does.

“You seemed happy,” Vax shrugs. “I didn’t want to ruin that.”

Fuck, they’re alone now. Truly alone. Their mother is dead, their father wishes they were dead, they have no one and they have nothing and they don’t have a home. Tears burn as they rise in her eyes, as she tries to shove them down.

“I’m gonna stay here a little,” Vax continues. “And then I’m going to go to Westruun and stay with Gilmore until…”

Until what? Until he changes his mind? Until she stops wanting to stay in Whitestone? Until they grab a map, close their eyes, drop a coin and see where it lands, where they decide home will be?

“We’ll be fine,” she whispers, but she doesn’t believe it.

Why did he have to overhear her telling Velora to be rebellious? Why couldn’t she shut her fucking mouth and not try and bring Velora into the terrible path she’s on? Why couldn’t she be the daughter Syldor wanted? She hadn’t tried hard enough, and now, now it was too late.

She’s never good enough for anyone.  

There’s a nudge against her leg. She looks down and sees Trinket. He’s making little noises, obviously aware of her distress, but she hasn’t heard them. She hasn’t heard a thing. The egg looks cold and congealed now.

She swallows. “I need to go and get meat for Trinket and us,” she says after a moment. “I need… to go and think.” She points out. “Maybe you shouldn’t come.”

Suddenly, they’re back to being teenagers, grieving and angry. All that Vex wants to do is go and run through the woods until she forgets where she’s from, until she forgets the weight of who she has to be. And Vax nods, the way he did fifteen years ago.

“I think I’ll go to the city again,” he says quietly. “Walk around.”

The same thing he’d do when they were teenagers. He’d stay in Syngorn, sneak around on the rooftops while Vex ran. At the end of the day, they haven’t changed. They’re 28, and yet they’re still the same broken-hearted thirteen year olds that ran out of Syldor’s house that first time.

Vex nods quietly. She stands and reaches for her quiver, strapping it to her thigh. She gets everything else ready, bundling herself up for the oncoming hunt in the cold. As her fingers close around her usual bow, her mind drifts to Fenthras, still hidden under her bed. She shoves the thought away. She’s not worthy of that weapon.

The door of the cabin slams in the silence. She’s greeted by blinding snow. Her instincts yell at her to run and she does.

She takes off running the second she passes the first ring of trees around the clearing. Her lungs burn with exhaustion as well as the icy air. The snow crutches underneath her feet. She runs for a while, until she feels like she’s miles away from the cabin. Her foot catches on a hidden branch and she tumbles down, knees and hands hitting the packed snow.

Her pants are wet and cold and her wrists and knees hurt from the impact but she stays there. She wants to scream and she wants to cry and suddenly, she’s 13 again. She’s 13 and howling at the moon because her mother is dead, her father hates her, and the only person that loves her is as broken as she is.

The moon is not out, it’s the middle of the morning and the sun is shining, but still she howls. Her ears ring with the strength of her own screams. If anyone hears her, they’ll think she’s a wounded animal. It’s fitting.

She’s a wounded animal, hands and knees in the snow, knees numb, face burning with a thousand needles and she screams. Her body is wracked with sobs and screams, she wants to break, she wants to sleep. She’s so tired. She’s so mad. She punches at wet cold snow. It’s packed dense and it hurts her fist as she rages.

She’s ridiculous, isn’t she? She’s an adult woman, and she’s sobbing now because her father won’t love her. Fuck. She wishes her hands were claws in the snow. It’s all so white. She wishes she could stop thinking.

It’s too cold to be out there on the ground, crying. This is ridiculous. Her hands are getting numb, and so are her feet. She lets herself fall into the snow, curls up on herself. She’s still shaking and crying, but she’s not screaming anymore. She’s too tired.

Her sobs eventually quiet, her body stops shaking. She’s just breathing now, harder than before, out of breath from her crisis. She’s cold. The snow has wetted her clothing and the parts of her body not covered by several layers are damp. Her hair is wet too, after she’s just spent gods know how many minutes curled up in the snow.

She doesn’t have any other option than to get up, hunt, and go back to the cabin. And then… She doesn’t know. As long as she can keep her post here in Whitestone, she has somewhere to be. She has a house, she has an income, she has a purpose. As long as she doesn’t find herself in a situation here, she’ll be fine.

Nothing like Saundor can happen again. She doesn’t have Syngorn to go back to anymore, in case something happens. There’s no more emergency exit. This is all she has. She exhales. Fuck. She doesn’t have anywhere to run to.

Gilmore’s nice, but she doesn’t belong there. That’s Vax’s emergency exit. She’ll only take space.

She just needs to be very good at her job. She needs to be indispensable to Whitestone and to the Alabaster Sierras park. She needs to stop making waves and asking questions. She’ll settle there, do her work, and let everyone forget that she’s anything but useful and discreet.

Vex exhales, closing her eyes and trying to calm herself down. Her heart is still pounding in her chest. She needs to shove down the hurt and anger at her father, the panic when she thinks of having to leave Whitestone. She needs to focus on her job.

She forces herself to center, to melt into her primeval sensing abilities. She needs to do her job right.

It’s far from as smooth as the last time. She doesn’t let herself breathe her awareness through her pores, instead, she throws it out of herself in rage, still a little shaky from her crisis. She pushes it out of her skull, out of her body, like she doesn’t want anything to do with it. Her mind tangles with the forest and digs into it, searching, hungry, a predator.

A howling monster of a mind shoves itself through the forest, in search of prey. There’s no fey. Relief floods into her, despite herself. She didn’t think he was a big player in her current state, but isn’t he always? Hasn’t he been a player of her crisis for the past five years?

She tastes ash again. Fiend. No.

She failed. She fucking failed. There were more than one and she missed one. It’s there, it’s violent and it makes her want to scream again.

She snaps back into her body and hits the ground again. Fuck. She failed in the one job she had to do. She’s useless here, isn’t she? She’s useless everywhere, after all. To everyone.

No. Fuck that. Fuck the fiend. Fuck Syldor Vessar and fuck Saundor. Fuck everyone.

She grabs her bow and starts running again, in the general direction of where she sensed the fiend.

She’s out there for what feels like hours, running, hunting. She’s hungry now, exhausted. She’s a little in pain too, and she doesn’t have time for that. She emerges out of the woods and onto a path that she immediately recognizes. She looks up.

Above her stands the blindingly white architecture of Castle Whistestone. She’s on Keyleth’s trail, where she originally found the fiend.

She focuses again. It’s much closer now, and it seems to be straight ahead of her. Except ahead of her is the stone of the rock formation on which the castle was built. There’s nothing there. How can the fiend be in there?

Vex’s eyes scan over the rock, searching for something, anything that will make sense. She’s desperate. She wants to succeed in something, one thing. She wants to find the fiend and kill it. She needs to.

The rock seems to be looser than the rest, smaller rocks shoved one on top of the other in a way that is unlike the rest of the stone around her. There’s a couple bushes in front of it, probably trying to mask the inconsistency. Except in between the two is a space for one thin half-elf druid to go through.

The issue with visiting the same spot every month and being the only one known to use that path is that it’s obvious to see where you disturbed the natural arrangement of wilderness. Vex knows Keyleth went through there. She knows her fiend is close. There’s no other explanation. Keyleth wasn’t smart enough to fool her.

She manages to move some rocks out of the way, though it takes her a while. She’s determined, and time is nothing important to her right now. She’s solely focused on finding what the fuck Keyleth has been hiding from her.

A tunnel opens in front of her. She takes a step forward. There’s not going back now, isn’t it? She waits for a second as her eyes adjust to the darkness.

The ground seems dry, preserved from the weather. A few feet further in, Vex can spot the remains of a small fire. Someone has camped here. She swallows. It doesn’t seem very used. There are some footsteps in the dust and dirt. Vex swallows. Maybe… maybe she should go get Vax. She isn’t far inside and she might need back-up.

But she doesn’t want him to rescue her again. She needs to be useful, by herself. He’s not always going to be by her side in battle, and she needs to do it by herself. She doesn’t want him there. She’s not a damsel, fuck. She’s strong.

She starts walking down the tunnel. It isn’t very long. A few hundred feet at most. The minimal light from outside quickly disappears however, and Vex finds herself walking in the dark. With a quick motion and whisper, she casts Pass Without a Trace. She’s going to surprise that monster.

She eventually reaches a partially crumbled wall, about a foot thick. A large statue has been moved away from the crumbled part. It had probably been used to hide the hole. This is not just a tunnel, this is a secret tunnel, on many levels. Vex looks back behind herself. She can’t see the entrance anymore.

She walks through the hole and into a storage room. Once again, it’s full of dust, with a single path going from the hole in the wall to the door. Whoever is going through this passage - and she guesses it’s Keyleth - doesn’t stop to check the dust-covered crates stacked into the room.

The door itself is closed, but it doesn’t hold to Vex’s skills. She’s learned to pick locks from Vax, and she’s become pretty good at it over the years. The lock clicks as it turns, and she takes a deep breath before opening it.

The room is plunged into darkness. It’s much larger than the storage room, divided into two paths, one going on the right and the other on the left of a central section. She sneaks in closer and she sees metal bars and the glint of chains. It’s a dungeon.

Vex’s breath itches. She shouldn’t be here alone. Fuck, what is she doing? She takes a step back. She’s being stupid. Her fucking pride and her fucking issues are getting in the way. This is not what being useful looks like. She turns around and starts walking back to the door when a light hissing sound reaches her ears.

She was supposed to be stealthy. Fuck, this is where she dies, isn’t it?

She turns around, quietly. Better to be seeing whatever is behind her. She’s supposed to be the one taking monsters by surprise, not the other way around.

A light turns on, deeper in, and flickers. Shadows pool over the floor, waves upon waves of dark smoke. It almost seems to stick to the stone of the walls. It overwhelms the space of the corridor, coming towards Vex. She should be running. Why is she frozen in place?

Footsteps hit the stone floor. They’re light, but Vex has sharp senses. Even with the light hissing of the dark smoke, she can hear those steps getting closer. Two feet, unless some are more silent.

They come out of the smoke like a nightmare. They’re tall and pale, surrounded in black, the smoke seeping out of their nostrils and mouth and eyes, of their hands. It pours out of them, sick and brutal and hissing at her.

A humanoid, with pale hair and glasses and one eye blue and one eye black. Something ugly twists inside of them as they twitch, head tilting to stare at her. The blue eye blinks but not the other one. It’s a deranged sort of wink.

“Well, hello, there. Who are you?”

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 118: Christmas on the Closed Ward

The walls were the same shade of amber as her eyes. The duvet on the bed was a faded unicorn pattern from her childhood she should have been embarrassed at everyone seeing.

Potter was admiring her poster of The Three Toads he'd landed in front of, grinning in surprise they had at least similar taste in music it seemed.

Regulus was prodding a lava lamp her dad had gifted her, but she couldn't even watch the blue and yellow goo go up and down.

The bedroom was opulent, none of them even landed within arm's reach of each other, Remus noticed gratefully as he quickly brushed at his eyes and was grateful he'd gotten himself together.

The carpet was solid gold, and very fluffy, as Padfoot landed on it with only a huff.

Instead she was gasping, shuddering, and generally falling to pieces as it caught up to her where they'd been trapped. 'You're being ridiculous,' her mind coolly informed her. 'You didn't even flinch when you found this out, why are you crying now?'

Because being told she was insane in this future and not having contact with her son was different than being trapped in that ward like they'd just been! They were out now, she kept telling herself, but it didn't feel like it. They were still trapped in this mess. They couldn't go to their next class and keep whispering or passing notes like there was no world outside the school, or go hunt down Barty Crouch Jr., Bellatrix, Rabastan, and Rodolphus Lestrange right now to cease this from ever being a possibility. Stuck in this limbo, it really hit her she didn't want to be strong anymore. She just wanted to cry.

Had Frank's mother refused to bring Neville there, or brought him every other weekend to people who didn't even recognize him? Which was worse? What of her mother and father? Every detail of that place felt burned into her brain as she once again found herself stuck on the fact it had been Frank's family photos about, had she any family left that hadn't all been killed in some gruesome way, or in the bed next to her?

"Alice, darling, what-" Frank tripped over himself trying to get to her, pulling her tight to his chest as his mind floundered why she'd be having such a severe reaction to Harry Potter's dilemma. Yeah, being possessed by You-Know-Who was awful in its own right, but she'd been the most vehement since the beginning this wasn't a future set in stone for any of them.

He pulled gently until they were sitting on the bed which Lily quickly vacated, having landed on it and studying pictures on the ceiling in surprise before she realized what she was seeing. Alice and a woman who must be her mother, the two in matching dark pigtails and laughing. Alice and a man with her amber eyes trying to lick ice cream from their own noses.

Now she was forced to watch as tears kept falling from her eyes with no clue what had caused it any more than Frank's wild look around for some sort of cause.

"Guess it wouldn't help her to feel better if I said I think her room looks cool," Potter offered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Lily wanted to hex him, making a joke at a time like this, but instead she ignored him and went on her other side, trying desperately to think of anything to comfort her like Alice had done for her countless times since this had started.

To her utter surprise though, Alice tried to laugh. She was nuzzling into Frank's side and holding Lily's hand, but actually trying to sniffle back the sobs and look around like she was just noticing it all for the first time like them.

"What happened darling?" He begged, brushing at her short hair desperately as she tried to get herself under control. They'd been stuck in that room the whole time, she'd even been trying to get him to come look at something before they were vanished away. Had there been a cursed object in there that had hurt her?

"I," she hardly wanted to say the words, like leaving him ignorant would be some saving grace. She wouldn't hide this away though, she'd never hid anything from him and she wasn't going to start now. The words caught in her throat regardless of her intentions, she didn't know how to say it. "That room," she tried again, but then she just kept seeing that baby picture of Neville in Augusta Longbottom's arms, like it was the last thing she'd ever seen before she lost her mind, and she couldn't say it.

Frank felt like a miserable friend, let alone boyfriend, he still wasn't getting it.

"Did you want us to leave?" Peter offered quietly. He was by her door, which he'd cracked open to find the rest of her house available.

"If you'd like," she tried to hide the fact she was wiping snot off on her shoulder by passing it off as a shrug. "There's three bathrooms, one down the hall in mum and dad's room, the other across the hall, and the last down under the stairs. You can help yourself to anything you like in the kitchen."

They all trailed out slowly, each wishing they could say something, but though she'd been kind and gentle to all of their troubles, they couldn't think of a word to say back at the moment either. Lily hesitated going last, giving her hand a questioning squeeze, but Alice just held tight back, she could stay of course, she really wasn't trying to hide this.

The lack of the others didn't really help Alice order her thoughts any better, she hadn't a problem speaking this to any of them, but she was still trying to put how to say it in her head in the least brash way possible for several moments as James started reading.

That same chill lodged back into place when she heard the chapter title. Arthur was still in that hospital. Somehow, someway, Harry was going to find her and her husband in there. "Oh Frank," she finally forced it out, she wanted him to hear it from her before then. "I, think- no. We were just on the closed ward, that's why it wouldn't open."

It only took another moment for it to click in him, and he went rigid in shock.

Lily gasped and tried to pull her into a hug, but Frank pulled her to him entirely and whispered, "glory, I, didn't even notice, how, what-"

"I saw, our, I mean, the, things around those beds," her voice died by the end, and she was grateful he didn't ask her to elaborate. She didn't want to keep trying to refer to that place, it would only make it more real.

"Oh Alice," Lily's hands were flitting desperately for any kind of comfort, and settled for patting her on the back. It was always Sev comforting her, he didn't like talking about his problems much at all. "It's not our future, you told me that. This will not be happening to you, either of you!"

"I'm not so sure anymore," she whispered, explaining Percy's room to her.

"That, that doesn't mean," Frank stopped and started as if in physical pain. "What, you think when we're done with Harry's seven years we'll travel through his whole life and be stuck in here forever? Or that we'll go back to school and lose all memory of this? I, no, I cannot believe, this has to mean something!"

"I'm so sorry," Lily whispered in horror. "This is all my fault, I've never forgotten that fact, but I'll, I'll do anything to fix this. We have to end up back in that Potions room eventually, and I'll, I'll fix this, I swear!"

"Lily no," Alice said at once, finally almost wriggling free of Frank as she turned to face her, though he still had his hands on her hips. "I don't blame you, nobody does! It was a stupid accident, it happens in a magical school."

At least Alice finally seemed to feel a smidge better as she smiled at the two, hugging them both firmly before getting up and heading towards her closet and determinedly brushing the last of the tears from her eyes. She certainly was going to take this time to get out of her days-old clothes.

Frank watched her go with a fire lodged in his chest. He would stop this from happening to her, no matter what.

Lily sighed and brushed at her hair as she thought it all over again anyways. She knew she could remake her half of the potion without a problem, it was Lupin's part that would be the experimental phase. It's what her and Sev had spent so much of their free time doing, but these past two months it was practically all they could stand to do together without arguing. Her stomach clenched uncomfortably as she wondered if she'd just make it worse by trying something again, she seemed to have that effect on everything.

Padfoot went limping out of the room last, and had to crane his neck all the way up to see Remus and James thanking Peter for something, both things a spectacle in themselves. Remus held his hand out and took whatever from him, and the other two went down the stairs while Moony tapped him on the nose. Regulus hesitated at the top of the landing, but didn't follow them in as Remus closed the door.

"Come in here you," he whispered gently, going to the door across. The bathroom was apparently under some kind of remodeling. The floor was solid concrete, but the double sink was marble white and had shiny new taps in place that must not have ever been used and more counter space than really should have been necessary. The multipurpose shower bath steam cubicle was sectioned off by a tempered glass door and looked big enough all eight of them could have fit in there as another squashed space.

Remus closed the toilet lid and patted it expectantly, but when Padfoot just looked at him, he quietly asked, "like some help?"

Every last dignity in him wanted to snap no, but really he'd only hesitated because he had no idea what Moony was up to. Lingering worry for him back at the hospital had been the only thing getting him this far in rather than going downstairs for food. He looked perfectly normal, but there was still an aura of guilt surrounding him. He played along if Remus wanted to finally put all that Madam Pomfrey fussing to his own use and check his wounds, which he assumed was going on here. He didn't like his chances much under the fur.

He went over, and made the small hop up, rather glad he wasn't human for how badly that burned his muscles like new and clenching his jaw instead to hide a whimper. Remus's gentle fingers went carding through his fur, but he'd guessed right, he was barely getting down to the skin, let alone getting a good look at the new scars he'd have.

He sighed in defeat and pocketed a little jar, but before he could jump down, Remus got down on his knees so they were on eye level, and held his head carefully like he was made of spun glass. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, and Padfoot was stunned to see tears in his eyes.

Sirius almost broke his promise to James. He would not let Remus beat himself up over this, it had been his decision! Remus would hate himself though, possibly even dangerously so, if he killed them any more than he'd almost done to Longbottom or even Snape. Comforting Remus like this was also the most perfect answer, so he instead leaned forward and used the side of his long snout to nudge against the back of Remus's head, pressing him into his chest. He couldn't actually hold him, but it should have been all that was needed regardless. They'd known full well what they were getting into when they became Animagi, and he didn't regret a single second of it.

Moony's arms came up and circled him tight, and Padfoot hummed in pleasure and let his tail wag just for show, getting the slightest chuckle out of him.

James reading the book didn't even make them spring guiltily apart this time, Remus's hands stayed in tight fists in his thick fur until his breaths finally evened back out to normal, but as Harry's fear ramped up to paranoid levels and he started taking advice from Phineas Nigellus of all paintings, the two finally eased off of each other and went to go check on him, Sirius didn't even lick his neck just to gross him out.

They went down the stairs to see their friend being plenty distracted though, Peter was trying in vain to stop the two dark haired boys lopping bits of their own skin off as they investigated a potato peeler.

"-I'm impressed they've even got this here," Peter was saying as he showed them properly again.

"We'll have to ask her," James agreed, alternatively reading a sentence and attempting this, and scraping against his thumb again. He cursed and dropped the whole spud in the trashcan amongst his half-peeled, now blood flecked flesh.

