#professor!bellamy

[bubblegumbuck]

hes doing fine

[april-showers86]

Professor/Librarian Bellamy Blake #2

[starboye]

"𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖓𝖔 𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖘𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒"

Day I - Older!Captain Price fucking femboy!younger!male reader

Day II - Rafe Cameron disciplining male reader because you were acting all bratty at one of his parties

Day III - Drew Starkey making male reader his bitch and dominating him after having a hard day

Day IV - Nate Jacobs choking male reader while fucking him

Day V - Stiles Stilinski rough fucking ftm!male reader and talking about how much he want you to get pregnant

Day VI - Gojo Saturo and male reader role playing you as the damsel in distress and gojo saving you and dicking you down as a prize

Day VII - Simon Riley breeding male reader over and over till you're filled with his delicious cum

Day VIII - Matt Sturniolo having a praise kink and top!male reader using that to your advantage throughout sex

Day IX - Tom Holland edging male reader so much

Day X - Chris Sturniolo fucking you till your an incoherent mess in front of a mirror

Day XI - Perter Parker orgasm denial from top!male reader

Day XII - remy gets jealous for whatever reason and he makes you watch him jack off and you can't touch him. You just have to sit in front of him and watch him and when he finishes he makes you swallow all of it

Day XIII - rough smut with Nicholas Alexander Chavez, maybe some guy tries flirting with reader and Nicholas gets pissed and rough fucks reader, maybe some daddy kink

Day XIV - Billy Loomis x SubTop shy nerdy Male Reader😭

Day XV - bellamy blake x thick fem boy reader, where everyone is having a party with drinking and dancing, and bellamy see reader dancing with other men and they keep grabbing his big ass bc it’s so big. so bellamy takes reader away and fucks that ass (also some face sitting 😏)

Day XVI - helping channing tatum at the gym and somehow stuff turns nsfw, do anything ya want with that, i'm just really REALLY desperate for stuff about him, can be short, can be long idc

Day XVII - cuck/stag fic with Charles leclerc the f1 driver, he seems like he’d be a huge cumdump behind closed doors and the reader could share him as punishment/desperation.

Day XVIII - Professor Miguel O’Hara and his student-boyfriend meeting up after class. Why, you ask? Well, the professor’s got a meeting. He’s gotta head home and take a shower. But a shower means washing away his glorious, glorious sweat and musk. He doesn’t want to deprive his good little slut of his favorite things in the world, so tells his boy to give him a tongue bath before his real one.

Day XIX - You want kinky? Musk kink, boot kink, choking kink, and of course knife play with Ghostface (whichever version) the ftm!reader fought back when GF tried to kill em, they all get sweaty and turned on so the fighting turned to fucking, Ghostface being Ghostface, he's all degrading, making the reader do stuff like grind on his boots, lick the blood off his knife and fuck themselves with the handle of it, all those good shit, what you think? Not too far?

Day XX - Sue Storm and The Thing are in an undercover mission which leaves Human Torch (Chris Evans), reader and Mr Fantastic (John Krasinski) alone in the same building. Johnny and reader use their free time to fuck, waking Reed from his sleep who is both frustrated and horny from reader's moans, he gets to the scene and finds Johnny fucking reader while holding him standing, this makes Reed turn feral and joins them to make a really dirty night

Day XXI - Mike Schmidt x kinky male reader who introduces him to the world of BDSM. Mike being a sub top with a praise kink, breeding kink, pet play (like having a leash on him and such) and other nasty things! Maybe even a bit of edging, like M/N punishing him by cockwarming him without letting him cum for a good while, leaving Mike needy and desperate to fill his boyfriends tight hole with his warm seed😮‍💨

Day XXII- ross lynch x onlyfans creator!reader, reader is recording himself for his only fans and as he is fingering himself ross walks in to his room and sees his roommate knuckles deep so reader gets an idea and stands up invites ross to come join and ross jumps on to the bed and start rimming him and fucks him like a slut and after they finish ross puts a cute little diamond butt plug

Day XXIII- soft dom soap x sub male reader where reader tries to be bratty to push soap but soap just treats him kindly like “oh you poor thing have I been neglecting you?” But like not in a mocking way and reader breaks kinda quickly and is good for soap enter babbling reader while soap coos praises