"I swear you and Padfoot share a brain cell," Remus sighed as he went over to show him again. "You're going to be out of fingers before we're done with this."

The injured digits from his long-ago electrical burn were not as faded as they would have liked, though everyone else's injuries had mostly gone with time. He wondered if it was the electrical component to the injury that stopped it healing amongst the several healing charms they'd used on themselves by now.

Padfoot barked in protest while James shared a sad grin with him. He was already missing his idiot brother's stupid commentary, though perhaps it was best he couldn't show his face during the bit where Harry had to be pulled out of his depression by his friends rather than his godfather even noticing, that stung all of them quite a lot. This future version of Sirius seemed so cold in comparison to his brother, he'd only ever seen Sirius that distant when they'd been arguing, he couldn't imagine why he was acting this way towards Harry. He turned quickly back towards the book, they had no answer except this one regardless.

By the time the other three came down the stairs, detailed Christmas presents were being given, and Peter had finished prepping enough sandwiches for several more stops.

"Alright Prongs, I'm done, stop trying to lacerate yourself already," he called, but when he didn't come over to place the preservation charms on them to keep them good while he wrapped up the last one, he glanced up to see Evans had once again caught his eye.

She must be wearing some of Alice's things, the redhead was much taller than her so her midriff showed in the silver top she wore and the billowing green skirt still showed a bit of her ankles.

"Hey Alice, why do you have a potato peeler?" Remus asked. She had on new clothes too, a wooly beige jumper and sweatpants.

"My dad works in the Muggle-Worthy Excuse committee," she shrugged, "he can't say it's a foolproof excuse if he doesn't test out a few theories himself. He remodels the house all the time for different scenarios, and we've a bunch of Muggle stuff hanging around, though not as much as Arthur I'm sure."

"How'd giving Sirius that stuff go?" Regulus directed at Lupin. Peter had told him that's what they were still upstairs doing, but he'd been so fascinated by the little whirly device he hadn't even seen them come in.

"Fur's too thick, just like his head, can't get the stuff on," Remus sighed.

Padfoot huffed in indignation, and they all looked down as they wondered just how much of an earful they were going to get from him when he finally changed back.

Remus just smiled in anticipation of that and turned to smack Prongs. He reluctantly dragged his eyes away as Evans went over to Peter and offered to do the Charm, it really was his weakest class so he let her without protest.

When Hermione announced who her last present was for, they were all very familiar with that rumbling growl from the grim-looking dog, and when they got down to Kreacher's room, and his shrine, there was a nasty silence even he couldn't drown out.

Regulus winced, wishing he could hide his house-elf behind him. Kreacher didn't know any better, just like he hadn't when all this started. His servant had been his only friend in that place these last three years while Sirius had been at school and ignoring him at home, surely if he just explained to his elf things had to change he'd go along with it, and burn those particular artifacts.

He took an uneasy breath, and stopped Potter as he shook himself and tried to keep going.

"I'm sorry for him, I won't let him keep those," he told them both sincerely.

Frank didn't seem sure how to respond to that other than smiling awkwardly and trying to wave Potter on, the less they dwelled on it the better, but he went to go sit at the table with the lot of them to prove there were no hard feelings. Alice sat on his lap and reached over to give the kid's arm a squeeze in thanks, quickly drawing her hand back so he wouldn't notice it shaking as the lot made another trip up to the hospital.

She swallowed painfully and sat back against Frank's chest as it all started not a page later. Arthur tried some Muggle experimental way to heal himself, and the kids all bolted from Molly's shouting. They got turned around, and ran into Lockhart.

Even Lily burst out in surprised, and a tad righteous laughter as they all thought this was great fun and payback, but Frank's skin was already turning sallow and Alice was half-tempted to excuse them back up to her room so they wouldn't have to see the others' faces when they realized.

They were delayed as James sat gazing at her long after her laughter had subsided and she rolled her eyes at him, she'd been hoping the Slytherin colors would at least minorly deter him. Then she shot Alice a stern look, trying to tell her he was always like this and it didn't mean anything, but really caught sight of them.

Alice denied herself the getaway as she glanced at them, and the fear that flashed in her green eyes said she'd already put it together. They couldn't leave now, the last thing either of them wanted was this group whispering pitifully about them and dragging this out further.

She couldn't bring herself to offer to take the book though as the trio and Ginny reluctantly followed their old DADA teacher in, and the recant of a much more lively version of the place they'd waste away in was described. A part of her wanted to do it to make this go faster, pretend she couldn't feel any pitying gazes she knew would be coming, but again the words jammed up in here before she had the chance.

Frank wasn't doing much better as the truth slowly sunk into the rest of them. To Potter's credit, he only hesitated a moment before glancing at them and putting together what must have been going on when they'd been alone. When both just nodded, he plowed on in the same diligent way he had been reading through his own son's life that he cared for so much, a soft, but steady determination.

This was not the future any of them would have chosen, but James still wanted it all to be true on just the smallest level, that he and Lily were destined to have Harry at the same time as Alice and Frank would have Neville. They'd go forward remembering every heinous detail, and fix every one of them. Their boys would grow up happy and never knowing what had almost been.

[bigskydreaming]

Making this its own thread so as not to take over @northoftheroad​‘s - but about that scene with the memories from Nightwing Rebirth annual #1....tbh, I wasn’t terribly sad when that didn’t come back into play because I kinda hated this scene, lol. And it sucks because like, it COULD have had an entirely different vibe, but as usual, it comes down to execution, and like.....agency. I know, my favorite word, but like.

The problem I had with this scene (and my caution regarding the way Taylor’s talked up Babs’ importance to his run of Nightwing), is there’s this line between bringing other characters into Dick’s own title to lend a supporting hand or even for their own specific area of expertise....and Dick like, becoming the guest star in his own title. And for me, personally, that line tends to be most apparent when Dick stops feeling like he’s in the driver’s seat of his own stories and instead is just riding shotgun while other people make decisions that have far more to do with his life than their own.

This COULD have been a great scene, IF the decision for the memories needing to be kept and the malware studied had come from Dick himself.....much like, y’know, the memories did. If upon Dick deciding that there was a reason they still needed to exist outside and independent of him, be a safeguard or used for some purpose, Babs made the same vow of keeping them safe, like, that would have been great! That’s an expression of concern, of RESPECT for the importance, the significance of what Babs is holding in her hand there, rather than just a scientific curiosity, a puzzle to be studied.

But instead, the way it was kinda framed as just Babs knows best when the actual topic of weight wasn’t the technical specs or the scientific how/why of what was being studied, but rather SHOULD it be studied versus just destroyed....that was the problem for me, because that was absolutely, one hundred percent not Babs’ decision to make. They were Dick’s memories. He was the one left exposed by their continued existence in that form. It wasn’t just the sensitive information those memories contained, the intel on hundreds of others of Dick’s family and friends and teammates, their identities and weaknesses and all kinds of other stuff pertaining to people beyond just Dick himself, many of whom Babs has very little connection to herself, in comparison to Dick’s connection with them....and their trust in Dick having that information about them, which is not unilaterally blanket trust in others having that information by extension or proxy.....it was also just. Sensitive stuff, sensitive to Dick himself, stuff he was no doubt sensitive about. And this was just brushed off and moved past without a second glance, because the writer considered Dick’s concerns about HIS memories of secondary importance to what Babs could do with them or learn about the technology/from them.

And again, it would have been entirely different if that decision had come FROM Dick. If the scene, the issue in question had been framed around him making the executive decision on what to do about these memories, and Babs lending her aid in whatever HE decided should be done with them, including study them or keep them safe as a back-up of some kind.....there’s zero problem!

But the fact that Dick is written objecting, and then those objections brushed off as inconsequential by the writing on the exact same page like, makes it all the worse, because it demonstrates that the writer was aware, LOGISTICALLY, of various reasons why the memories shouldn’t be kept that way......but that reasoning was kept divorced from all examinations of Dick’s perspective of the situation, his own vulnerability, from any kind of other angle beyond just logistics. Like emotional. Proprietary. Even uncertainty, like ‘I don’t know how I feel about this, can we take a beat for me to get my head back on straight after everything that’s just happened to me and revisit this after I’ve had a chance to think about it,’ that would have been fine.

Anything but just.....raising the issue of ‘maybe this isn’t a good idea’ and moving past it two panels later with full speed ahead, without any further exploration from Dick’s own POV why he might not be cool with this or with his objections treated as like, a PERSONAL issue rather than simply a LOGISTICAL one.

Because that ultimately is the heart of the issue. Dick was effectively overruled as though his objection was logistical only, rationale based, and Babs’ opinion ended up carrying the more weight because her rationale was better reasoned and the logistical issues addressed by her declaration of keeping it safe.

Problem is, it was never just a matter of logistics, and this is where the writing failed the story, and the characters, by not recognizing that Dick’s objection should NOT be capable of being overruled by someone else’s logic or rationale, because there’s very little that’s MORE personal than a person’s own memories, and treating it as anything other than a personal issue that only one person had the ultimate right to make the judgment call of what to do with those memories moving forward, is taking eyes off what’s actually being talked about.

Tbh, I do consider it fairly surprising - even if I’m not sad about it - that Percy’s work here wasn’t referenced more in the Ric Grayson conclusion, because I think a ton of how that was approached was directly based on the foundation of a lot of Percy’s own takes here. This same problem reared its head again later in that same issue when the writing again had Dick raising valid concerns when he brought up the matter of his memories again, and wanted to know where they were being stored.....and again, Percy’s answer to that was to have Babs overrule Dick’s feeling this was ‘need to know’ information for him by saying you don’t need to know that.

Again, its frustrating because the writing then continued to demonstrate an awareness of the flaws in Babs’ argument here, with Dick continuing to present possibilities like “what if you’re the next target of today’s villain and thus can’t keep those memories safe any more than I could in the first place, like let’s take a second to acknowledge that you’re as much of a target as Batgirl that I am as Nightwing, and just as vulnerable to being captured and mind-probed”....its just, the writing then proceeds to effectively change the subject immediately AFTER Dick poses these questions but BEFORE any answer is actually given, almost as if to get his objections on record and logged, before like....moving on with the story as though those hugely pertinent questions were ultimately irrelevant. LOL. No. They weren’t. Its just the writer chose to frame them that way in order to keep the focus on everything as purely logistical and Dick’s logistical sense here being not even lacking, but BIASED......but with zero acknowledgment anywhere in the story that like, he had a right to that bias, that bias was real yes, but also reasonable, because those memories were HIS, lol, and every issue he had with them, about them, about what was done with them, was one hundred percent valid and should never have been subject to someone else’s veto power.

And there’s no point to having a character speak up for himself, raise issues based on his own personal feelings and rationale on things pertaining to HIM.....if you’re still going to treat everyone around him as having veto power over what he says or does or thinks on these matters. Either without any acknowledgment of that being what these other characters or doing, or basing their ‘right’ to do so on some flimsy rationale of him being too biased or emotional or subjective on the subject, as though all these other characters don’t have their own biases and emotional perspectives, and he’s no less entitled to his than they are, and he’s far MORE entitled to what decisions are made about HIM and things that are HIS, than they are.

(Also, sidebar, but I also trace a lot of the problems I have with Babs and other characters’ declarations of knowing more about Dick/knowing him better than he knows himself, like, directly to this annual and the whole scene in the Batcave-on-wheels. I believe Castelluci, the most recent Batgirl writer, has flat out said that she isn’t that familiar with Nightwing’s character, and so I think a lot of the objections I have with how she approached Dick’s character ultimately stem from the likelihood that Castelluci’s take on him was informed mostly by like, this very annual and other recent writings, with no attempt at a more diversified reading of his character before writing him.)

Anyway, point is, I kinda hated that scene, because I have a huge beef with scenes that have Dick speak up about stuff that’s about HIM first and foremost.....when the writers then proceed to steamroll right over everything he says as though its irrelevant. Like lol no. HIS VOICE SHOULD GET TO BE THE LOUDEST IN THE ROOM WHEN THE TOPIC OF CONVERSATION IS HIS OWN LIFE OR THINGS DIRECTLY STEMMING FROM IT/AFFECTING IT.

This is a hugely recurrent thread in a lot of different issues with his character, with them all ultimately just spilling out of a weird refusal to keep him in the driver’s seat of his own life.

And again, it could have gone down ENTIRELY different. Every single decision and ramification from that scene could have existed just the same, without any significant plot alteration, but with 100% less problems, if the writing had just framed all those decisions and ramifications as springing from Dick’s OWN decisions, logic, wishes, rather than in OPPOSITION to them. The only thing that needed to be different, IMO, was just....keeping him and his choices, his own rationales, and his RIGHT to them, as being MOST in focus in that particular story and sequence of events.

And also again, just for the record, this has nothing to do with it being Babs in that scene and everything to do with just....the issue itself. Which is a problem for me with any and all other characters whose choices are similarly prioritized over Dick’s own decision-making process, even when the decisions are about him and his life, far more so than their own. This isn’t Babs-specific, it just tends to come up a lot with her due to the mere fact of like....how often Babs is the one in Dick’s stories or title, compared to other characters like Jason or Tim who cross over relatively less....but still usually create or raise the same problem when they do.

[forevfangirlwrites]

Can we get more jealous Percy? I feel like we always see jealous Annabeth but Percy gets jealous too

There are way too many people for Percy’s liking, too many people to close together and an overarching smell of alcohol that lingered persistently in the air. To say it isn’t his scene would be an understatement. But he wants to be a supportive friend towards Piper, especially since she is his girlfriend’s best friend.

Speaking of Annabeth, she had been swept away by a group of people about ten minutes after entering the party and from his vantage in the back he has only been able to catch glimpses of her over the past twenty minutes. So he���s resigned himself to the corner nursing the same beer for the 32 minutes he’s been here.

He’s counting.

His phone is starting to lose its entertainment value just as a random couple stumble into his corner and their touchiness is only escalating so he decides it’s time to go. Wandering a little aimlessly, on the search for a blonde head of hair, he makes his way through the crowd.

Firstly, there are way too many people, so there are also, consequently, way too many blondes. But only a few don’t have dark roots and only one is that particular shade of golden he loves so much. It takes him another five minutes to spot his lifeboat in the sea of people.

Slightly relieved, he moves closer only to find there’s another head in view and…who is that brunette?

Annabeth’s surrounded by a group of people and is throwing back a shot when she finally appears in full view. Of the group he only recognizes Piper and Jason and whoever that brunette is standing next to his girlfriend really needs to back the fuck off.

A surge of anger overtakes him, because he’s beyond done with being here and the last straw is this random fucking guy and-

His thoughts are interrupted by a drunk Leo and Frank who both try (and fail) to convince him to join them.

He loves the guys, but now’s not the time. And also, in case no one caught on already, he doesn’t really like parties.

Gaze returning to Annabeth, who’s now leaning closer to Piper and away from the guy, all the anger deflates, replaced by an overwhelming sense of tiredness.

What was wrong with him?

Annabeth wouldn’t cheat on him. And she can hold her own against anyone and she’s with her best friends and this brunette shouldn’t really matter.

Except it does.

Just slightly, for no logical reason, clawing at the back of his mind. But then again, he’s beyond logic at this point. He’s at a party he doesn’t want to be at, he’s not drunk enough to ignore it, and his girlfriend is having ten times more fun without him.

Ouch. That kinda hurt.

He watches her laugh at something someone says and she really doesn’t need him right now.

So being a little self-destructive (he wants to call it self care) he decides he’s had enough, of this place, these people and the damn brunette.

So he takes his own pity party of one, self-doubt, and well let’s face it, jealousy, and quietly walks out.

The night air is cold and there’s a slight drizzle, both of which feel amazing against the overheating of the party. This is better. This is…he pushes away the thoughts of Annabeth and the party and starts walking away.

He takes the long way home.

By the time he finally makes it, he’s damp from the drizzle and his shirt is sticking to him uncomfortably enough that he makes it a priority to take it off before doing anything else.

The room is mostly dark, because he’s being moody like that and refuses to turn on any lights, and even though there’s some outside light filtering in and he’s not drunk, he still can’t find a replacement shirt.

God, he really can’t do anything right can he. Brunette at the party is probably great and has a million fucking shirts that are all fucking great.

And by the time the self-inflicted mental mockery comes to an end he’s fuming and left staring at the dark closet. Jesus fuck, he should just turn on the damn light.

But he’s more tempted to punch the wall and the only thing that stops his fist from swinging is a sound in the hall. He freezes at the clicking sound but he’s been standing like this for like four minutes so he was probably frozen before too.

The door to the bedroom squeaks open and a lone lamp clicks on, creating shadows on the wall in front of him. He lets out a sigh. He doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is.

“You know,” Annabeth says, placing her purse on the dresser.

Her hazy shadow moves on the wall but he refuses to turn around. He’s not in a good place, he knows that. His shoulders start to ache and he realizes just how rigidly he’s been holding himself.

“If I didn’t know any better,” she continues, getting closer to him. He tenses up even more and his shoulders and back yell at him for it. It’s dumb and stupid but this is the hill he’s made and the one he’s resigned himself to die on.

“I’d say you were jealous.”

The thing is, Annabeth knows him really well. And even though she isn’t completely sober, she’s also not drunk enough to not know what she’s saying.

“With the way you quietly left like that…” she’s even closer now and he still can’t bring himself to turn around.

“Was it because I was having fun?” she asks quietly. He can feel her breath on his bare back and takes the fact that there’s no malice in her tone as a win.

“Or,” she steps in front of him and fuck he can’t avoid her now.

“Was it because I was having fun without you?”

The image of the stupid brunette flares in his head and the surge of anger from before comes back in full force. He turns sharply meeting Annabeth’s steady gaze.

What was she doing? Why is she making him mad?

Her grey eyes are dark from the lighting and he can’t read them at all. What was she playing at?

So he hates parties, and yeah he was feeling left out and yeah he absolutely despises that guy standing next to her and fine yes he was jealous. She was having a good time, without him, and it just sucked.

She knows this, so why egg it on?

Her gaze is still steady, he can feel the challenge in them. Her lips are just slightly quirked upward and this entire charade is making him feel even worse about everything by the second.

Why-and that’s when it hits him.

“If you were having so much fun, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

Her smirk lets him know that he’s got the right answer. And just like that all the tension leaves his body, shoulders dropping down in relief. He’s figured it out.

He knew it all along.

“You seem very sure of yourself.” She’s teasing him now, an eyebrow raised to match the tone.

And he is so done with this song and dance, within a second he has her pushed against the closet door. The look on her face tells him that his reaction had been the one she had been planning on.

Leave it to Annabeth to strategize his jealously.  

(Honestly, he’s not even mad.)

“Yeah, well you love me after all,” he whispers, faces inches apart.

A genuine smile plays at her lips. “Yeah, and don’t you forget that.”

He never had. He had just…misplaced the thought. Brunette guy can fuck off, he has his girlfriend (who loves him very much by the way) in his arms, inches away from her lips.

The searing kiss she gives him makes him forget what jealousy even is.

A/N: Hello! Thank you for sending an ask! I hope this fulfills the jealous Percy you were looking for! (Sorry, it took a bit long to get out)

[twoidiotwriters1]

Pure Blood 4 (Sirius Black x F! Oc)

lA/N: Yeeeeesss, Persephone is back, ma frends. lol, i’m sorry for taking so long, but here you have. :)

Words: 1,926

Warnings: None.

Chapter 3.  // Chapter 5.

Chapter 4: A favor.

First year.

Dear Persephone:

We’re proud of you, being in one of the most respectable Houses of Hogwarts. Your father and other wizards have been in it, you have to start with something, and the fact that you represent the Singh family- blah blah blah… I know the speech already, actually, I think this is the same letter they sent to Apollo when he got selected. I can’t believe they’re recycling it, it almost makes me laugh. Almost.

Everyone catches the letters either on their hands or their plates. I watch my table, most of them have their group of friends already and I feel upset cause I got none. I really wish Sirius could be with me.