Day XXIV - Dom top Felix and bottom femboy male Reader where the middle of the night Felix catches reader in his bedroom fucking himself with a dildo moaning Felix's name saying fuck me Daddy so Felix steps into the room grabs Reader by the hair and starts fucking his face with big cock saying you want Daddy to fuck you and while Felix is fucking the Reader's face uses the dildo to fuck the reader then Felix is fills the reader's mouth full of cum and make some swallow then turns the reader on his hands and knees and just starts fucking the reader on the bed pulls him against his chest grabs his throat and just starts fucking him as hard as he can with the reader screaming Daddy Felix spanking the reader Felix just filling him full of cum reader belongs to Daddy now then the next morning Felix is fucking the reader as hard as he can against the window of the bedroom

Day XXV - Hiram Lodge and stepson femboy bottom male reader where Hiram has secretly been having sex with his stepson and turning him into his slutty bottom boy today alone for the whole month of October and Rita's dressing up in the slutty little school girl outfit with the mini skirt and thong and heels and Hiram and him want to try bondage so he gets all the equipment and Hiram ties the Reader's hands behind his back as Reader licks hiram's muscles and I'm face fucking male reader till he fills his mouth full of c** and then just starts fucking him while he's tied up pulling his hair and putting a ball gag in the Reader's mouth with bondage kink come eating muscle worship daddy kink and Hiram talking about getting reader pregnant if that's okay

Day XXVI - Logan howlette making ftm reader wear a bunny langire after his workout coming back all musky and sweaty all pent up and fucks male reader while male reader licks up logans sweat etc. Making logans smell kink and breed kink go off and fully breads male reader / size difference with Wolverine and an FTM reader. Logan is much bigger and stronger than reader and can pick him up, pin him down, and throw him around with ease and both of them go bonkers for it. Logan loves the control and power he has to play with reader as he pleases and reader loves feeling overpowered and in Logan's complete control

Day XXVII - sub!thicc femboy ftm reader x dom!homelander where reader is a supe in the seven who is stronger than all the heros and especially homelander but not strong enough in bed?? homelander finds reader in his apartment right in his room trying on the shortest skirts that shows his ass and pink high stockings, reader trys to explain before he gets his ass eaten and fucked raw until he cant breathe properly. i want some breeding kinks and alot of spanking, and ass worship if thats okay? i know ur busy but im just requesting this only if you have time, please and thank you.

Day XXVIII- X-Men 97 magneto and younger 18 year oldbottom femboy male reader loves that magneto so much older than him and has a daddy kink so when they're alone he catches magneto and nothing but a pair purple underwear so he starts kissing magneto licking down his muscles does magneto poses you sucking on his nipples and licking his abs body kissing down licking on his muscles drop to his knees and starts sucking magnetos big cock and balls magnet o moaning and calling reader a good boy grabbing his hair starts face fucking him then magneto pics reader up and starts fucking him right there till he feels him so full of c** and then throws reader over his desk and just keeps fucking him daddy kink breeding Kink and cum eating kink maybe you had Magneto's power somehow for bondage maybe readers power to make someone feel pleasure or pain how you want to do it maybe

Day XXIX - Step brother Tyler Lawrence Gray rough fucks his big bubble but step brother and cums in him

Day XXX - rafe cameron x thicc/male reader x topper x barry your dads is a football coach and rafe, topper, and barry are his star players so he invites them over and you get called down the stairs and they all just start staring at you and your juicy ass so as the night goes on whenever they walk by you they rub their bulges your ass or whenever you bend down to pick something up they always touch your ass…. After a while your dad goes to sleep and rafe, topper and barry goes into your room and they talk to you and rafe starts sitting on your bed and rubbing your thighs and then they finally convince you to have a foursome and they take turns eating your ass and while rafe is fuckin your ass he tells you not to be so loud your dad is sleeping so barry puts his dick in your mouth and you start sucking and your jerking off topper and they take turns and after awhile you are just fucked out with some many loads up your ass and rafe grabs his phone and spreads open your ass to take a video but after he’s done Barry and topper clean you out with their tongues and rafe helps you put your clothes on and in the morning your dad ask why are you limping and rafe laughs