I raise my eyes and look over his table, looking for him, of course it doesn’t actually help, so I get up and I finally see him. Next to him is that boy with glasses that we met on the train, he looks happy, he’s chatting with a chubby boy.

I look back at Sirius and I see him reading a letter.

Oh no.

He looks all pale and his hands are wrinkling the paper, I have a terrible feeling about this.

Suddenly he gets up, he says something to the boys and rushes out of the Great Hall. I don’t doubt it for even one second and I gran my bag, following him from up-close. He’s faster and soon he takes advantage and I curse under my breath. We walk through the halls, sometimes crashing against other people, I hurriedly whisper ‘sorry’, my eyes never leaving the dark-haired boy. Yet, after a few minutes he disappears.

I groan and keep walking. Alright, if I were Sirius Black, where would I hide? No, not hiding, he just wants to be alone. He won’t go to a classroom, maybe the gardens? I don’t know where the gardens are yet! Neither does he. And I can’t ask anybody, because no one knows who Sirius is.

After a while of wondering through the halls, Merlin took pitty of me and I found him behind a pillar, next to an arch that takes you to a garden. Ha! I found one.

I inch closer towards my friend, who seems lost inside his head, his back is leasing against the wall.

“There you are, stranger,” I tease.

He looks up in surprise, but once he recognize my face he seems to relax, I leave my bag on the floor and sit next to him.

“Hi,” He tries to smile, but his frown remains, “How did you found me?”

“I felt that my best friend was having a bit of trouble, I just walked around until I found you” don’t even think I’ve been looking for you like crazy all this time, of course not.

He gives me a sckeptical look and I just smile, causing him to chuckle.

“My parents sent me a letter to congratulate me, I thought yours would too, but not exactly as a way to congratulate you,” I say carefully, Sirius looks away and plays anxiously with his fingers.

“It’s not the best letter I’ve received,” He replies lowly.

We stay quiet for a moment, then he continues.

“Now I’m a disapppointment for my family, Percy,” His voice trembles, “I’d never seen so manny threats in one letter,” He tries to sound like he’s joking, but his eyes are tearing up.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, he just shakes his head.

“Don’t,” He sniffs, “either way, they never saw me as someone ‘worthy’ of the lastname. Besides, my mother’s words are nothing new.”

“I guess now she does have a reason to use them,” He shares his head and faces me.

“It doesn’t matter now, How are you doing with the snakes?” I smile, I don’t want to make him feel pressured, he’ll be ready to talk with me someday.

“I’m one of them now, you know?” I raise my brow.

“Nah, you don’t count, you’re a lot better than all of them, I’m sure,” I laugh at his words.

“All’s fine, though…” I grimace, “it looks like they’re not very nice with people, or maybe they just don’t like me.”

“Hey,” He says, surrounding my shoulders with his arms, “don’t worry about that, you don’t need them anyway, with me you have more than enough,” I roll my eyes and he laughs, it looks like the sensitive subject is long forgotten.

“Everything would be easier if we were in the same House.”

“I guess so, can you imagine if the both of had gotten into Gryffindor? Our parents would be fumming, but the jokes wouldn’t end, my dear Percy. Actually, you’d be great in our group,” I give him a confused glance, “oh yes, you remember James and Remus? We have a lot in common, and there’s this other kid, his name’s Peter. We could use a girl in our group.”

I shake my head, smiling at seeing how happy he is with them.

“I don’t think that I could be in your group. Maybe Remus would stand me, but I don’t know.”

“They would love you,” We share a look, he seems to be sincere with his words.

“I don’t know, Sirius.”

“C’mon! Give them a chance!”

“Alright,” He hugs me tightly and I squeal, causing him to laugh again.

“You wouldn’t regret it, dear Persephone,” I suddenly remember, He lets go of me and I get up from the ground.

“Come on, Sirius. Classes are about to start,” I offer my hand and help him get up. “See you later?”

“Of course, what class do you have now?”

“Herbology, then potions and you?”

“Transformations, but I think I also have potions later, we will surely be together.”

Finally good news.

“Great,” I say smiling.

“Save me a seat!”

I approach him and then kiss his cheek.

“See you later,” I say goodbye and continue walking towards the greenhouse, where we’ll have the class. Excited for the hours to pass quickly.

________________________________________

Finally it’s time to enter the potions class in the dungeons, I don’t get distracted by anything and quickly go to the classroom.

Before entering the room I debate whether to leave my things at the shared tables to set aside a place for Sirius and wait for him at the door or just sit down, but in the end it wins the second option. I put my bag in the chair next to me.

After a few minutes the other students arrive and I can see that there is a great division: the tables on the right side of the room are occupied by those of Gryffindor, while those on the left by Slytherin, nobody dares to mix.

My thoughts are interrupted by the laughter of someone I know quite well. I turn in my chair until I look towards the door, Sirius enters with his friends. I raise my arm a little, he walks in my direction, but James's arm stops him. I frown at the sight of his action.

The boy draws Sirius to him, my friend talks to him and points, James sees me and I try my best to smile and greet him with my hand, the boy returns to my friend and tells him something. Sirius looks confused and looks around.

Come on Sirius! Don't mind the division, please. I bite my lower lip as they keep talking, then Sirius nods looking at James and then returns to my direction.

He moves his lips "I'm sorry" and then follows James and sits on the Gryffindor side.

What happened? My sight doesn’t depart from its place, I don’t understand. He said to save him a place, but only with a few words from James he changes his mind?

I feel anger filling my body. Sirius looks up but this time I look away. I take my bag and leave it on my table with a heavy bang. It doesn't take long for the place to be occupied.

Professor Slughorn enters the classroom and the class begins.

_____________________________________

“I'm sorry, really, I'm sorry,” Sirius says following me. I just keep walking without looking at him. "Come on Percy, I did want to sit by your side just that-”

I stop.

“What did James tell you to change your mind?” He scratches his neck nervously.

“You saw that Gryffindor's were on the other side, it would've been weird if I sat next to you.”

“So what? It's their problem if they don't want to mix, I don't think they’re friends with a Slytherin, but you are!” I answer.

“I already said I'm sorry, I was a fool, the next class we’ll sit together,” My anger increases.

“You know very well that the tables are already made. Have fun with your new best friend,” I try to leave, but he grabs my arm.

“James is not my new best friend, I hardly know him.”

“And still, with just a few words he can manipulate you,” he releases a sigh.

“Listen, yes, James convinced me not to sit with you and I know we had agreed that we would be together. I was sorry, as soon as the class started, I was thinking about how you would do it or the comments we made, there are many things that only you understand and it wasn't that fun. I regretted the moment I sat on the other side.”

His gray eyes show regret and I know that wet-dog face, he always uses it to avoid getting into trouble. I release a sigh.

“Well, I forgive you, but-” he interrupts me and suddenly I’m already wrapped in a hug.

“Thanks, thanks, thanks, thanks. You’re brilliant!” He says.

"I know, but you must make up for the mistake, Sirius.” He nods several times.

“Anything you want.”

“I'll think of something, and you must promise not to leave me again for your friends,” I point out.

“I promise, Percy.”

________________________________

Fifth year.

I think this is the stupidest idea I've had in a long time. Maybe it's the stupidest of my life.

I can't retract now. Well, maybe I can, but if I do it will be worse.

I must do it, I want to do it, but I'm afraid. He will tell his friends and everything will go to hell. And basically, I will die.

Agh! Damn anxiety. Leave this body, please.

Okay, breathe. Inhale and exhale.

He's just a boy, the most harmless I've ever met.

Merlin, I hope not to die trying.

I enter the library, search among the bookshelfs and finally find the boy. I bite my bottom lip and hide behind a bookcase near the table where he is.

“You can, don't be a coward, it's for a good cause,” I whisper. Without letting another negative thought come to my mind, I walk to his table and sit in front of him.

He looks up and lowers the book he was reading, seems confused. I do not blame him. I try to give him my best innocent smile, but I know I can only make a face.

“You're okay?” I erase my expression and clear my throat.

“Yes, better than ever,” he nods, still confused raises his eyebrows waiting for me to say something. And of course my hands decide to start sweating, “I-I was wondering if…” I say stuttering, “Okay, I have... t-maybe... me.”

“What do you want, Persephone?” Ask in annoyance.

Shit this is already ruined and I haven't even started. I inhale deeply and exhale, preparing myself.

“I need a favor.”

Taglist:

@treestarrrrrrrr @siriuslysirius1107 @thagreenmoonblack @madmaiden2890 @bloodorangemoonlight  

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Why? ~ F.W. (part 5)

A/n: I really love this series guys. Like UGH okay that's all continue on.

Word Count: 5500+

MASTERLIST

I avoided everyone for a while. I just needed some space... and I was terrified they all hated me. It was a soft ignore. If they sought me out, called my name, I'd recognize it. In the hallway though, I passed by them like I didn't know them. Took different turns if we were headed in the same direction too long. Hermione, Ron, Percy, George, Lee, Harry- even Fred. Sam and Beth weren't letting me get away with ignoring them, they cut that off the first day. Told me they didn't care who my dad was, they knew who I was. And that was that. One day Harry had called after me. I'd turned and he'd waved. I'd waved back. Though he was alone that day, he was with Ron and Hermione every time I saw him after, so I still avoided him in order to avoid them. I figured we were fine though. I knew Harry was as fine with my lineage as Sam and Beth were.

The opinion I cared about most was Fred's. He seemed to be ignoring me as well. That was the stab that got me. The blade that buried hilt deep and hurt right where I was vulnerable. I hadn't seen Cedric again yet for our weekend study session so I didn't know if he knew or how he felt about it if he did. The same went for Luna. I wondered if my friends list had just sunk down to three people.

I wasn't eating well either. It was a coping mechanism of sort, not eating. I used to do it a lot at the orphanage when I was upset. Choosing not to eat gave me something to be in control of. It made me feel the boss of myself again. Hunger had become a reassuring feeling. It meant I was still the boss of myself in the very least.

Now it just seemed to worry my friends.

One day Sam shot to his feet. "I'm done with this." He's spent the last ten minutes trying to talk me into eating something. Anything. He had finally given up. As he walked away I looked at the plate of food Sam had made for me. On top of everything else, people had started to pass around the word about how my dad was, and next to no one was reacting well. People had begun to call me only by my last name, slamming into my shoulder, tripping me in the hallway, sneering my surname with nasty looks like it was a curse that would punish me for something I'd never done. Malfoy was the worst. I got no break, the blonde hovering around me and taunting me every chance he got. It was getting to me.

I thought Sam had ditched me out of anger, finally reserved to no longer be my friend. Howerver, he returned moments later with none other than Fred Weasley at his side. My eyes widened as he brought the Gryffindor to where I was sitting, motioning to his free spot. "Fix her." The Slytherin that had been on the other side of Sam than me went to move into the spot to prevent Fred but Sam drew closer, nearly spitting. "Move." The boy glared at him and then Fred and then me but moved, allowing Fred to sit down. The redhead sat.

He looked at me for a few seconds. "Liv." I moved my eyes to my plate. "Sam told me you're not eating." I didn't respond. He scooted closer. Someone coughed. He sighed. "Come on." He grabbed an apple and then stood, offering his hand. I looked at him and then sighed, taking it. He pulled me to my feet. I thought he'd drop my hand once we were walking but he actually interlaced our fingers. I hoped I wasn't blushing as I felt my face burn.

People watched us as he gently pulled me into the hallway and away from any watching eyes. When he was satisfied with a little corner, he guided me into it and then stood in front of me. I was in a dip in the wall where there may have been a statue or a suit of armor or maybe something else. But now the place was empty and with him in front of me, I was trapped. He placed his hand on the wall above him, leaning close. For a terrifying second, I thought he was going to kiss me. But he stopped moving when we were a few inches apart, holding the apple I'd forgotten he'd grabbed earlier. "Eat."

I glared. "Fred-"

He leaned closer now, leaving a lingering kiss on my forehead. I froze. He moved again to rest his forehead against mine. "You know I don't care about what they say. Even if it's true. Even if your dad is Sirius Black. I don't care." He paused and I felt a lot of sudden emotions. "You're not him. And you're who I care about. You're the one that matters."

I leaned away to look at him. I was trying to see if he was lying and in the act of doing so, was shocked with how honestly he was looking at me. "You don't hate me?"

He shook his head. "I couldn't even if I wanted to."

I felt a rush of relief. Stronger than even with Harry. I wondered if it was because I was closer to Fred. Maybe. But I hadn't been this relieved when Beth and Sam hadn't hated me. This was an entirely different relief. I wondered about it. It confused me. "You're important to me too." My hands reached out for him, hovering in front of his robes. I looked at them, my hands, wondering what they were doing. He followed my gaze, noticing then reaching but not touching. He grabbed them, pulling my fingers to press against his lips. "But I... it's hard. It's hard to be here, Freddie." I hated crying but I felt myself welling up yet again. He moved nearer, pressing me against the wall. He was warm but I loved the feeling of him so close to me. "It hasn't even been long since they knew and it's already absolute Hell. I don't know who's bothered by it and who isn't. I don't know who's my friend and who's now my enemy. I can't take the name calling and the getting pushed around and I'm supposed to be this strong Slytherin who makes everyone stop with just a look but the only thing I know how to do is not react to it. And it works, it works, but then someone else pops up after the last people stop and I have to endure it all over again. It's exhausting."

He rose a hand, his thumb brushing away the one tear that had fallen. I sniffed. I felt silly and weak so I pressed my eyes closed. His nose brushed my cheek. I was instantly aware of how close that put his lips to mine. On instinct I tensed up, gasping, and leaning away just a little. My mind was suddenly racing. "May I hug you?" His voice sounded hoarse and I wondered if I was wrong about him nearly kissing me so many times in a row. It only occurred to me now if I even wanted him to. I just nodded. He held me in a way that made me feel comfortable and safe at the same time. He was just a bit taller than me, the top of my head reaching his lips. He breathed through his nose, every exhale filtering through my hair. It felt good, being with him like this. "You always have me, Liv. If you ever need someone to turn to or somewhere to run. You'll always have me. I promise. No matter what."

I relaxed completely, feeling as if I'd ben holding my breath for the last few days straight. None of it mattered now. Everything was fine.

-

I was excited for Care of Magical Creatures before Draco ruined it like the little twat he is. I was goofing off with Sam and Beth when the class had started. Hardy got picked (he was the only who didn't step back but that was because he was being oblivious. Should I have done something? Probably. Did I? No... Oops.) to approach the Hypogriff. He bowed. It bowed back. He smiled. We applauded. Hagrid forced him on its back and they took off. The rest of the class was left waiting. It was a lot longer time than I'd thought it would have been. I wondered if maybe he'd gotten lost or hurt. People began to sit down.

"Excuse me a moment," I told my friends, noticing Neville's messed up robes. Sam saw me itching to leave the Slytherin pack and got to his feet, brushing off his robes. He asked me to introduce them to my Gryffindor friends. I was pleasantly surprised. They came with me as I approached Neville. "Hey Nev-" he jumped, turning around. His eyes widened. I wondered if it was the three Slytherins in front of him or just me that startled him so much. Or both. None of those options made me feel good. "I just... wanted to offer some mending? I know how to. For your cloak I mean. Since it got... messed up." I tried for a friendly smile.

He relaxed, seeming ready to answer when a cool, sneering voice interrupted him. The sound of it hardened me and as I turned around, my soft gaze turned to one of an angry glare. "Fix them? Fix them with a curse maybe."

"Do you ever get tired of being an arsehole, Malfoy, or do you thrive off of people hating you?"

He seemed almost impressed with my quick response. He folded his arms over his chest, mirroring my stance. "What, have you become the protector of every Gryffindor now?" His eyes flickered to Sam and Beth. "Can't they fight their own fight?" He scoffed, eyes flickering to Neville as well. "At least keep your downfall to yourself. It's bad enough you're becoming the worst Slytherin to ever come to Hogwarts, don't make it worse by dragging others down with you."

"She's not dragging anyone," Sam snapped. I stood straighter as he supported me. "And just because she's got any decency doesn't mean she's not a Slytherin. I'd say she's an even better Slytherin than a pissy lot like you." I smirked, loving the rush of having a Slytherin have my back after being torn down by people who were supposed to be like my family.

Malfoy sneered, "You-" but got cut off, stepping away as I felt something behind me. Someone. A presence. I didn't feel intimidated though, it was comforting. Malfoy scoffed and retreated.

Harry returned and all of our attention was pulled away, but not before I noticed that all of the Gryffindors I'd ever talked to had stepped up. Ron, Hermione- even Neville. With six against Malfoy, even his two thugs having his back didn't make him feel better, especially facing three of his own house. It was a pleasant moment. We were all encouraged to go forward and we were plenty eager to, if nervous. Beth, Sam and I moved with Neville to one on the end. It was Sam who lead us through and I enjoyed having him want to be friends him the skiddish boy. After a few attempts, I nudged Sam. "You give it a try. Help him out."

Sam smiled and did as I suggested, doing it himself to show Neville what to do. Telling him to calm down and be confident and friendly. Neville finally got the hippogriff to bow back and he approached, patting. Beth was next. Hers was even easier than Sam's try. Just as I was stepping forward to give it a go, there was commotion. Every student looked over to see Buckbeak rear up and stamp toward a frightened Malfoy who faltered and fell. Hagrid fought him back and then approached the screeching boy on the floor, picking him up with ease and reassuring him as he took him to the Hospital Wing, Hermione holding the door open for him.

We all paused before slowly following after as Harry began to move forward, Ron at his side a second before Hermione was. The entire class merged, which only allowed for discourse.

"They should fire him straight away!" Pansy Parkinson hollered. I wondered how real her tears actually were.

Dean Thomas argued a, "It was Malfoy's fault!" as I scoffed.

Pansy glared at me. "You upset him you know. Got him all wound up. It's YOUR fault."

"If he learned how to keep his mouth shut and do what he was told or at all be respectful of anyone but himself, he wouldn't have gotten backbite from me or Buckbeak. He deserved what he got." I stood straight against her accusation. Unwavering. Facing untruths were easy.

She looked ready to sink her teeth into my neck before we reached the school. "I'm going to go see if he's okay. You're not worth my time." And she ran after Hagrid. We all watched her for a moment before houses split, Gryffindors heading to their tower and Slytherins heading to the dungeons. Sam was at my side the whole time, laughing and joking and nudging me- no matter how dark the glares of our fellow green and silvers got. We were laughing too hard to care.

"Do you think Malfoy will be okay?" Beth asked at one point.

I nodded. "Of course he will be. Madame Pompfrey is wicked good with healing people, and really he isn't ACTUALLY hurt. He's just being a drama queen." She nodded and that was the end of it.

-

Harry cornered me on the way to Potions. "He's getting close."

The way he looked at me, I didn't even have to ask who he meant. "He can’t be that close."

Harry shrugged. "He's not exactly FAR." I frowned and he sighed. "I don't know I thought you should know."

I grabbed his arm as he went to leave. "Harry, would be really come here? With so many Dementors? Surely not..."

He paused for a moment and then gave me a defeated look. I felt he was more concerned for me than himself. "He's gotten past them before." Another pause. "Don't read today’s paper, yeah? Or any at all." I nodded, but we both knew that it wouldn't take me reading the paper for me to find out about this. He wanted me to be prepared. THAT'S why he told me. Prepared for what Malfoy or anyone else might whisper or yell or accuse me of. We parted ways and I was thankful yet again to have a friend like him.

-

"How is it, Draco? Does it hurt much?"

"Yeah..." Malfoy's face was one that begged pity as if he'd gone through something terrible. Pansy was, of course, only too eager to deliver. I rolled my eyes for the millionth time. Neville reaches over and patted the back of my hand.