Day XXXI - James mcavoy fic where James is reader’s dad best friend and he is coming over to stay for the summer reader and James don’t really get along at first. But one night James comes out the shower while reader is still awake and James ends up fucking him and eating him out hard and has him worship James body through scent and kissing etc

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Playing for Keeps | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Chapter 11

 ← Previous Chapter Next Chapter →

Words: ~8,000

Tags: Modern AU, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Sebastian :)

It had been a week since your first Quidditch match, and life at Hogwarts had mostly returned to normal—or as normal as it could be for you. After missing a couple of days of classes to recover from your injuries, you were finally back on your feet and, for the most part, good as new. Madam Blainey’s healing potions were as effective as ever, and the soreness in your ribs was now only a faint memory.

Physically, you felt fine. Mentally, however, was a different story.

The memory of that day kept looping in your mind: the sharp crack of the Bludger hitting your side, the sickening thud as you collided with the goalpost, and then the blur of panic and pain as you were carried off the pitch. Most of all, you couldn’t stop thinking about Sebastian.

His expression, the sheer panic on his face as he held you, haunted you in the quiet moments. Even more confusing was the time you’d spent together in the hospital wing afterward. He’d stayed with you, fussed over you, his sharp tongue and teasing remarks replaced with something gentler. Something that felt… real.

And then, he was gone.

Sure, Sebastian was still there in class, sitting in his usual spot and answering questions with his characteristic charm. His quips were sharp as ever, drawing scattered chuckles from the room and the occasional exasperated sigh from the professor. On the surface, nothing about him had changed. His confidence was intact, his voice steady, his smirk as infuriating as it was endearing. He still seemed untouchable, like nothing could ever truly get under his skin.

But when it came to you, he remained conspicuously absent.

You’d thought, maybe naively, that things would return to normal after what happened in the hospital wing. After the closeness you’d shared—the way he’d held you steady when the world felt like it was tilting on its axis—you’d assumed he’d slide back into the old rhythm. Back to the teasing remarks, the pointed jabs, the way he filled the silences with his ridiculous antics. Back to you.

But he hadn’t.

He didn’t look at you the same way he had before—or rather, he didn’t look at you at all. His gaze, which used to find you in a room without fail, continued to avoid yours. Like he was keeping a careful distance, even when you were sitting only a few feet away.

And maybe... maybe he was right to tread carefully. You’d been the one to ask for space, after all. And you’d convinced yourself it was the right decision at the time. But now...

Now, the distance felt like a punishment. His absence wasn’t the relief you’d hoped it would be; it was an ache, a quiet, gnawing pain that never seemed to leave. You missed him.

And you didn’t know how to fix it.

It was in the midst of this internal tug-of-war that you found yourself seated at the Slytherin table, absently stirring your porridge as Headmaster Black rose from his seat at the staff table, raising his hand for silence, his perpetually annoyed expression dominating the room.

“Let us get this tiresome affair over with,” he began, his tone dripping with disdain. “Certain individuals—” he shot a pointed glance at Madam Kogawa and Professor Weasley, who both stared back at him with expressions of iron resolve—“have deemed it necessary for these players to grovel before us all. So, Gryffindors, if you must, proceed.”

The Great Hall grew deathly silent as Hugh Macmillan stepped forward. He looked every bit as uncomfortable as you imagined he would, his freckled face pale beneath the Gryffindor red scarf draped around his neck. He cleared his throat, darting a nervous glance at Rory Fitzwilliam and Teddy Bellamy, who each gave him a small nod.

“We…” Hugh started, then paused, as if hoping the floor would open up and swallow him whole. “We’d like to apologize.”

The words hung in the air, and you found yourself shifting slightly in your seat.

Bellamy continued. “What we did during the match was wrong. It wasn’t just unsportsmanlike—it was dangerous. We’re sorry. We didn’t just let the team down; we let the school down. And we let you down,” he said, looking directly at you. “We’re really sorry for what we did. It wasn’t fair to you.”

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, all you could do was blink at him.