Neville was the only one who was keeping me back while Malfoy went off, being annoying and milking every second to torture Harry and Ron. I somehow managed to stay quiet, glad I'd picked another year to pair up with soothing Neville who was used to holding his tongue. I knew that I couldn't go up against everything that bothered me. I knew I couldn't snap at a teacher every time Snape was irritating. I knew I couldn't wring Malfoy out like a wet rag every time he got on my nerves. I knew I couldn't fight every battle- especially ones that weren't mine. So I let it go, struggling every second to do so. The battle I chose to face instead was to help Neville from getting attacked by Snape. That was up to me because Neville really was a disaster in potions. Even with my help, Snape made him incredibly nervous, which made him do even worse. I had to correct nearly everything he was helping me do. I couldn't do it all alone though. Even if it wouldn't have set Snape off, there was too much to do and not enough time. "I need you to breathe Neville, okay? Just focus on cutting the last of those roots- we're almost done. You're doing wonderfully. If we do this right, Snape won't be able to poke at you about it." The potion was a little darker green than it was supposed to be and I swallowed my nerves.

"All your ingredients should be in by now. Step away to let them cook. It'll take some time. After they're done we'll try Mr. Longbottom's." I glared at the pot instead of at him.

When we finished, we stepped away and I walked Neville to the fountain to wash our hands, reassuring him softly that everything was fine. I wondered how aware Snape was that I'd not only done my own potion but helped Neville as well, Hermione working to try and give us signals when he wasn't looking.

When he called us to gather and tested the potion on Neville's toad. It worked and the Gryffindors congratulates Neville but Snape looked most displeased. I was glad I'd helped, because Trevor meant the world to Neville and if he had died because Snape was being cruel, Neville never would have forgiven himself.

"Five points from Gryffindor. Granger, I told you not to help him."

"She didn't, Professor, I did." Hermione hit me but I ignored her. I wouldn't let my friends take the fall this time. I stared him down, daring him to take points from me.

"Ten points from Gryffindor then." I flared and he nearly smiled. The snake. "And five from Slytherin." Every Slytherin glared daggers at me. "Likewise, because you so proudly disobey me, you'll be given a week's detention. For every time you disobey me from now, you'll get detention again with another week added. In case you don't understand simple math, BLACK-" he said my name like it was a curse, taking steps toward me as he spoke. People parted with ease, not willing to get between a teacher. Even Harry stepped aside. I was glad of it. "That means the next time you go out of your way to be disruptive you'll have two weeks. The next, three. The next, four. And so on the more you do it. Do I make myself clear?"

I stood up as straight I could. "Perfectly."

Class ended on that note.

I booked it out of the classroom, only pausing to grab my things, giving Neville a moment to thank me. "You don't have to help me anymore. I don't want you to get in trouble."

I looked at him for a moment. "You're my friend, Neville. No one hurts my friends. No one scares and pushes around my friends. No one abuses their powers to make my friends feel small and bad like he does to you. No one. Not ever. Not while I'm still breathing."

He looked to be both worried and admiring. "But you'll get in trouble."

I smiled warmly. "I don't mind detention. Keeps me out of the common room." He didn't seem pleased about that but I left before he could ask why I'd be avoiding my own common room. I’m sure he could deduce it himself easily enough anyway.

-

Defense Against the Dark Arts was better. I rested my chin on the desk, keeping my eyes closed for a moment. I was exhausted and had sat by a few Gryffindors since Sam and Beth had only two seats at the table they were sat at. I ended up next to Hermione, Dean and Seamus next to Ron and Harry who were behind us. Neville and a Gryffindor I didn't recognize were on the other side. Since Hermione and I were in the front I was allowed a moment of peace and quiet, blocked from the other Slytherins. Just for a moment.

Lupin finally joined us. I peeked up when he came in. He wished us a good morning then told us to put our things away - other students had taken theirs out - and said we'd only need our wands. A practical lesson he said. Then he encouraged us to follow him and, curious, we did.

We had a little encounter with Peeves where I came to adore Lupin even more as he seemed to enjoy Peeves' tendency to be outspoken and bitter towards everyone. The poltergeist blew a raspberry and the professor laughed. I smiled as well. Peeves was shoving gum into a lock and Lupin reversed it with a spell that sent it flying out, taking the opportunity to teach it to us in the most friendly, pleasant way I'd been taught anything.

"Cool, sir!" Dean gushed, awed.

"Thank you, Dean," Lupin returned. We continued. He took us to an empty room I didn't quite recognize. I did, however, realize the room was not as empty as I'd first thought when I spotted Snape of all people. My expression, light, turned into a hard glare again. The oily, black-clad Professor stood to leave the room.

Before he went, he remarked snidely, "Possibly no one's warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger or Miss Black are hissing instructions in his ear." His eyes met mine, gaze narrowing when he took in my glare. Lupin noticed immediately. "Speaking of Miss Black, she tends to enjoy making a fool of herself and mouthing off to teachers. Never knows when to keep her mouth quiet. I assume she gets it from her father."

A terrible feeling rose in me and the room grew deadly silent, even the Slytherins holding their breath. He walked past me and I stood, frozen stiff like I was a sculpture, turning my head slightly so no one could see my eyes full of tears. I stared at a light, blinking rapidly to try and make them go away. I knew that Neville would be upset but I hoped Hermione would take this one. My hands were fists at my sides.

"I was hoping that Neville would assist me in the first stage of the operation," Lupin chimed in calmly. I looked over at him, lips parted in shock. The only change from before to now was that he had raised an eyebrow. "And I am sure he will perform it admirably." Snape looked even angrier at Lupin's reaction. It filled me with great satisfaction. When he was gone, I turned to see Neville's face as red as a tomato. Hermione had indeed taken charge, patting him on the shoulder. Someone's hand nudged mine and I looked over to see Harry. He silently looked at me, a little worried. I smiled weakly in return.

After? he mouthed to me. I nodded.

"Now then," Lupin said, grabbing our attention once more. He guided us to a wardrobe at the back of the room. Something inside banged against the side viciously- we all jumped. "Nothing to worry about. There's only a boggart in there." Some people seemed pretty anxious about that, despite the teacher's words. "Bogarts like dark, enclosed spaces. Wardrobes, the gap underneath beds, the cupboard under sinks- I've even met one that lodged itself in a Grandfather clock. This one moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the Headmaster if the staff would leave it to five my third year's some practice." Oh him. Him I liked. He asked us what a Boggart was. Of course, Hermione answered.

"It's a shape-shifter. It can take the place of whatever it thinks will frighten us most."

I swallowed. So that was why everyone looked about ready to be sick.

He continued on to explain it, saying the boggart hadn't taken form because it hadn't faced anyone yet and then getting Harry to vocally realize for us that it would have a hard time taking form if let out now since there were so many of us. That put me at ease. He then taught us the spell to fight Bogarts. I loved that there was always a spell for every creepy crawly we were introduced to. I loved Defense Against the Dark Arts. "After me, please," he encouraged. "riddikulus."

"Riddikulus," the class repeated together.

"Good," he approved. “But I'm afraid that was the easy part. You see, the word alone is not enough. This is where you come in, Neville." Neville stepped forward, shaking more than the wardrobe. "Right. First thing, what would you say is the one thing in the world that frightens you the most?"

Neville looked about ready to pass out. He didn't speak though his lips moved. Lupin encouraged him and we finally got a, "Professor Snape." He flinched, his eyes darting around like the Professor was going to pop out and attack him. Lupin laughed but I frowned. My heart felt heavy in my chest.

Lupin hummed. "Pressor Snape... Neville, I believe you live with your grandmother?"

"Yes, but, uh, I don't want the Boggart to turn into her either," Neville rushed. A bit more laughter. I almost smiled, if not for the picture these words painted of his life in my mind.

"You misunderstand me." Lupin was smiling. It set me a little at ease. "What kinds of clothes does your grandmother wear?" Neville began to explain but Lupin cut him off after a second. "No, I don't need you to say it out loud. But can you picture it clearly, in your mind?" Neville nodded, still looking confused. "When the Boggart bursts out of the wardrobe, Neville, and sees you, it will assume the form of Professor Snape. And you will raise your wand and yell, Riddikulus! Concentrate hard on your grandmother's clothes." Neville swallowed. "Do you trust me?" The two looked at each other for a moment before Neville nodded. Lupin's smile became even warmer. It made him look younger, near the age I assumed he really was. "If Neville is successful, the boggart will turn its attention to a new person. Everyone line up." We all did, beginning behind Neville a little to give him room. Lupin moved to the wardrobe. "Everyone ready?" Some nodded, but most looked absolutely terrified. "On the count of three. One. Two. NOW!" He opened it and out came Professor Snape, leaning against the side of the open door, slinking out. It was so perfectly Snape that my face turned dark and hateful. Angry.

With Lupin's encouragement, Neville raised his wand. "Riddikulus!" Snape stumbled back, now wearing clothes that had us all laughing.

"Pavarti!" Lupin called. A girl stepped forward. I filed her name and face into my memory so I would remember.

Boggart Snape rounded on her as she stepped forward determinedly. There was a crack and where Snape had been before, there was now a snake. She paused, gulping, and then raised her wand. "Riddikulus!" The snake veered back, and it turned into a clown in a jack-in-the-box styled box, making us laugh again.

"Seamus!" roared Lupin, grinning widely.

Pavarti stepped back as Seamus darted forward, raising his wand already. The clown was gone with another loud crack, a woman with floor length black hair and a messed up face taking its place. A banshee. The woman opened her mouth and released a scream that hit me so hard I nearly collapsed. "Riddikulus!" Seamus shouted. The banshee gasped, clutching her throat- her voice was gone. Grins returned just as they had before. Lupin didn't have to yell since we were all in line, and Ron took that chance, taking a few steps forward before Lupin could think to call him. We were getting more confident. As he did so, another crack. Ron went pale, but he wasn't the only one- some others screamed. There stood a ginormous black widow spider. For a second it seemed Ron was stunned, but then he flicked his wand, crying, "Riddikulus!" The spider suddenly had roller skates on its feet, struggling to stay standing.

I was next. "Ylva!" Lupin called. I beamed, ready.

Another crack and I froze. I went completely still. My mind went blank and I didn't know what to do. What to say. How to move. I thought it would have been a dementor. Or a Death Eater. Maybe smaller me, dead. Anything, even something that showed my most vulnerable weaknesses and fears, would have been better than this.

My smile fell as none other than Sirius Black stared me in the eyes. All the joy and excitement I'd been feeling were gone and I wondered if there was a Dementor around before I realized that, no, I was just feeling absolute, rolling self hate. Fear. My father, in all his rags and tattoos and withered state, was face to face with me. He took one look at me and his face curled into one of disgust.

Ah yes, my worst fear.

Even a deranged madman like Sirius Black was disappointed to have someone like me as a daughter.

Harry was suddenly in front of me, blocking me from the Boggart. He rose his wand to be ready as there was a loud crack, but even before he could say anything, Lupin jumped out, spreading his arms wide and calling, "HERE!" Mid-transformation of what looked to almost be a Dementor became suddenly a full moon, peeking out behind gray clouds. Confusion hit me full in the face. Lupin raised his wand. "Riddikulus." It was calm. He was unbothered. I wondered why that was his fear if it didn't really seem to get him going at all. "Forward Neville, and finish him off!" Lupin called as the moon became a deflating balloon. As the balloon landed on the ground Neville jumped forth as it turned into Snape again. "Riddikulus!" he shouted. Facing someone who’d already defeated him, the Boggart struggled for a few seconds as Snape in a lacy dress before exploding into a bunch of little wisps of ribbons after Neville laughed extra loud at it. And so it was done.

"Excellent!" Cried Lupin as we all applauded. "Good job Neville- to everyone. Let's see... five points to each Gryffindor that tackled the Bogart, and five to Slytherin for Ylva stepping up as well." I looked at my feet. I hadn't done anything. "Ten points to Neville since he did it twice. Five points to Harry and Hermione each as well."

"But I didn't do anything, Professor," Harry pointed out. I grit my teeth.

"You and Hermione answered my question," Lupin argued lightly. "At the start of class." His smile was broad. "Now, everyone, read up on the chapter on boggarts and summarize it for me... to be handed in on Monday. That will be all." The excited class left as Harry and I begin to walk out with our heads down. "Um, Ylva, will you please stay for a moment?" I reached out and grabbed Harry's wrist on instinct. Harry paused, ready to stay and have my back. "No need for Harry to stay, I just wish to talk to you?" He was warm and kind as always. It put me at ease. "Excellent consideration though, Harry, for putting yourself out there to help your friend. I can't imagine how hard it must be for you Ylva, to be here, now, with everything going on." I let Harry's arm go and we exchanged looks before I nodded, letting him know I'd be fine.

"Can I see you after school today?" He asked me. I nodded again. He left.

I turned to Lupin. "Professor, if you're going to give me a speech, I really don't-"

"No," Lupin interrupted. "I suppose that wouldn't help." I paused, unsure of what he wanted. "You know, in school, I knew Sirius. He was a friend of mine." My eyes went wide. He nodded. "I never heard a word of you..."

"He doesn't know," I explained. "My mum didn't want him to. Especially after what happened... well, I mean, I live in an orphanage."

Lupin seemed saddened by that. "I'm sorry."

"It's not so bad," I reassured. "I'm friends with Cedric Diggory, a sixth year Hufflepuff. He's... sort of taken me in. He and the Weasleys house me during the Summer. I'm really close with Fred and George Weasley- Fred especially."

Lupin's smile returned. "So Hogwarts has given you as much as it gave me when I was a student."

My hands fiddled with my robes a bit. "Professor... what house was my father in?"

He gave me a long look. "Gryffindor." I physically relaxed. He dropped it. "I tell you this because... I know how that feels. I remember how it felt for me. If you ever... need anything. You can talk to me. Always." He put his hands behind his back. "I'm glad you're my student. It's like having a bit of the good times back. I wish for you to have a good Hogwarts experience, as I did.”

I pondered that for a second. "I will remember that. Thank you, Professor." He nodded and then told me I could go and I did. I thought about on the train, just a while ago. About how I'd wondered if he'd last more than just this year. I didn't know if he would, but I was cheering for him. Hoping. I'd never liked a teacher as much as I liked him, and I suppose I never would.

-

Tag List: @reddie-steddie-go

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A Fine Thing To Be

(spoilers for Lady’s Guide)

so my friend @coolpolarbear123 and I were talking about what must’ve been going through Monty’s head when he arrived to pick up Felicity from Platt toward the end of Lady’s Guide, which led to us writing the encounter from Monty’s POV!

also on ao3

---

I stand at the front of the house, waiting for the door to be answered. Months of searching led up to this moment, and I pray that this was the right place, that Felicity is inside this house, and I can swoop in to rescue her like the charming older brother she loves, whether she admits it or not.

The door swings open, and I am face to face with a tall and sunburnt fellow. He clearly doesn’t suspect a thing, for he smiles politely at me and says: “Good afternoon, sir. You must be captain Boswell.”

“Indeed I am.” I try to peer around him, but he is blocking the view of the interior of the house. I reach out my hand and he grasps it in a firm shake. “And you are?”

“Stafford, sir. Come right in.” Stafford sidesteps, letting me enter. I take a brief glance around the not-so-modest quarters, but am quickly distracted by voices up ahead.

“...have not saved anyone!” someone says. It’s low, but I’d know that voice anywhere. Never before in my life could I have thought hearing it would bring me so much relief. “Not me, not Johanna, not yourself,” my sister states. Every step I take is a step closer to Felicity. My heart is beating fast, all the anticipation I’ve built up over the past few months reaching its peak. It makes me want to rush in, but I keep my pace steady.

A tired voice I don’t recognize speaks. “You don’t understand.”

I step into the doorway of the parlor, and immediately pick out out my sister. She seems alright, but it’s hard to tell from where I’m standing. Her back is to me, and she’s sitting with someone that looks vaguely familiar. It takes a second, but I realize that this must be Johanna Hoffman. I don’t remember much of her, just her rather dramatic quarrel with Felicity and her old habit of making googly eyes at Percy. I haven’t seen her in years, and I have to admit she’s become quite the lovely figure.

“Neither do you!” Felicity replies sharply. It brings me back to the situation. “At least I know enough not to delude myself into thinking imprisonment is a kindness.”

“Imprisonment?” I can’t help making a bit of a scene as I announce my presence. “That’s very dramatic. Will she make this much of a theater about everything?”

I saunter inside, doing my very best to avoid eye contact with my sister, though I notice her straightening at the sound of my voice before turning to look at me eyes wide and gaping.

The commander begins to make introductions, and I introduce myself as well. “Captain James Boswell, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” I shake his hand and begin to discuss payment, making a fuss about what’s paid up front as if we’ll ever receive the latter half. It’s all formalities and I know I can’t hurry them along without looking suspicious, but it’s hard to not turn myself around and fling my arms around Felicity.

It feels like a lifetime has passed before everything is in order, and I finally turn to get a good look at my sister, taking in all that the past months have done to her. I can see more bones and her dress is torn, mirroring what she looked like on the adventure of a tour we took the previous year. Her hair resembles a bird’s nest more than a braid. Percy might be sent into shock at the sight.

And of course she’s grinning through all of that. A few years ago, I would never see a look like that on her face--especially directed at me. But now, here I am, wishing I could return it. I realize that all of the relief I’ve been feeling isn’t because of the long, long journey coming to an end, but because I have been so anxious over my sister, that seeing her again is flooding me with emotions I never knew I could feel towards her. I can’t return her grin, so I go for the next best thing a brother can do after being reunited with his little sister: I go for a little mockery.

“How much trouble can I expect?” I speak to Platt, cocking my head slightly towards him, though not taking my eyes off Felicity. “They look contrary.”

“No trouble,” Platt replies, his voice a warning directed at the two girls.

I point at Felicity, and keeping my face straight costs me inhumane effort. I’m enjoying this, I’ll admit it. “That one’s got a squint like she reads too many books.”

I can feel how much she wants to roll her eyes at me; it’s radiating off of her in waves. It’s almost entertaining.

Stafford continues, “Feel free to use any restraint you see fit. And upon the delivery of this letter--” I take the parchment that’s being handed to me, restraining from scowling at it-- “you can expect sufficient compensation from her father.”

The words almost sway me. I should have been expecting them, as we were talking about payments only moments before. I smile at him, pretending that any sort of exchange with my father would be a wonderful prize.

As Stafford and myself guide the girls toward the docks, I briefly entertain the childish idea of pushing Felicity into the water, purely to take vengeance for what had transpired in London. But I can’t, so I simply lean in, and murmur as quietly as I can: “Dear sister, look what you get yourself into when I’m not around.”

I can’t help it. Every reprimanding look or snide comment she gave me whenever I messed up comes to mind, and I thoroughly enjoy not being the cause of anyone getting in trouble for once in my life.

“Dear brother,” she says, “I have never been gladder to see you.”

I wasn’t expecting that--I was preparing myself for a snarky reply or at the very least an eye roll. I spare a glance at her, wondering what exactly she went through. Could it be worse than what I was imagining? Than what she was letting on? The ideas start to form a rock in my stomach. The amount of concern I had stored up surprises me yet again. Perhaps I do have it in me to be somewhat of a decent older brother.

I had only jokingly agreed before, but Felicity was right. Love has truly made me soft.

The Eleftheria comes into view, and I hear Felicity’s breath release as her shoulders slump slightly. I let her go and exchange my last formalities with Stafford, shaking his hand with my own that I shall need to clean as soon as I can.

I take both Johanna and Felicity up into the ship, passing everyone on the top deck except Ebrahim, who I make eye contact with, exchanging a silent conversation to let him know he is free to follow. The four of us go below the deck, me going down first so I could lend a hand to the ladies. Felicity takes it with a smile and descends, but when I extend the same helping hand to Johanna, she snatches her own close to her chest, as if the mere idea of my aid insults her, and leaps down herself. There, I am painfully reminded of the fact that she is unaware that she is being rescued when she, completely unprompted, kicks me between the legs.

Doubling over in pain, every foul word I’ve ever heard runs through my head, one or two escaping me. It doesn’t help that Johanna seems nowhere near being finished.

“You should be ashamed of yourself!” she cries out, and I feel something hit the back of my head as I’m still bent over. Her voice is high pitched and she clearly believes to be making the stand of her life. “You are a terrible man for accepting money to deliver human cargo who are obviously taken against their will. You’re no better than a slaver and a pirate!”

“Johanna-- ” Felicity calls, but she is ignored.

“I don’t care what he does to me! I don’t care what any of these bastards do! There’s nothing left to take from me, and I just want to hit something!” I feel the muff again.

Felicity manages to grab her. “Johanna, stop! Stop it, he’s not going to hurt you.”

“Well, I want to hurt him!”

“Stop it, Johanna. He’s not a sailor. This is my brother.”

“What?” I hear fabric ruffle as she turns. “Henry Montague?”

I groan and stand up, carefully protecting the still very painful area in case she might try anything again. “Miss Hoffman,” I manage. “My compliments to your cobbler. What are those shoes made of and from where exactly was it mined?” A bit of wit never hurt to soothe things over.

“You’re… weren’t you…” Johanna’s eyes dart between Felicity and me, then, composing herself, she states, “I remember him taller.”

Before I can reply, Felicity says, “You and him both.” My pride wounded, I make a sour face that I’m not sure either of them sees.

“Oh. Well then.” She runs her hands along her dress. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you.”

Not exactly the apology I was hoping for.  “Not sorry for the kick?”

“No, not particularly.” The last thing I need is two Felicitys on board to harass me.

I hear footsteps, and Percy joins us belowdecks. As always when I see him, my heart flutters. Not wasting a single second, he embraces my sister tightly. ‘Felicity Montague, I’ve been sick over you.’

Extraordinarily, Felicity doesn’t even seem to mind the embrace. I surrender to the urge I’ve been holding back since I first saw her again, and wrap my arms around both of the most important people in my life. I press my head to Felicity’s and squeeze tighter. I take a deep breath, seemingly for the first time since my sister ran away from us in London. Taking in the moment, I feel eternally grateful that she is all right.

If love has made me soft, I think that it’s a fine thing to be.

[cameronspecial]

Sent From A Goddess (Ch.2)

Pairing: Demigod! Tom Holland x Demigod! Reader

Summary: (Y/N) (Y/L/N) is the daughter of Poisedon, and for twelve years she was all alone. Growing up at camp without any family and watching people she is closed to come in and out of her life has caused her to close up. So she made a rule, the only people she is allowed to be truly close to is her brother, his family, Chiron, Tyson, Annabeth, and Grover. When Tom in his brothers come around, will he be able to break that rule?  

Word Count: 2 005

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Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | 

Tom and his brothers had been at Camp Half-Blood for a week now and it was safe to say that they were enjoying themselves. Tom was relatively good when it came to sword fighting, however, he was not the greatest at archery which was ironic because he was the son of Apollo. During the whole week, they have been here, Tom has not once heard her laugh or seen her smile. What happened to her for her to be like this? He wants to see her happy and he wants to help her. He nor any of his brothers could get her to laugh or talk about herself, and that made him even more curious.

(Y/N) sat on the beach with her sketchbook and pencil in hand. Everyone else was training, so all she could hear were the soothing waves and the distant sound of swords clashing together. She mindlessly sketches what was on her mind like usual and this time it was one of her many imaginations of what her mom looked like. Throughout her many sketchbooks pictures of what she thought her mom looks like are scattered all throughout them. She had done everything she can to find her mother, but she never found anything in her 16 years of life. She wants to know who she is other than the daughter of Poseidon. “Why won’t you tell me who she is?” she whispers to no one in particular. Percy stood on the path that leads down to the beach watching at his little sister. Even though they were born the same day in the same year, he always saw her as his baby sister because he was twelve years later. He didn’t like to see his sister likes this and the fact that anything he does doesn’t help makes it worse. He walks towards (Y/N) to keep her company.

She sensed her brother coming near her and closes her sketchbook. “How did you imagine her this time?” he asks softly. He sits down next to her and wraps his arm around her shoulder. She opens up the sketchbook to show her brother. He smiles at the drawing of the beautiful woman that looks like (Y/N). “I decide to make her look more like me this time,” she tells him. “Well, like all of your drawing it looks amazing,” he praises. All she can do is nod and close the sketchbook again. Percy sighs, “You know you can talk to me about anything right?” He knows that she has closed herself off ever since Luke died and it was killing him that he couldn’t make her feel better. She whispers I know before getting up and walking off. Percy sees that she left her sketchbook and takes a look at some of her drawings. They were all so sad. He felt like he could feel her grieving. Annabeth walks up to Percy and sits with him. “Did she blow you off again?” Annabeth questions. She knew how much this was hurting Percy because she felt the same way. She couldn’t help her best friend feel better and that bothered both of them. “I know how you feel. I tried talking to her this morning at breakfast and she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t tell me how she felt. Percy, she’s getting worse by the day and I am worried. Who knows how she is feeling or what she is thinking?” Annabeth worries. “I know, but I promise Wise Girl that I am doing everything I can to help her and I will continue too until she is better,” Percy vouched, Annabeth started crying and all he could do was bring her face into the crook of his neck.

(Y/N) watches in horror as Percy hands over the knife to Luke. She watches as the person she used to trust and still love plunges the knife into himself. She tries to run towards him to stop him, but Percy holds her back. Luke lies on the ground slowly bleeding out, but instead of dying as he did in real life, his body changes to look like Kronos. Everyone else disappears so that it’s just her and Kronos in the darkness. He stands up and walks towards her. She felt absolutely powerless. She couldn’t move her feet; she was frozen in fear. “You’re a nobody. You couldn’t save them and you won’t be able to save the rest. Not Percy, Not Annabeth, Not Grover,” Kronos continues to list the people she loved and the people that she has lost. Then it kept getting worse. Darian appears in front of Kronos. He begged and pleaded to be let free. Kronos just laughs and a sword appears in his hand. He raises it ready to plunge it into Darian’s heart and all she can do is scream and watch.  

Before the sword plunges into his heart, (Y/N)’s eyes flutter open and her screams could be heard throughout the cabin. Percy is standing over her bed, shaking her awake. “You’re okay. You’re okay,” he promises as he holds her close to his chest. Once she calms down, she told Percy thank you and that he should head to bed. She makes sure he is asleep before putting her hair in a ponytail and putting her shoes on. She opens the door quietly and sneaks out. She passes the archery range as she makes her way to the climbing wall. She notices that a mop of brown hair was at the range where he was not supposed to be. She recognizes him as Thomas Holland, one of the newest campers, and decides to watch. She leans against the tree and observes. He draws back the string with the arrow and then let's go. The arrow doesn’t fly through the air as it would normally, the arrow drops to the floor which was funny because he is the son of Apollo. She doesn’t know what overcame her, but she starts giggling for the first time in months.  Tom’s head snaps in the direction that he heard the giggling come from. He smiles when he sees that it was (Y/N); he finally gets to see that beautiful smile of hers.

She immediately stops when she sees that he was staring at her. “You know for a child of Apollo you are pretty shit with a bow and arrow,” she claims with her face turning back to its serious expression. Tom laughs and looks at her, “Yeah, well it’s not liked I asked to be his son and these things are harder then they look.” (Y/N) just shakes her head and taps her ring two times to change it into a bow and arrow. She walks up to the target, draws back the string with the arrow, and lets it go. It flies through the air and hits the bullseye of the target. She draws back another arrow and it splits the first arrow. She does the same thing two more times then looks at Tom with you were saying written on her face. “It’s not as hard as you think,” she brags with a wicked smile before turning the bow back into a ring. “Teach me,” he says in awe. He had never seen anyone that good, not even Will. (Y/N) just shakes her head as she walks away, “I am sorry, but I don’t teach anymore.” That was the first thing that she ever told him about herself and that made him hope. Hope that maybe he can get her to smile again.

She got to the rock wall when and gets ready to climb. “You’re really going to climb that thing in the middle of the night with no one around. Doesn’t seem very safe,” Tom comments as he watches her get closer to the wall. The girl scoffs and begins climbing the wall, “I have been climbing these walls ever since I was little, and I think I will be fine.” If Tom keeps this going, then he can finally learn more about her. “Well, I just want to make sure you are safe,” he admits out loud. He wouldn’t tell anyone just yet, but he may have developed a tiny crush on the mysterious girl. “I don’t need you to protect me. I am pretty sure you're supposed to be in your cabin, so why don’t you go back,” she claims, by now she was half-way up the wall which amazed Tom. “Yeah, well maybe I’ll keep you some company and try the wall myself,” Tom announces as he starts climbing the wall. She looks down at him, she wouldn’t admit it, but she definitely felt a bit of concern towards him. “I don’t care what you do or about you.” Tom ignores her, knowing that it was not true, and continues to copies what she is doing.

(Y/N) was standing at the top of the climbing wall, watching Tom climb up towards her. He tried to remember what holds she used to get up, but his memory failed him and he wasn’t fast enough to get up. The lava started slowly pouring when he was so close to the top; what was worse was that his hand couldn’t hold on anymore and he let go. (Y/N) was quick to grab onto his wrists and pull him up beside her. “That’s why you use the rope and harness, you dimwit,” she scolds, she pressing the button to stop the lava and starting to descend the wall. “Umm, how am I supposed to get down?” he croaks. He did not think this through. (Y/N) shakes her head and belays the harness up to him. “Put that on!” she shouts to him. Tom nods his head and does as he is told. Once he gets it on, she starts bringing him down slowly. He had to admit that he was a little afraid, but he trusted her. “My knight in shining armour,” Tom gushes with his hands over his heart. “Shut it, Holland. Now, get back to your cabin before I call the harpies to eat you up,” she growls before she storms off to her cabin.

Percy’s head darts toward the sound of his sister coming through the door. He lets out a sigh of relief, “Thank the gods you are okay. You know I worry when you are not in bed. What happened to you? Your closes are burnt to a crisp.” (Y/N) mumbles that she is okay and continues to collect a change of clothes for her. She walks into the private bathroom Chiron built for her cabin. She turns on the faucet of the bathtub and watches the water drain into it. Once it was full, (Y/N) starts to strip off the burnt clothes and examines herself in the mirror. Through the mirror, she could see the scar that was approximately 15 cm. It started from the top of her right shoulder and goes in towards her shoulder blade. The incident may have happened 7 years ago, but the scar still remains as a reminder for what happened.

The young female sinks herself into the tub and watches the water swish around in the tub. The music plays in the background whilst she is deep in thought. Why did Tom insist on trying to get to know her? Why couldn’t he just leave her alone like everyone else? Whatever he is doing, she does not like it. He may be handsome and cause other girls heart to flutter, but he didn’t have that effect on her. If the children of Aphrodite could know what she was thinking, they would say that she was crazy. They would say that his good looks, muscles, and delightful singing voice is perfect boyfriend material. (Y/N) on the other hand, thought that his consistent trying to get to know her was quite annoying. Plus, she would need to know more about him if she were to ever fall head over heels for him, she would need to learn more about him first.

*Tell me what you thought about the chapter here*

Next Chapter Comes Out November the 2nd

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[thebigqueer]

Solangelo - "Lethal Enemies" - One-Shot

Summary: Nico and Will are venturing through Tartarus, and there they meet a familar god: Eros.

Word Count: 2905

SPOILERS: Tower of Nero, Burning Maze; TW: Homophobia/Internalized Homophobia, some violence (and blood but it's not too descriptive), outing mentions

Read on AO3

Heat pulses in the air, scorching Nico’s skin as he and Will stumble through the darkness. He isn’t sure how long they’ve been down here, but his body is already aching and screaming from all the effort of fighting monsters and trying to survive.

Will’s arm brushes against Nico’s, and the child of Hades almost jumps back at the touch. His skin feels feverishly hot, bursting with unnatural heat. When Nico looks up at him, he realizes that Will’s face is severed with scratches, gashes, sweat, and an overall pale wash. Small holes smoke in his CHB T-shirt, and his jeans are ripped at the sides from where a monster clawed him.

At the sight of him, Nico’s chest constricts with sympathy and guilt. As much as he loves Will for coming with him, he knows the kind of pressures that would put on both of them. Will looks so out of place in such a dark, gloomy world, where only terror and misery reside.

To Nico, Will is the complete opposite of terror and misery. He’s the sunshine after a terrible rain storm; he’s the sweetness after the sourness. But here, in the raging darkness, Will looks washed out. He doesn’t belong here.

Tartarus is Nico’s terrifying, unspeakable past; Will is his bright future. The two should not be clashing.

This hell was made to ruin. And it seems like it’s doing its job on Will, too.

Nico slips his fingers into the blond’s and squeezes, pushing his own feverish warmth into his boyfriend. Will turns his face to Nico’s and, for the first time, Nico sees a crack in his eyes - usually so sky blue, they’ve turned almost gray with fear. He’s breaking.

Nico leans into Will’s side, trying to find solace in the overbearing darkness. “It’s only going to get worse,” he mutters.

“Then I’m glad I’m not doing it alone.”

Nico offers a wavering smile, and they continue walking. For the most part, it seems like they’re safe from any monsters, but Nico knows from past experience that he can never be too careful. His eyes swerve all around them, watching out for any new monsters, and his Stygian sword pulses in the darkness.

After a few moments, there’s a shift in the air. It’s still warm and unbearable, but there’s a new scent - like a faint waft of the outside world, the breath of a fresh summer day. It smells almost like Will.

The blood in Nico’s veins buzzes and he stops immediately. Fear courses through his body. Will staggers as the child of Hades grips his wrist and pulls him back. At the sight of Nico’s ashen face, Will leans in. “Everything good?” he asks.

“That smell,” he whispers. “What does it smell like to you?”

“Well,” Will says, eyebrows knitting together as he thinks, “it kind of smells like you, weirdly? Like, the earth after a rainy day.”

That’s all Nico needs to know before panic settles in his chest. His mind crawls with memories and the pain of humiliation he faced just a year ago. Jason, Croatia, Diocletian’s spectre.

“No,” he mutters. “Will, we need to leave.”

Without waiting for a response, Nico tightens his fingers over Will’s wrist and starts to pull him away. But a voice murmurs, “Oh, leaving so soon, child of Hades?” and Nico knows right then and there that he and Will are trapped.

The voice pours over the heat like melted chocolate, smooth and deep, but a dagger of betrayal resides in it. Nico’s heart thuds on overtime and his nerves flair with anxiety, but he knows he can’t go anywhere. This meeting was bound to happen.

“Eros,” Nico hisses.

“Ah,” the voice murmurs. “So you recognize me.”

The god isn’t visible, but Nico can feel his cold presence anyway. “Who would forget such a jackass?”

A low, rumbling laugh echoes around them. Will’s hand releases its hold on Nico’s and lingers over the gun at his side. Nico raises his sword.

“Well, well, well,” the god says, “it looks like you’ve got a new friend here with you. How sweet.”

“Show yourself,” Will demands. “Face us like the hot-headed deity you are.”

Though he can’t see it, Nico still senses the raised eyebrow over the god’s eye. “Oh, he’s feisty, too. You sure have won with him.”

“Stop talking about him like he’s some kind of object,” says Nico. “You heard him. Show yourself.”

The same laughter crashes over them, and after another moment, a being appears. His long, black hair gleams despite the absence of light, and his red eyes glimmer maliciously in the darkness. They stare right through Nico, stabbing him in the face, and suddenly Nico’s hurtling to the past, to the misery. He scowls at the god.

Eros’ wings spread around him, the feathers fluttering a little as he shifts. He crosses his arms and offers a sharp smirk to Will and Nico. “Aw, look at you two,” he purrs. “So young and in love. Ready to fight together in Tartarus.”

“What do you want?” Nico asks, brandishing his sword. “Why are you bothering us?”

Eros’ shoulders rise and fall gracefully in an innocent shrug. “Oh, nothing, really. I was really just hoping to see how you were. I heard you were traveling down here, and I thought I would check on your progress.”

“Well, great. You’ve checked. You can leave.”

He laughs again, a low, tumbling laugh that heightens Nico’s rage. “Ever the sarcastic, child of Hades. No, listen. I can help you.”

“And how will you do that?” Will asks, raising an eyebrow. “You’re nothing more than a love god.”

“Have the Aphrodite children taught you nothing, pitiful child?” Eros hisses. “Love plays an important role in life.”

“I don’t see how love is helpful here,” Nico says, spreading his arms to gesture to the rest of Tartarus. “All I see is pain and misery. You can leave.”

“Oh, but I see where love can become important.” Eros raises a brow and tips his head to the boys. “Are you two not in love?”

Nico blushes. “That is not of your concern.”

“I can influence a lot,” he promises. “Especially the way you two act together. Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase - the two you were oh-so-jealous of only some time ago - came here together. They got away safely. I can influence a lot between you and Will Solace.” He steps forward, and against his lips, a dagger-like smile beams at Nico.

The son of Hades crosses his arms. “I happen to remember that I got through here on my own. Love does not solve all problems.”

Eros raises an eyebrow. “Does it not?” He begins to circle around Will and Nico, glaring at them with his ruby-red eyes. “Tell me, Nico, does Will not make you feel special? Does he not help you feel better?”

Rage billows up in Nico’s chest, pushing against his sternum. “I am happy with Will. But he does not solve my problems, just the way I do not solve his.”

“But you are happier with him, is that right?” Another smile flashes across his mouth. “And who are you to thank for him, hmm? If it were not for me, you would not be here today with him. You would not be happy accepting who you are.”

Nico’s anger rises up to this throat, hot waves of rage crashing against the back of his neck. He surges forward, but Will pulls him back. “No,” he whispers. “He’s a god, Nico. Don’t try.”

Nico glares at Will, but deep down, he knows Will is right. So he sighs and stands still.

“I would not be happy?” he growls. Nico's muscles tighten with rage. “You humiliated me. I wasn’t ready to admit who I was; I wasn’t ready for any of that.” This time, despite Will’s insistence, Nico rushes forward, his anger pulling him toward the god. “It was my choice, and you stole it from me! And you’re congratulating yourself?”

“It’s not like there were many people there,” the god scoffs. “Only Grace.” He pouts. “I heard about the demigod’s untimely death, however. Terribly sorry.”

Nico shakes his head. He knows Eros is just trying to get under his skin by mentioning Jason. He can’t let himself get distracted.

“Your outing of me was not something to celebrate,” hisses Nico. “I spent so much time hating myself, hating Percy because of who I was. When you forced me to blatantly admit that I was gay” - a burst of confidence blooms in Nico’s chest as he says the last word - “I had never felt so violated. I only hated myself more, because I was terrified of who I was. The entire experience was humiliating. You ruined me.”

“Did I?” Eros asks. “The first step in accepting yourself was to admit you were gay in the first place. I pushed you to accept yourself.” He gestures to Will. “Now look where you are! Happy and in love with a boyfriend! Is there anything better?”

Nico’s chest heaves as another wave of rage suffocates him. His body shakes with anger. He feels like a detonating bomb; in just a few seconds, he will explode and destroy everything in the area.

“You only made things worse,” mutters Nico. “I spent days worrying about who was watching me, worrying about how much people knew. I hated myself every moment, every second afterwards, even more so than before you forced me to admit that I was gay.” Nico takes a deep breath, his chest expanding as he does so. “Maybe you’re right - maybe I did need to admit to myself who I was. But it should have been on my own terms. You did not help me accept myself; all you did was make me tell myself what I already knew. You made the entire process of accepting myself more difficult than it needed to be. When I spat out that I liked Percy, I felt… I felt violated. I felt like someone had stabbed me right through the back. I… I hated myself more than I ever did at that moment. I thought it was the end; I thought right then and there, I would die. Not from embarrassment, but from someone else’s hands. My own hands. I thought there was nothing more humiliating than to be forced to tell someone I didn’t know that I was some kind of disgusting creature. I felt so dehumanized.” Nico glares at Eros. “Don’t feel happy that you did that. You did not improve my life; only I did that. Not Will, not you, not any of my friends. Me. Do not take credit for my accomplishments.” Hot fury seethes in Nico’s core, washes up over his chest, crashes against his throat, trickles down his arms and legs. His lungs expand and exhale as he breathes hard, each breath like acid burning down his sinuses. “My work has been looked over too much, ever since I first learned of demigods. Do not take the credit for my self-improvement, because you are one of the many reasons I was destroyed in the first place.”

For a moment, no one speaks. An eerie silence lingers in the air, holding Nico in a chokehold. Eros simply watches him, his eyebrows lowered and a fierce, judgmental, angry look glowing in his red eyes. Will tilts his head at Nico and offers the ghost of a smile. I'm proud of you, he seems to be saying.

Nico doesn’t return it, but even then, a little flower of confidence blooms in his chest.

Eros crosses his arms once more, airing his defiance out into the open. Arrogance sparks along his wings. He raises a brow at Nico. “You have become more bold in yourself. Self-assured.” A sharp smile grates against his mouth. “And that would not have happened had you not admitted you were gay at all. I may have humiliated you, but in the end, you have become stronger through your pain. You have become sturdy, grounded into the world. I have led you to your happiness.” He offers a secretive smile to Will. “And your happiness is your boyfriend. You’re welcome.”

Nico watches Eros, glaring at his over-confident face, at his casual posture, at the pride in his eyes. He is too assured in himself, too hot-headed.

The sword in Nico’s hand grows heavier, a hum buzzing through the metal. Irritation and anger swirl in his chest, creating a tornado in his body, and he’s drowning, drowning in his rage, in his memories, in his untamed emotions.

He knows what he has to do.

Nico raises his sword, and, without even thinking, he slashes the god’s shoulder.

“Nico!” Will cries, but it’s too late. Eros cries out and hisses through his teeth, holding his arm in his hand. His angry red eyes gleam right at the child of Hades, projecting all his rage and pain right to Nico’s core. The demigod merely stands still, waiting for the god’s next move.

“Oh, you arrogant hero!” Eros cries. Golden ichor slips past his fingers, dripping onto the ground, and for a strange, fleeting moment, Nico finds that it looks beautiful in the darkness, sparkling where it should not be.

Only pain belongs in Tartarus. Nico wants to hurt Eros the way he hurt him.

Nico knows the act was stupid, but he can’t help the grin that takes over his face. Laughter bubbles out of his chest, sprinkled with something maniacal, something angry. “What’s wrong, my lord?” Nico purrs, leaning against his sword. “You said love fixes pain. Can it fix you?”

Eros snarls at Nico, but the son of Hades doesn’t care. Nothing beats the thrill that thrums in his body at the sight of the god being so frustrated.

Eros pants through the pain, his face turning red. “You think you are something special, don’t you, child?”

Nico laughs, the sound of it ironic in such a painful place. The laugh overflows with repressed pain, with hot anger.

That laugh belongs here in Tartarus, with its madness and rage.

“Oh, Eros,” Nico mutters. “I spent so long thinking I deserved nothing. I spent so long thinking everywhere I went, misery followed me. I have never felt special.” He glances up and down at the god. “You asked me if even Will makes me feel special. Well, no. He makes me… feel good. But you know what makes me feel actually special?”

Despite his rage, curiosity strangles Eros’ eyes. He waits for a response, hissing as more ichor spills out of his godly being.

“What makes me feel good, what makes me feel like I have a worth in this world,” Nico says as a smile creeps over his face, offering him a maniacal glow, “is when I provide justice to those who have done wrong. Originally I always believed Death has no mercy, only justice.” He slashes again at Eros, who cries louder and falls to his knees. He pants through the pain. “Well, I suppose there are other ways to provide justice.”

Nico runs his finger through the golden ichor that gleams over his sword. Touching it, Nico’s finger tingles with power. He looks at Eros again. “What makes me feel special is when I defeat entitled assholes like you, my lord.”

“You have not defeated me,” the god growls.

“No, not physically,” Nico agrees. “But I have defeated the pain you have caused me.” He touches the tip to Eros’ chin, balancing it mere millimeters from his skin. The point gleams red as it reflects the glow of Eros’ eyes. “Begone, you pitiful asshole.”

Eros snarls and throws Nico’s sword away, but the demigod only smiles. This is exactly the reaction he wanted.

“You cannot kill me, arrogant hero,” Eros reminds him.

“No, but I can scare you.” Raising an eyebrow at him, Nico says, “Many have been scared of me. I am a child of Hades. You may be a god, but you have no idea of what I am capable of.”

Eros regards Nico with a sharp glare, but the sight of it no longer grates against Nico’s conscience. He’s only bursting with energy, with confidence. He hasn’t felt so alive in years. Power hums in his core, billows over his chest, courses through his veins. He feels almost invincible.

“You have made an enemy, Nico di Angelo,” Eros promises. “And love is no enemy you want. Especially not with someone in your situation.”

Nico falters. What does Eros mean? Does he mean his being gay? Does he mean with society in general? Then Nico turns to his boyfriend, who’s shivering with fear and adrenaline at his side, and it clicks. He means Will.

Nico scowls at Eros. “You say I have made an enemy, Eros, but the truth of the matter is that you made me an enemy long ago. When you first stabbed me in the shoulder with your weapon.” Nico glances at the wound on Eros’ left arm and shakes his head. “You made a mistake long ago. You are only now realizing it.”

Silence lingers around them, floating tensely in the hot air. Then Eros says, “I can influence a lot.” A glimmer of confidence returns in his eyes. “Be warned, child of Hades.”

With that, Eros disappears. And Will and Nico are left alone once more, staring ahead to whatever terrors lie ahead.

[romionesecretsanta]

Not the Christmas He Expected

This one’s for you, @vondrakenhof. It was my first time writing these two, but I had a fun time doing it. Hope you enjoy!  

—x—

This wasn’t how Ron imagined his Christmas break going.

For starters, Ron hadn’t thought he would get a Christmas break at all. As a trainee in the Auror Academy, he knew was just about as low as you could go on the totem poll. He would have been happy to get Christmas dinner off–would have considered himself lucky if he got all of Christmas Day off. Instead, Kingsley had insisted that all of the trainees fresh from Hogwarts get the week from Christmas Day to New Year’s Day off. Something about paying back a little of the innocence was stolen from them.

Normally, Ron would turn up his freckled nose at such blatant special treatment. But this was special treatment that he deserved. He had actually earned this privilege, and the scars that wound across his pale skin proved it. This wasn’t some consolation prize or a “bonus” of being a friend of Harry Potter.

In the end, neither Harry nor Ron had protested much. Their classmates deserved this break, too, and they didn’t want to ruin it for them. And, as the duo reminded Kingsley on their way out, should any of the remaining Death Eaters show their ugly faces, he knew where to reach them.

So, by all rights, Ron should have been ecstatic.

It was a certain wild-maned brunette in his life that had thrown him off kilter.

Everyone had been gathered in the living room, sipping on tea and hot chocolate and just enjoying having the whole family gathered. It was late that Christmas evening. Presents had been long since opened and dinner had been put away. But it had also been years since the last all the Weasley siblings had made it to Christmas. Both Bill and Charlie had been abroad while Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George had been in Hogwarts. Then Percy had to go be an absolute arse. And then last year…well. It was good to have everyone here now.

Then, without warning, Hermione had appeared, trunk and Crookshanks in tow, in the fireplace. There were a tense few seconds where everyone’s hands went to their wands, but it passed soon enough as everyone recognized their late night guest.

“Merry Christmas, everyone!” she greeted them. Crookshanks leapt out of her arms and vanished to wherever it was the blasted beast liked to go when he was here. “I’m sorry I’m so late. I really did mean to get here sooner, but I just couldn’t find a good opening to leave my family.”

Ron and Harry immediately shared a glance. Translation: her parents didn’t want her to leave at all, and she had only just won the argument. The Grangers had been more reluctant than ever to let their daughter slip back into the magical world since their return from Australia. It had been a constant source of  tension in their relationship lately, but Ron had thought that everything had been settled when Hermione left for Hogwarts this year.

Apparently not.

“Anyway, I know it’s late, but I have all of your Christmas gifts!” With a swish of her wand, said pile of book-shaped gifts sailed out of Hermione’s trunk and towards their expected recipients.

“Wonder what this could be,” Harry drawled, having been the first to catch his. “Hey, Ron, wanna bet we’ve all gotten a copy of Hogwarts: A History?”

“Nah, mate. It’s a new hat for sure. Hermione had so much fun knitting during her fourth year that she decided she wanted to join Mum in the yearly tradition,” Ron shot back. He set his mug of cocoa down on the mantel so he could hold his present and draw Hermione in for a hug. She immediately tucked herself under his chin and squeezed him hard. “Your presents are under the tree, too. Mum and Dad headed up to bed a couple hours ago, but we were all planning to be down here for a while yet. Yeah, guys?”

Varying levels of agreement rang out, and everybody settled down once more to open presents. Of course, everyone had gotten books, but they were–thankfully–not copies Hogwarts: A History, signed or otherwise. Both Bill and Fleur had gotten curse-breaking themed books, for example. Ginny had grinned when she peeled off her wrapping to reveal Women in Quidditch with Gwenog Jones and a woman he suspected had been the Irish keeper at one point decorating the cover. Ron himself was now a proud owner of a The Semi-Closed Openings in Action, a muggle chess book. A large bag of Honeyduke’s finest milk chocolate had also found its way into his lap while everyone was busy opening their presents–another form of special attention that Ron was perfectly okay with.

With presents opened once more, no one made any indication of leaving. Instead warming charms were cast on abandoned drinks, and the discussion of everyone’s first interaction with a Weasley Wizard Wheezes’ product picked back up again. Very few people had heard Hermione’s story about the punching telescope, it turned out, and even Percy chuckled at the retelling.

After a while, it became clear that Hermione’s mind was elsewhere. For one, she had pretty much stopped participating in the conversation. She was even silent when everyone was describing their first impressions of Trelawney. When everyone else laughed Hermione would follow along, but that’s all it was. As if she was reacting to the sound of laughter itself instead of the cause. The most tell-tale sign that something was wrong, however, was that she was she was running her fingers up and down the vine-like patterns on her wand. It was a habit that had started after her wand was finally returned to her–one that only surfaced when she was particularly anxious.

Harry had started sending worried glances to him sometime earlier, but by now even Ginny looked concerned. It was time to get to the bottom of this.

“I never got you a drink, ‘Mione!” Ron interjected the moment there was a break in the conversation. He stood and helped a slightly bewildered Hermione to her feet. “Blimey, I’m so sorry. Why don’t you come look at Mum’s tea collection with me, and I’ll get you taken care of.”

He knew Hermione would have asked for a simple black tea with one sugar and a splash of milk. More importantly, Hermione knew that Ron knew. The confusion lifted from her brow, and she followed him towards the kitchen, saying, “Actually that sounds delightful, Ron, thank you.”

Once they were safely tucked out of sight, Ron cast a Muffliato in the general direction of the living room. He leaned up against counter, still holding one of Hermione’s hands, and began to stroke the back of it with his thumb.

“All right, Hermione, spill. What’s going on?”

“I haven’t done any of my extra assignments!” she wailed immediately. Ron blinked, and she pulled her hand from his grasp so she could begin stroking the sides of her wand once more, “I promised Professor Flitwick and Professor Tiananmen and Prof-Headmistress McGonagall are giving me extra lessons, and I had revision work that I was to complete over the break, and now we’ve only a week left and I haven’t even started!”

“There’s nothing wrong with enjoying your break, Hermione,” Ron began. Merlin’s left sock, a Hermione that was worked up about her studies was not going to be easy to calm down. “Harry and I put our homework off every summer, and we always got it done in time.”

“No, Ronald, I haven’t been procrastinating, I haven’t been allowed to do my revisions!” Hermione snapped. Sparks shot from the tip of her wand, mirroring her agitation. “I thought if I just didn’t do any magic in front of them, they would relax, but anytime I so much as picked up one of my textbooks Mum would leave the room and Dad would just shake his head at me like he was disappointed and I-I just..oh Ron is it going to be like this forever?”

Ron’s stomach dropped. Wordlessly he opened his arms, and Hermione didn’t hesitate before collapsing on his chest. This was much worse than he thought it was. This was almost at a Dursley level of problematic. He rubbed circles on her back as he considered the best way to help. The Grangers probably wouldn’t take well to another eighteen year old  telling them how to live their lives, but perhaps if his parents had lunch with them of something? He suggested this to Hermione who shrugged.

Well, there wasn’t much they could do on that front right now, anyway.

“How about I take you to Harry and I’s apartment so you can work in peace and quiet?” Ron suggested, still rubbing comforting circles up and down Hermione’s back. “I think this lot will be up for a while yet.”

Hermione pulled back from Ron’s chest and swiped at her eyes. She took a couple of calming breaths and then nodded. “That would be good. I think I’ll feel better if I could at least outline them all.”

“That’s settled then,” Ron said, “Let’s get your trunk and head over.”

—x—

It hadn’t taken Hermione long to set to work. She summoned the books she needed, grabbed her quill, ink, and parchment, and then plopped down on the loveseat. Since he had no homework to do–a fact he was forever thankful for–Ron had cracked open his new book to read beside Hermione instead. It was pretty good. There were definitely a couple of suggestions that he would be using in his next match.

And while Ron might have imagined a more romantic Christmas evening with Hermione, there was something enjoyable about this, too. It was probably the familiarity of it. More evenings than he could count had passed with he, Harry, and Hermione quietly pouring over books together. Whether they were looking for a forbidden potion, the description of the philosopher’s stone, or Hermione had actually convinced them to drag out their textbooks for a change, it didn’t matter. So his evening might have passed without any enchanted mistletoe, but Hermione was snuggled up under his arm as he read which was a win in his book.

He took the moment to observe his girlfriend out of the corner of his eye. There was a perfectly good coffee table in front of them, but Hermione had pulled her essay into her lap to write instead. She’d pulled her feet up under her instead of letting them dangle over the edge, which he found cute for a reason he couldn’t identify. An ink pot hung in the air just to her right, ready for use at a moment’s notice. Her usually wild mane was pulled up into a messy bun atop her head, and she worried her lip as she wrote.

None of it was a particularly rare sight, but it still…Ron’s chest just felt too full looking at her. Like his lungs simply wouldn’t expand enough, couldn’t draw in enough air. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling by any means. He just felt content.

Ron peaked over Hermione’s shoulder to the essay she was scribbling frantically to see how she was doing. She had quickly moved from “outlining” her essays to full out writing them, and her first page was almost full. He scanned it quickly, recognizing enough spells and names to realize that it was a Defense Against the Dark Arts paper. Just as he was about to return to his own reading, a sentence made him frown.

“In situations when one is outnumbered, quick-paced reaction times might benefit the user more than a shield charm as there are several hexes a simple Protego will be unable to deflect. The unforgivable curses are, of course, a prime example.”

Well, that was true enough, Ron supposed. But that was more of a delay tactic. Dodging spells for eternity would never work without an exit strategy. It had mostly worked for them because even though they were outnumbered, they were surrounded by enough chaos that…actually there was a lot wrong with Hermione’s argument. Should he say something? There was a good chance that Hermione’s textbook hadn’t covered all that he had learned in the first bit of Auror training. But Ron knew that Hermione hated making a claim without a textual source to back it up.

My Auror texts! Ron realized, only just curbing the urge to do a victorious fist-pump. They weren’t her class textbook, but maybe if Hermione could see the points that he was making came from a book..? He started to disentangle himself from Hermione and stand up. Before he could take a step towards his bedroom, a small hand shot out and wrapped around his. Startled, Ron half-thought Hermione wouldn’t even notice that he’d gotten up, he looked back to see his girlfriend staring at him with a heart-wrenching expression on her face.

“Please don’t go,” she pleaded. Her eyes looked suspiciously bright. “I know I’m being terrible company, and a terrible girlfriend, and-and I really do want to spend time with you, really! But it’s just–I have so much work to do, and it’s my NEWT year. And, and even if I have to study, I feel much more relaxed when you’re next to me. So, if it’s not too much trouble could you–would you…?”

“Woah, woah there, ‘Mione.” Ron carefully sat back down on the edge of the couch as to not get sucked back in. “I was just reading over your essay, and thought that I have a book that might help in my room.”

Hermione’s lips rounded into a small “o” of surprise, then she blushed so red she could almost put him to shame. Ron chucked quietly, and pulled her into a side hug so as to not crush the parchment between them.

“So no more of that ‘being a terrible girlfriend’ nonsense, alright? You were one of my best mates when you were upset that end of year exams were canceled. I fancied you even when you were nagging me about study schedules. I’ll still love you when you when you study now. S’not even a question.” Ron pressed a kiss onto the top of her head. “‘Kay?”

“Okay,” Hermione agreed quietly. She had burrowed her face into Ron’s chest in what he guessed was a move to hide her blushing face. Cute. He kissed her head again for good measure and stood up.

“Be right back.”

As Ron had promised, he was back in no time at all with several of the beginner texts that he had received. Hermione’s eyes scanned the spines of the books he carried as he approached–eyebrows raising slightly with each title scanned: Practical Defense, Defense as an Offense, The Defensive Properties of a Single Poppy (and 1000 other common objects), and Defense for Two.

“So,” Ron began, somewhat unsure how to go about this. He sat down once more and stacked the books on the coffee table in front of them to buy some time. “I, um, I noticed that you mentioned that a shield spell was ineffective against some curses–”

“Which it is,” Hermione interrupted. Her eyes were narrowed as she considered him, not angrily, but as if she was trying to figure out where he was going with this.

“Which it is,” Ron agreed. Grabbing the thickest text, he scanned the table of contents before flipping to the designated page, “But there are–there are other defensive options.” He indicated the title of the chapter he had opened to before continuing. “Transfiguration, for one, is a good bet. Protego won’t defend against Avada Kedavra, but a transfigure a rock into a literal shield? That could work.”

Hermione nodded slowly, “And I’m guessing you have a reason that physically dodging won’t work.”

“I mean, dodging does work. We know it does from experience,” Ron grabbed Practical Defense and flipped it to a dog eared page. A single line on the page was italicized and Ron himself had underlined it twice, “ ‘Do not allow your defensive tactic to become your downfall.’ Basically it’s saying there’s no one-size fits all defensive strategy. Being outnumbered in an open field is completely different from being outnumbered in an alley.”

“So dodging spells in an open field? Totally feasible in most situations. In an alley there’s only so many spaces you can go. If you’re really outnumbered you’re going to get hit eventually, so the first priority really needs to be getting the fuck out of there or–or blasting a wall open to get some space and create a distraction or something like that.”

“And when you’re outnumbered with a teammate? What if you and your partner both dodge spells right into each other? What if you manage to dodge spell and then it blindsides your partner because you move?”

“Um, so really there are several alternatives to a shield spell, but I wouldn’t suggest physical dodging as an only alternative,” Ron finished.

Which was what Hermione’s entire essay had been based off of so far. If Hermione’s pursed lips meant anything, she had probably come to the same conclusion herself. Damn. Ron had wanted to help her out, and instead made more work for her. Job well fucking done.

But maybe…

“If you want, I can maybe correct your paper? Add some suggestions like you used to?” Rewrite was more like it. “ ‘Bout time I returned the favor. And I promise to to only write what I can back up with a text book. What do you say, Hermione?”

“You’re offering to write my Defense Against the Dark Arts paper?” she asked, incredulous.

“It wouldn’t be completely rewritt–” A shrewd look from Hermione stopped that sentence in its tracks, causing Ron to shrug sheepishly instead. “Yeah. I mean you might have to touch it up a bit later, but I figure it should be easier if the bulk of the content is there.”

Ron had approximately no notice before Hermione had launched herself at him in a manner very reminiscent of their first kiss. Unlike then, however, there was no battle that required their attention.

All thoughts of tactics and strategy slid out of his mind as Hermione’s tongue slid into his mouth. Fuck Ron had missed this. He had missed being able to slide his hands into her hair to pull her closer. He had missed the way it felt when he took her bottom lip into his mouth, and he had really missed the noise she always made when he did.

Since Hermione had to straddle him to reach his mouth as he sat, Ron knew the second that Hermione started to twirl her hips in tight little circles above his dick, drastically reducing the amount of blood flowing to his head. With that, any chance of slowing down and returning to their studies flew out the window. It had been too long. Their lips slid against each other with renewed fervor as their pent-up desire began to overwhelm them.

Hermione pulled back for air, and Ron took the opportunity to latch onto the skin just beneath her jawline. A breathy moan escaped her as he continued his attentions, and Ron felt her nails digging into his shoulder through his new maroon sweater. The amount of blood flowing to his brain had been drastically reduced, and if Hermione’s heady pants were anything to go by she was feeling a little light-headed as well.

He needed to feel more of her skin against him, he decided. Much, much more skin and much, much less clothing. Kissing a path back up from her neck to her mouth, Ron disentangled his hands from Hermione’s hair to slide down the sides of her sweater. His fingers had just

“Heading home to study my ass.” Harry’s voice sounded from the fireplace. “Ugh, guys, this is not what I wanted to come home to.”

Hermione scrambled off of him as quickly as physically possible, almost falling off the couch in the process. Ron threw his head against the arm of the couch and groaned. The mood had been lost and he knew it. His dick didn’t unfortunately, and there would probably be several uncomfortable minutes before he had calmed down.

“Fuck you, Harry,” Ron called to his roommate’s retreating back.

“You could have gone to your room!” Harry called right back. The sound of his door slamming rather pointedly informed them that Harry had disappeared inside his room where he couldn’t see what they got up to any longer.

Too little too late. Ron groaned again, rubbing his face discontentedly. Fuck Harry. They sat like that, on opposite sides of the couch, for several minutes. When he looked up, Hermione’s cheeks were still bright red.

“If you couldn’t tell,” she said quietly, “I would really appreciate your help with my essay.”

And even though he was frustrated, a small smile played on the corner of his lips. Ron sat up with a sigh, and placed a chaste kiss on Hermione’s cheek.

“Might as well. S’not like I’m going to be able to go to sleep anytime soon, anyway.”

Hermione’s blush returned with a vengeance.

—x—

“I think I’m done with homework for the night,” Hermione announced as he was putting the final touches on her closing paragraph.

Three previously blank pieces of parchment rested in front of Ron’s still moving hand. He had bolstered Hermione’s argument quite well, if he did say so himself. Hermione, who always had been a faster writer than him, had filled four pieces of parchment for for her Transfiguration essay. Ron placed his last period with a bit more force than necessary and dropped his quill triumphantly. He rubbed the web between his thumb and pointer finger as he stood, certain that this was one of the best essays he had ever written.

“Yeah, I think this is a good place to stop,” Ron agreed as he stretched his back. He was too tall to be hunched over the table for that long comfortably, “You finish your transfiguration essay?”

“Just about,” she replied. There was a slight droop to her eyelids that spoke to the late–er–early hour, but she no longer resembled a tightly coiled spring. “I just have to flesh out a few rebuttal paragraphs, and then it should be done.”

“That’ll be easy enough to wrap up,” he said, before yawning. Yep, it was definitely time to turn in. “Well, it might be better if you camped out here for the night. Ginny’s probably already sound asleep in her room, and it would be a bit of a hassle to set up the cot without waking her up. I can transfigure a mean mattress, though, so you don’t have to sleep on the couch.”

Hermione considered this quietly. She looked between Ron and the couch a few times then drew her lip into her mouth and begin to worry it with her teeth.

“Can’t I, um, I wouldn’t mind sharing a bed with you if you wouldn’t,” she finally said, looking determinedly at the the ground.

Ron blinked, certain he had misheard her. “With me, are you sure?”

“Only if you’re okay with it!” she insisted.

Like he would have argued. There were very few things Ron could think of that were better than sharing a bed with Hermione. “Alright. Let me just grab an extra pillow.”

Once again, Hermione’s hand clasped around his, preventing him from going anywhere.

“We don’t have to go to sleep right away,” Hermione suggested quietly, “And I can transfigure something if I need it later.”

So, it wasn’t the Christmas Ron expected. They hadn’t gone for a stroll in the snow, and he had ended up writing an essay of all things. But as Ron looked down at Hermione’s blushing face, he decided it had still ended up being a pretty good one.

[breakfastatwonhos]

Gone Bad

➳ Pairing: Lee Minhyuk X OC ➳ Genre(s): Non-Idol AU, Fluff ➳ Word Count: 2317 

Summary: Dog walking is not the easiest thing to do when the dogs are thinking completely different things than you are. 

A/N: I made this for @tokyoblack aka (Christmas Cupcake) for the Secret Santa exchange. A super cute fluffy Minhyukie! Technically I was supposed to start yesterday but I’m ahead in Korea lol. Anyways I hope you enjoy this!

Panic filled you as one of the many leashes you held in your hand slipped from your grasp and fell to the ground. Sensing its new found freedom, the little Yorkie attached to the other end, affectionately known as Bubbles, bolted off in the direction of destination unknown. With its little tail wagging and it’s barks echoing in the distance, the dog refused to stop as you chased after it. “Bubbles, get back here!” You yelled. “Sit! Stop!!” But the dog continued on its journey. With five dogs, ranging in all different shapes, sizes, colors, and breeds, running along side of you as you continued to chase the Yorkie, who was now happily chasing a butterfly, you secretly found yourself hoping the day couldn’t get any worse than what it already was. Somehow you knew it would. You had an inkling in your bones. A funny feeling in the pit of your stomach. “Damn it!” You cursed, as the thought of turning on your heels and letting the dog run off crossed your mind. You inhaled deeply, knowing that you couldn’t and wouldn’t be able to live with that on your conscious. So you continued chasing the dog, screaming at it to stop and sit, it did neither. The sound of snickering, the stares, and the blatant pointing of the park’s other occupants, at you, did nothing to calm you down. To add insult to injury, Bubbles was now looking at you, watching you and the other dogs run towards her with her tongue hanging our of her mouth and what looked like a smile on her precious little face. Just as you reached to grab her leash, Bubbles ran off once again. You threw your hands up in the air in frustration, simultaneously releasing the other leashes you held in your hand. Each of the dogs, except the old Boxer, Min, and the small Pomeranian, Princess, took off running in various directions. Now, instead of one dog being on the loose, you had four. You quickly grabbed the leashes of Princess and Min, and took off in the direction of the Poodle, Missy. Missy grabbed a tennis ball that landed near her feet, put it in her mouth, and ran towards you. You laughed, watching as Missy dropped the ball at your feet. You picked up her leash and the tennis ball. Tossing it back to the owner, you yelled thanks, although from the look of confusion etched on her face, you could tell she had no clue how she just helped you. Looking around the park, you searched for the other three dogs. Your eyes landed on the Great Dane, Percy, who was drinking water from an automatic doggy fountain. Running as quickly as you could, you took control of Percy’s leash without alerting the dog, who was too busy lapping up water with its huge tongue. With four dogs in your control, you felt things were looking up already, that is if you could locate Bubbles and the Dalmatian pup, Bells. Bubbles ran pass you with Bells on her tail. You tried grabbing her leash, but was unsuccessful, however, you stepped on Bells’ leash, stopping the puppy with ease. Bells turned to face you and as you bent to get her leash, she licked your face. You laughed, scratching behind her ears. “That’s a good girl, Bells. Maybe after we get Bubbles, I’ll give you a treat.” Bells kicked her hind legs, wagged her tail happily and barked several times. Standing fully, you looked around the park, hoping to see Bubbles. As your eyes roamed over the plush greenery of the park, your eyes caught Bubbles. She was playing with another dog, a German Shepard. Both dogs chased each other with the German Shepard, running away from Bubbles. As Bubbles leaped onto of the other dog’s back, he ran away. You shook your head at the apparent game of tag the two dogs were engaged in. The owner of the German Shepard laughed and as the infectious sound greeted your ears, you stopped in your tracks. The sound was boisterous and almost jolly. It was not what you expected to come from the frame your eyes were locked on. His blonde hair was cut short, and over those deep brown expressive eyes that were now crinkled into two small slits and held a child like gleam, were two thick eyebrows. His whitened smile was simply breathtaking and in revealed a set of dimples in his lightly tanned cheeks. To sum it up, the man was handsome. Downright, sinfully sexy. Beautiful. You found yourself slipping into a blissful, euphoric world each time his laughter rang out in the air. The chirping of the birds faded. The blaring of car horns, disappeared. Even the constant chattering of couples enjoying the sunny June day was muted. The only sound that filled your ears was the rapid drumming of your heart and his angelic voice as he called out to Bubbles and his dog. Just as fast as you were able to slip into this peaceful revenge, you were pulled back to reality when several of the dogs began barking and pulling away from you. Your eyes traveled in the direction of what caused the commotion. A squirrel. You shook your head and turned back to the man, who was headed towards you, with Bubbles in his hand and his own dog trotting beside him. “I think she belongs to you.” He handed you Bubbles, who licked your face. You nodded, accepting Bubbles from the stranger. “Yes, she does. Thanks!” He smiled, “No problem.” Instantly your heart rate kicked up and the air that you held in your lungs was knocked out of you with such force, you staggered backwards a few steps. Sure you witnessed the beauty of his smile while he played with both dogs, at a distance, but your body was not ready for how it would effect you once you experienced it up close and personal. You felt the painful tightening of your chest against the white cotton shirt that boasted your best friend’s name and contact information for her dog walking business. His eyes traveled from the red hat that covered the unruly mass of hair on top of your head, down to your knockoff designer shades, over the shirt, down to the pack of dogs that sat at your feet, finally back to your eyes. He smiled as he ran the tip of his tongue of his lips, revealing the most perfect set of teeth you’ve ever set eyes on. Damn, you thought, suddenly feeling self-conscious. You ran the tip of your tongue over your own set teeth. “So, you own a dog walking business?” You raised a questioning brow. He motioned towards your shirt. You followed his gaze and found yourself laughing at the momentary brain fart he caused you to have. “No, actually I don’t.” It was his turn to raise one of those thick eyebrows your fingers itched to trace. “Oh really?” You nodded, “My best friend does. She likes to walk dogs on the weekend so she started her own business.” You looked down at the dogs then back at him. “She twisted her ankle a few days ago and I’m filling in for her this weekend.” His smile grew wider. “Aww, that’s nice of you.” He extended his hand. “I’m Minhyuk.” You offered him one of your hands and as soon as the two of you made contact, you felt a surge of electricity flow between the two of you. It was so strong, so overwhelming, you both flinched. You quickly let go of his hand. “And this is Polo.” He said, gently rubbing the top of the German Shepard’s head. “Say hi, Polo.” The dog barked and you chuckled. “I’m El. Allow me to introduce you to my 4 legged friends”, you said with enthusiasm. “This is Percy, Missy, Bells, Min, Princess, and you already know Bubbles.” With each name you said, you raised the leash belonging to the corresponding dog. Minhyuk ran a free hand over each of the dog’s heads. “Do any one of these dogs belong to you?” You shook your head. “No”, you answered sadly, “but Bubbles actually belongs to my best friend.” You saw what looked like disappointment flash in Minhyuk’s eyes before disappearing and you wondered if your lack of furry companion, just caused you to lose the chance in getting to know him better. “With my job, I travel the world and can’t take a pet with me.” You explained, feeling as though an explanation was needed. But his lack of response was not the reaction you were hoping to garner. Recognizing the opportunity of building a friendship, or more, with him came and went, you realized with a soft sigh. “Well thank you so much for getting Bubbles for me. She got off her leash and I chased her all over the park.” You laughed nervously, hoping the tension would somehow dissolve. It didn’t. “It was nice meeting you Minhyuk.” Without waiting for him to respond, you began to speed walk toward the entrance of the park, wanting to forget today’s episode. A deep, red flush crept over your face. Regret settled in. You knew all along that the meeting of someone as handsome as Minhyuk was too good to be true. You reminded yourself of that sinking feeling you had in your stomach, no more than thirty minutes ago, that the day would get worse. And you’d been right. You shook your head, needing to shake the feelings that slowly began washing over you, away. Allowing yourself to wallow in self pity would not make the events of the day change. You knew, as well as anyone else, that things in life happened for a reason. That people are brought into our lives for a reason, a season or a lifetime. And because you were now leaving the park alone, well not totally alone, you still had 6 energetic dogs that you came with, you knew that meeting Minhyuk was suppose to be nothing more than a friendly hi and good-bye. Like a gentle breeze caressing the face on a balmy summer day. It offered temporary relief. Meeting him caused all sorts of wondrous feelings and thoughts. But why? You shrugged, not really knowing the answer. Not truly understanding how one man’s smile, that man’s smile, made butterflies flutter against the lining of your stomach. Why was it that, with him, you felt free. As if the constraints, that once held you back, were suddenly removed. Your mind was working overtime with many questions that you somehow knew would never be answered. The chance to explore those questions in hope of gaining their answers, had been snatched away from you. Maybe it was predestined. You scoffed. You were never one to believe in destiny. Well, not to the extent of how other people did. You were the master of your fate, the captain of your soul. As you turned the corner of the park’s entrance, the barking of a dog, in the distance, caught your attention. You stopped and looked around, suddenly becoming paralyzed as the sight of Polo running towards you with Minhyuk not far off his tail. Once Polo reached you, he began tugging on the bottom of your shirt, pulling you in the direction of Minhyuk. You struggled to free yourself from his grip, but your attempts proved futile, as the dog dragged you like a ragdoll. You stopped fighting just as Minhyuk reached you. “Polo, what has gotten into you?” He asked, his chest heaving. He used the bottom of his gray tank top to wipe tiny beads of sweat that clung to his sun kissed skin. All the while exposing the taunt muscles of his stomach. You inhaled sharply. Polo finally released your shirt. “I am so sorry El.” Minhyuk said, his voice filled with sincerity. “He just broke away from me and ran after you.” Rubbing Polo behind his ear, you shrugged with a smile. “It’s fine. Remember Bubbles did the same thing.” Minhyuk laughed at the memory. “Yeah, but Polo has never done that before.” “Neither has Bubbles, but I guess there’s a first time for everything.” Minhyuk nodded in agreement, his eyes dropped down to where Polo held your shirt hostage. A frown crested his face. “He ripped a hole in your shirt!” You looked down at the material and noticed several small holes in it. Although it was no big deal for you, apparently it was to Minhyuk. The shirt was old and worn anyway. He muttered a curse. “I am beyond sorry.” Gripping Polo’s leash, he stooped down to get face to face with his. “That was a bad choice Polo. No sir.” Polo whimpered, before laying down on his stomach and covering his face with a paw. Minhyuk smiled sadly as he lovingly ran a hand over his. “It’s okay. You just can not do that again.” He stood back up and looked from the holes in your shirt, back to you. “I feel horrible.” You waved it off. “There’s no need for you to feel bad. This shirt is old anyway. Besides, I know he didn’t mean it.” You began rubbing Polo’s side. “Did you, sweetie? No, you didn’t mean it. I know you didn’t.” Polo flipped onto his back, you scratched his stomach, watching as his feet kicked in the air, before he flipped back over and licked your face. “I know this may seem-” he shrugged nonchalantly, “-weird, I guess, but I was wondering if maybe you would like to have dinner with me...” He paused, then added, “Especially since Polo ripped your shirt.” Exhaling a breath you didn’t know you were holding, you smiled. Maybe there was more to this destiny thing, you thought as you said, “I’d like that very much.”

[jflashandclash]

Attrition of Peace

Twenty- Eight: Percy

I Fall Over. Epically, Of Course.

 Author note: Sorry this is late guys! The last week and a half has been insane. It’s not like I left you waiting for a major battle—oh… ah—well, I hope you enjoy!

             To say Percy was having a bad day would be a grievous understatement. He’d had worse days: he wasn’t in Tartarus right now, nor was he in that awful demigod prep course that Annabeth and his mom had signed him up for to do New Rome’s entrance exams.

           But, his girlfriend had broken up with him today for a weasel she couldn’t catch. And this was the third counselor of Cabin Seven that Percy would see moments before his death—though maybe not. Maybe Will was okay. Percy tried not to focus on Will, or Nico’s disappearance, or the headless corpse.

When he first ran up to the scene, Percy feared the worst on the body’s identity, except that Nico hadn’t been wearing such a fashionable pink pajama set. Percy was pretty sure, if someone tried to redress Nico in that post-mortem, even Hades would break the rules of the dead and allow Nico ten seconds of undeadly massacring to destroy such a sleepwear atrocity.  

However, when Percy saw Annabeth and Piper lying on the ground and that crimson-and-black unicorn-jerk keeping vigilance over them, everything else vanished. He sprinted to her side, dropped to his knees, and cradled her.  

With the way the unicorn had its gold and silver, broken horn to Piper’s neck, Percy may have feared some Diomedes’ level of flesh-eating-horse, except he could hear the unicorn grumbling about healing her.

But nothing about healing Annabeth.

When Percy pulled Annabeth into his lap, he was relieved to hear her soft breath. She was okay, but looked exhausted. There were dark circles under her eyes, like she hadn’t slept in days. He knew that look well during her exam times.

“Wise Girl…” he whispered and kissed her forehead. Despite the cold, her forehead was coated with sweat.

What happened? He demanded mentally.

The unicorn huffed, its black mouth puttering. He raised his horn from Piper to scowl one eye at Percy. At the sight of Piper’s neck, Percy winced. Pus and blood stained Piper’s camo jacket from some sore the unicorn was fixing. She was also breathing, though each breath rattled.

Eat bit, mate, the unicorn snapped. Other than Arion, Percy was so used to unquestioned respect from equestrians, the unicorn’s tone startled him. I just got back from fightin’ your little bird, went for a bit of grass, heard a crack, and came to check on my pet—

Jason and Leo appeared on either side of Piper.

When Leo knelt down, he landed in something squishy.

“How’s our Beauty Queen?” he asked, his voice cracking. Leo looked pale and he kept glancing back to Will.

Frank knelt beside Will. The big Canadian took off his praetorian cloak and gently laid it over Will in a way Percy really didn’t like. The movement was too final, too telling, especially how Frank covered Will’s smashed face, like that was all that was left to do.

Beside Frank, Hazel stood with her spatha drawn. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her empty fist was clenched and shaking.

Calypso sank down beside the decapitated body, looking stunned.

When Percy returned his gaze, his eyes locked with Jason. A moment of understanding passed between them, and Percy knew he had seen the final moments of another deceased Cabin Seven counselor. He wondered how many friends Jason had seen die in battle.

Anger wretched at his gut. This was supposed to be a peace party.

           These other demigods weren’t great at the whole “peace party” thing. They’d need to be taught a thing or two about peace.

           Er, well, about keeping the peace. Or—whatever. They needed to be taught a lesson.

           “Guys? Earth to Percy, what did Sergeant Horn say about Pipes?” Leo asked.

           Judging from his expression, Leo hadn’t realized what had happened to Will yet.

           The unicorn snapped its teeth near Leo’s head. The name is Vinyl, Meat Sack.

           “I wouldn’t call him that,” Percy said. He’d meant it for Leo, but realized it work for both parties.

           “She should be okay,” Jason said, almost stubbornly. Percy watched Jason gently take Piper’s arm, two fingers pressed to her vitals. “Her heartbeat is strong though I think she’s running a slight fever.”

           Behind them, Percy could see Hazel wipe away her tears. “We’re not letting them get away, not—not with what’s happened here. I’m going to bring down that barrier.”

           Percy might have asked “What barrier?” but Hazel turned towards the woods, where they’d seen Pax dart off as they arrived.

           As she raised her empty hand, a circle of green runes glowed around the forested lot.

           Calypso stood up, away from the body. She rubbed her fingers on her work pants, then flipped her braid back over her shoulder. She stepped beside Hazel. “I can help you.”

           Leo frowned and shifted. “Sunshine, I thought you didn’t have magic—wait—if you do, shouldn’t you be focusing on healing Will?”

           Jason winced. “Leo—”

           But Calypso beat him to it. While lifting her hands beside Hazel, Calypso hissed, “What good would that do?” Her voice was so much harsher than he remembered.

That did make Percy realize she could be healing Annabeth or Piper. Thinking about the curses and death wishes Calypso had given Annabeth in Tartarus, should he let her heal Annabeth?

The barrier’s circle emblazed with a more brilliant green. It expanded, like a bubble ready to pop.

           Leo’s mouth dropped open. He glanced back over to Will and the decapitated body. “…oh… oh gods—does that mean the other body is Nic—”

           “No, it’s Jack,” Calypso said. She gritted her teeth. Hazel made a soft grumble. Something small and sparkly sprang up by their feet—a diamond.

            “Jack, your ex-boyfriend Jack? You can recognize him without a head?!”

            “Not the time, Leo,” Percy pointed out. Though he wasn’t sure it was ever the time to discuss headless body recognition. “Jason.” Percy locked eyes with the son of Jupiter. “Do you wanna find out if that barrier is wind resistant?”

           “On it,” Jason said. He gently kissed Piper’s forehead, took off his jacket, and propped her head under it. Then he went to join Hazel and Calypso. When he raised his arms, a deafening whistle blasted into the air as wind thundered into the trees.

           Leo fumbled with his tool belt. “Lemme alert Felix and Festus. Maybe we can smoke them out.”

           Frank stepped over to them, looking sick. “My stick could be in there.”

           “Right. Maybe Felix can annoy them out,” Leo corrected and walked off, calling on the metal friends they’d parked further down the street.

           Annabeth murmured softly. Percy dropped his face close to hers, trying to tune out the others. She was so quiet; he was scared Jason’s wind would drown her out.

           What she said made his skin crawl. “Eris... has… your sis...ter…”

           Percy felt his jaw drop. “My sister? They took my sister?!”

           She inhaled leisurely and her eyes fluttered. She seemed like she might pass out again, but managed, “Don’t... kill… Ajax… Not… Fault…”

           None of that made sense. But Annabeth’s grey eyes rolled back into her head before Percy could ask her what any of it meant. Although she’d barely managed to move at all, what little she had done spent the last of her energy. Annabeth collapsed into a deep sleep.

           Percy trembled as he mimicked what Jason had done for Piper. He took off his swim captain sweater to put under Annabeth’s head. He couldn’t tell if his shakes were more from fear or anger.

           You could mess with him. You could mess with the gods. You could even mess with Camp Half-Blood.

           But no one touched Annabeth.

           And no one touched his little sister or the rest of his family.

           “Your sister?! Gods, Percy, are—are you okay?” Frank’s voice brought him to the present.

           Frank hovered nearby, looking like he felt dumb for asking the question. But Percy was glad for it. The question made him focus.

           “You.” Percy pointed at the unicorn who had continued to heal Piper. “You keep an eye out on these two, else I’ll hunt you down and turn you into glue.”

           The unicorn huffed at him. Yea, the unicorn had attacked them, but he figured—had Vinyl wanted to kill Annabeth and Piper—he would have been using them for horn goring practice instead of sprinkling them with fairy dust.

           Percy got to his feet and drew Riptide. “Alright, Frank. No more horsing around. We gotta make a plan to catch these bastards.” Especially if his sister and Nico were on the line. Especially if they had to find out what bastard did this to Will.

           Something exploded beside them.

           Shards of what looked like glowing green glass puffed into the moonbeams before dissolving into dust. As Jason’s air swept the particles away, an entire townhouse came into view in place of the forest, with a full driveway, a van parked out front, and a confused looking metal donkey beside it.

           The Pax brother’s van.

           There was also a stumbling silver worktable on the lawn. Leo must have sent Felix in while Percy was attending to Annabeth. The table looked crippled, one leg bent to the point of nonfunctioning. Now, it might make a better piece of angry, modern art.

           “Barrier is down!” Hazel announced.  

           From their position in the neighbor’s adjacent lawn, Percy could see the back porch, where seven demigods were making a run for the forest behind the house.

           “They’re leaving out the back!” Percy shouted.

           Jason was on it. As he stepped rapidly along the side of the house, he raised one hand. A lightning bolt blasted into the tree line ahead of the retreating demigods.

           Everything went white.

           Percy’s ears rang with the pop.

           Despite temporary deaf and blindness, Percy and Frank rushed over to join where Jason and Hazel were converging.

           When Percy blinked the white dots out of his vision, he could see their attempted escapees were still trying to get to their feet.  Before the Pax brothers and their allies could regroup, Hazel lifted her hands and shoved them down, hard, like she was about to hop over an invisible fence.

           The ground by the tree line collapsed in a semicircle trench, cutting off any escape to the woods, unless one of them had a grappling hook or were an Olympic level pole vaulter,[1] they’d have to get through the five of them instead. Percy hoped they’d try to get through them.

           “Nice,” Frank complimented Hazel.

           “Thanks,” Hazel said, but her eyes were narrowed at their opponents. Percy understood. He could feel their collective rage. While Percy didn’t know the full story, these jerks had messed with him, his friends, and his family too much. They were going to find out who did this to Annabeth, Piper, and Will, where Nico was, and what they’d done with Percy’s little sister.

           “Annabeth said not to kill them,” Percy growled.

           Jason cracked his knuckles. “Did she say anything about beating them senseless?”

           “Nope. She left that out.”

           “Good,” Hazel said, clutching her spatha.

           A rush of air puffed out behind them as something thumped onto the ground. Leo laughed crazily beside what Percy assumed was Festus. “Ha—ha! Dragon cavalry has arrived! Let’s show them that our back up is cooler than theirs!”

           “No fire,” Hazel called over her shoulder.

           Frank gave her an appreciative smile.

           “Right! No fire!” Leo assured.

           Festus creaked in confirmation.

           “Hey, Sunshine, see if you can heal the girls while we take care of this.”

           Percy was thinking how to politely inform Leo that his girlfriend might want to kill Annabeth when a cry went up from Hazel’s makeshift trench.

           By now, Percy and his friends were walking past the back porch. He could see where Axel, Pax, Euna, and another boy that Percy didn’t recognize were standing

           The tall, gangly brunette stranger tossed something onto the ground.

           Smoke exploded into the moonlight, twisting out in three different colors: black in the center, and gold and green on either side. The screen completely coated their opponents, the back yard, and the trench. Then, it snaked upward into three separate shapes. The gold warped into a lion; the green, a serpentine head; the black, one of a goat.

           As though in sync with the swirling smoke, a hiss and a snarl thundered from within.

           Although Percy desperately hoped the goat would go baaaa, instead, a column of fire spat out of the smoke goat’s mouth. Not nearly as funny as the baaah, would have been.

           Percy immediately recognized the shape as something he’d fought as a child. Some part of him felt small again.

           Frank put it to words. “That is the Triple A Chimera,” he warned.          

“AAA? Do they sell insurance?” Percy asked, trying to sound confident. Why was his voice shaking still? He was trying not to think about his sister, or Annabeth, or what could have happened to either of them. He was trying to focus on the battle, but his mind kept twisting to panic, like his battle mode ADHD had gone haywire.

Someone chanted in a language Percy didn’t understand. The barometric pressure dropped, like it had when Jason summoned lightning. A flash of turquoise flames fluttered to life within the golden smoke, tinting it a sickly green.

           Another chill went down Percy’s spine. Some part deep inside of him said he should nope right out of this. But he and his friends had defeated the giants together and other way scarier things. Some renegade demigods? No problem, right?

           “Reyna said they use fear magic—at least the Leonis Caput does. Ares said he already killed two praetors.”

           “Right. Fear magic. That’s what it is,” Leo said behind them.

           Jason put a hand out to stop any of them from approaching the smoke. “Frank, you didn’t say Axel was the Leonis Caput!”

           “You know them?” Hazel asked. The fear magic must have been getting to her too. She looked queasy.

           “I fought him and the Silver-Tongued Snake during the Battle of Mount Othrys. That’s the bastard playing with Reyna’s emotions?”

           The way Jason said it made Percy think Annabeth’s wishes about no-killing wouldn’t be honored.

           “They have nicknames?” Percy asked, trying to stop shaking. “It’s like a boy band.”

           “I assure you, they’re nothing like a boy band.”

           As though to confirm, through the smoke, a figure stepped out. Percy wondered if the bronze dragon behind them might discourage an attack and encourage making a sign that said We surrender. Sorry for being jerks.

           Instead, the creature he saw didn’t look human, but also didn’t appear to be anything he knew from Greek mythology.

           It had a ram’s skull for a head, with horns jutting several feet out to the sides. Green mist poured from its empty eye sockets. Pouches with glowing runes dangled from its wrists, its exposed spinal column, and its two-pronged black staff. Its limbs looked built out of tree twigs. Although humanoid, its gait was off, like each cloven step forward required it to rip roots out of the earth.

           From the golden smoke beside it, another stalked forward. This one had golden skin that sagged into folds. Where the skin was torn, Percy could see a rotting skeleton. The face was feline, with a bloodied, crimson mane encasing the neck. Its jaws were permanently stretched into a snarl, too far for a living creature. Inside the blackness of the throat, Percy could see the reflection of two predatory golden eyes, like this thing had swallowed someone that wanted out.

           The way it moved reminded Percy of how Leo’s flames flickered—too abrupt and jerky to look real.

           Lastly, something rolled from the green smoke. It hissed out a laugh and crept closer, keeping low to the ground, though Percy could have sworn he saw the reptilian flicker of a tail.

           Percy was not digging this fear magic. He was shivering like the first time he’d seen Polybotes.

           “I’ve seen the real thing… They’re more like a… discount Chimera,” Percy said, swallowing.

           The others looked as stunned.

           “Jason.” Frank seemed to come to first. “Can you blow their cover?”

           Jason shook his head, like he was warding off a bad memory. “Gladly.”

           As Jason raised his arms to blast away the smoke, the serpentine figure and the feline crouched low, like an Olympic sprinter about to dash at them. Mr. Ramhead in the center slammed his staff down.

           “Incanteare: Gelu Semati!” he snarled.

           The serpent and the feline disappeared. Something else swirled out from the smoke: a blast of wintery hail. Tiny ice bullets pelted into Percy’s skin, making him wince and raise a hand to block his face.

           Although the smoke dissipated under Jason’s wind, the hail blew into the wind, unlike anything Percy had ever seen. Percy couldn’t sense the water in that ice. He never thought there would be a storm he and Jason couldn’t stop, but this hail didn’t seem to care about the powers of the children of the sky and storm.

           “So you wanna play with magic? You should know what you’re falling for,” the voice echoed from where Mr. Ramhead had been standing. The hailstorm increased; Percy could no longer see him. He could barely even see Frank, only a few feet away from him.

           But he could sense something coming, something bad.

           “I can’t control any of this!” Jason said, “Hazel?”

           “It’s an illusion—but I can conjure Mist, not see through it,” Hazel said, “Listen for them!”

           Percy desperately wished Rachel was here. Or Annabeth and Piper were conscious. Rachel could have seen through. Annabeth might have thought of a plan around it, and Piper could have talked Mr. Ramshead down.

           “Jason and I will take to the air, see if we can get a better idea of what’s going on or where this ends,” Frank said, getting a hold of himself. “Hazel, see if you can trip up our opponents and make it hard to sneak around. Percy, Leo, Festus, make sure no one gets past you.”

           “Will do, Praetor Man. Time for the Leomeister and Festus to—”

           Something scurried past Percy’s leg. He pivoted to follow the movement, but the small creatures weren’t after him. The storm was less intense behind him, allowing Percy to catch a glimpse of what happened.

           Leo stood a few feet back. Festus crouched behind him, making the townhouse look like a toy model. Both were ready to fight.

           Then a weasel the size of a tractor slammed into the side of Festus. It seemed to come out of nowhere. Two smaller creatures hopped off the first, scampering up onto Festus’s wings.

           While Festus tried to gain his footing, the monster-sized weasel twisted to chomp down on Festus’s neck. Percy hoped it would wretch back in pain from a toothache, but the black teeth sank right into the bronze.

           The dragon creaked in alarm. The weasel was smaller than him, but those teeth must have hurt.

           “Festus!” Leo shouted.

           Festus stumbled, smashing into the side of the house. Percy took a step towards them in horror—Festus was close to Annabeth, Percy, Calypso, and Vinyl. The structure groaned, siding ripping off and onto his wings. The weasel disengaged, darted to the side, and dashed at him again. That thing was fast.[2]

           “No fire!” Leo shouted when Festus’s mouth began to glow, withdrawing a sledgehammer from his tool belt.

           It creaked again in anger. Then went to unfurl its wings, when one made an uncomfortable cracking sound.

           One of the other tiny weasels phased out of Festus’s half-folded wing, a strip of wires dangling from its mouth.

           Something exploded on Festus’s other wing.

           They couldn’t use fire, but no one had said anything about water. Percy was about to give that giant rodent a hose down and get Festus clear of the girls, when he realized something horrible.

           The weasels had been a distraction.

           “Eyes forward!” Frank shouted.

           Percy’s gut tugged when he felt for the water in the plumps under the house. He pulled, forcing the pipes to burst, flooding the water towards the surface.

           As the water surged up, Jason shouted in alarm. The air and hail whirled around Jason as he went to take off, and follow Frank’s orders. Something anchored his ascent.

           Vines erupted from the ground, wrapping tightly around the son of Jupiter’s ankles. The vines shooting from the earth became thicker—tree roots—and dragged Jason back down. Jason slashed furiously at the plants, but a new one would snag out of the ground each time he cut one down. Soon, the tree roots had crawled up his leg and sank him back to the grass.

           A hissing laugh cackled out of the hail beside Jason. “I’ve seen enough hentai to know where this is going.”

           When the vines snatched at Frank, he dispersed into a swarm of wasps—or something like that, since Percy just saw the large Canadian disappear into the hail.

           Before Hazel could help him or Festus or before Percy could blast them with water, something rolled from the same direction of that taunting hiss.

           Percy expected to have to destroy the soccer ball-like object, but felt his stomach pitch when the head started talking in an announcer voice.

           “Oh! Our eagle boy is out for the count! Can the gracious Jason Grace manage to fight Euna Song’s godly grip! Stay tuned to find out folks—”

           “Is that a talking head?!” Hazel demanded, being closest to the… thing.

           No one could answer.

           The Triple A Chimera reappeared.

           Percy didn’t see the other two members, but something flickered out of the hail, directly beside him. One moment, Percy was concentrating on the up flow of sewer water and hoping Hazel and Frank could help Jason, when a skeletal humanoid appeared out of the hail and rolled into the splits beside Percy.

           He hadn’t expected it to be so close, or so low to the ground. The movement completely exposed the Leonis Caput’s golden fur back and red maned head. It had no weapons drawn, and—for that instant—Percy could see it give him a ghastly grin.

           A second set of golden, glistening eyes winked at Percy from inside the creature’s massive jaws.

           As Percy pivoted to redirect Riptide, the monster slammed its palm into the side of Percy’s knee.

           Percy felt air escape his mouth in the form of a scream.

           Something snapped in his knee. The joint bent inward, towards his other leg.

           Percy focused to keep his concentration on the scene around him: the hail, the gleam of the monster’s fur, the sewage water, his friends’ shouts, the talking head announcing his fall. He refused to let the world white out, like his body wanted it to.

           In the same instance, Percy slammed Riptide’s blade into the Leonis Caput’s shoulder.

           The blade deflected off the monster’s hide.

           The Nemean Lion fur, he realized. He should have recognized it. This person—Axel?—must have killed it after him. If it was the same, no weapon could pierce that hide.

           There was nothing Percy could do to regain his footing. His knee wouldn’t respond when he tried to stumble. He was going to fall.

           But his little sister and Nico were on the line. He wasn’t about to let this monster win. After all, he was Percy Jackson.

 Footnotes:

[1] Pax would like to clarify, that as he and Axel are circus performers, they probably could have made it. But they didn’t want to leave the others behind. You’re welcome, Pax.

[2] Look up videos of weasels vs. snakes. Weasels are AWESOME!

[infanttreenotebook-blog]

Scanlan, Percy, and #33

Percy is somewhat surprised that the mansion still has a workshop in it. He goes there after dinner to tinker with Diplomacy; the glove had made a slightly worrisome sound when he’d activated it earlier.

He’s engrossed in his work–ignoring the headache from the unknowable knowledge in his mind–when Scanlan arrived, and jumped when the gnomish man appeared at his elbow.

“I haven’t properly congratulated you on your nuptials yet. I’d say the gift was on its way but I don’t think it’s necessary when I wasn’t invited to the wedding.” Scanlan had that same wry, calculating smile he defaulted to when he was taunting someone.

Percy huffs, “Don’t you start. We wanted to have something of our own for a while, and you didn’t exactly make it easy to send an invitation. You know Grog and Pike went looking for you, right?”

“And that’s something I’m dealing with, with them. You don’t get to use them against me.”

“Something about you makes me want to commit extreme violence,” Percy replies, though he does not look up from his work. His anger at Scanlan had waned over the year in Whitestone, but the small prick of jealousy over being chosen of Ioun had reignited the flames.

Scanlan shrugs, and climbs up onto the stool next to Percy. “I get that a lot. So, has Vax given you the shovel talk?”

“The what?”

It’s actually uncanny how well the bard could impersonate their friend, his voice going low, dark, and threatening, “You don’t deserve my sister but I can see you love her and you better not ever hurt her.”

Percy finally puts the glove down and looks at Scanlan properly. “Don’t think that you get to do that. Not when you left like that. Did you even know that both Vax and Keyleth died while you were gone? Any claim you had to treating her like family died when you said we went into the Feywild because of daddy issues.”

“May I remind you that in the same fight you called my actual child a shit? She heard that. You’re not the only one who has a right to be angry,” Scanlan’s voice stays even, calm. Percy suddenly realizes that at this range, if Scanlan wanted to hurt him, he could. He was probably the single most powerful magic user he’d ever encountered, outside of Keyleth. And Vecna.

Percy purses his lips. “Fine then. If I ever hurt her you’ll hurt me worse. I understand. Are you happy?”

They stare at each other for a long moment, then Scanlan sighs. “Look, Keyleth and Pike have taken Vex and a bottle of wine to the hot spring, probably to grill her. And you know Keyleth will be saying the same kind of thing about you. And with Vax just happy for any minute he has left, I figured someone should be on Vex’s side for this.”

“Me. I’m on Vex’s side.” Percy runs one hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “That’s why we got married, you imbecile. We’re in love, but it’s more than that. We’re partners.”

If Scanlan had more to say, he doesn’t get a chance, as Percy stands up and starts pacing. “If you really want specifics, then here: I don’t drink half as much as I used to because I’m not as angry as I was. I’m getting better at recognizing when my judgement is compromised and relying on hers. She makes me…she makes me so happy.”

Percy’s hands fall to his sides, and Scanlan nods before asking, “Seems like you put a lot on her.And what does Vex get out of this?”

“Privacy, for one.” Percy spits out, “If you want to know what kind of emotional support my wife needs that I provide, you can ask her. I’m not going to go telling anyone things she’d prefer to keep quiet in order to prove a point.”

“Except Pelor.”

“Except Pelor. But that was…you were there. Extenuating circumstances. We did it under the Sun Tree; I’m pretty sure the Dawnfather already knew.”

“Well, that’s reasonable.” Scanlan shrugs, and hops off the stool he was sitting on. He has to crane his neck to meet Percy’s eyes again. “For whatever it’s worth, I am happy for both of you. You’re a good match.”

Percy scowls, about to spit something out again, then takes a deep breath. “Thank you. I agree.”

“And whenever little de Rolos come along,” Scanlan’s level smile widen’s to a proper grin when Percy’s face goes white, “I’m sure the two of you will be great parents.”

“That is…that is not something I want to think about considering the current state of the world. You know, newly risen evil deity and all.”

“Well, I’ve only been a parent for a while–a father, technically, since before you were born, but not a parent. And you see, being a parent is about hope, and wanting what’s best for them, and doing everything you can to ensure it. We all need a little more hope right now.” Scanlan heads towards the door, then turns and looks back at Percy. “Once we save the world, talk to Vex about it. You two will have a great legacy.”

Scanlan walks away, and Percy sits down at the workbench again to think.