Finally, Rory stepped forward. “We take full responsibility for our actions and the consequences,” he said clearly, his voice steady and firm. “We hope you can forgive us, but regardless, we wanted to own up to what we did.”

A faint ripple of murmurs spread across the hall, starting at the Ravenclaw table. The apology was met with hesitant applause, first from the Gryffindors, naturally, then from a scattering of other tables. Even some of the Slytherins clapped, though many looked less than thrilled about it.

You kept your expression carefully neutral. When Rory’s eyes met yours, you gave a small nod—just enough to acknowledge the apology. It wasn’t forgiveness, but it was something. Rory seemed to take it as a good sign, and he stepped back in line with the other two players.

Headmaster Black sighed dramatically, his hand sweeping dismissively toward the Gryffindor table. “Are we quite finished? Excellent. Back to your seats, then, before this drags on any longer.”

Hugh, Teddy, and Rory quickly shuffled back to their table, their faces a mixture of relief and embarrassment. Black resumed his seat at the staff table with a disgruntled huff, muttering something under his breath.

Madam Kogawa and Professor Weasley exchanged a glance—Kogawa’s satisfaction was clear in the slight tilt of her head, while Weasley gave a small, approving nod.

As the Great Hall gradually returned to its usual breakfast chatter, you became aware of a familiar gaze. Sebastian’s eyes were on you, steady and searching from his spot at the down the table.

His raised brow and the subtle tilt of his head almost seemed to ask a question: You believe them?

You held his gaze for a moment too long, shrugging faintly before averting your eyes to your hands resting on the table.

Still, your mind raced—and your heart, inexplicably, along with it.

Your heart had been doing that more and more whenever it came to Sebastian. A simple glance, an offhanded remark in class, even the memory of the way he had looked at you in the hospital wing—his eyes full of worry, his voice uncharacteristically soft—was enough to set it off, fluttering against your ribs like a caged bird.

As you finished the last bites of your breakfast, you tried to brush off the sensation, chalking it up to something reasonable. Maybe it was some lingering aftereffect of your injury, or perhaps a symptom of something more serious. Accelerated heart rate could mean anemia, couldn’t it? Or a lack of sleep? You’d missed a couple of meals while recovering—could that have done it?

Yes, that had to be it. Something simple, explainable.

You rose from the table, collecting your belongings before slinging your bag over your shoulder.

As you stepped into the crisp morning air of the Transfiguration Courtyard, your breath curled in soft mist before you. Tugging your scarf tighter around your neck, you welcomed the bite of the cold—its sharpness a brief reprieve from the unfamiliar weight pressing against your chest.

“Hey—Chouette! Wait up!”

You turned abruptly, blinking as Leander jogged up to you, his face flushed, whether from the cold or the effort, you couldn’t tell.

“...What is it, Prewett?”

“I just… I need to talk to you,” he said, slowing to a stop in front of you. His usual bravado seemed absent, replaced by something awkward and hesitant.

You crossed your arms, raising a brow. “About what?”

“You know,” he said, his voice faltering. "About... about the wager I made with Sallow."

Your brow furrowed, the sharp chill in the air doing little to temper the flare of irritation warming your chest. “What about it?” you asked coolly, your words clipped.

Leander shifted awkwardly, faltering under your gaze. “Look, after seeing those blokes apologize back there I... I realized I should do the same. I know I’ve been a right git,” he said, his voice uneven. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

You tilted your head slightly, studying him. “You’re sorry,” you repeated.

“Yes,” he insisted, his tone growing almost defensive. “I was awful to you, and you didn’t deserve it.” He hesitated, then added, “...It wasn’t easy to come here and say this, you know.”

For a moment, you simply stared at him. It had been weeks since Garreth’s party. Weeks since the bet had spiraled out of control, leaving you humiliated and exposed to the whispered speculations of the entire school. And now, here Leander stood, his face flushed and his expression teetering between guilt and something far less noble. He had the audacity to act like it was remorse that made him shift on his feet and avoid your eyes, when you knew better.

It wasn’t guilt—it was self-preservation.

“I know it's been awhile since it happened,” Leander continued, the words sounding rehearsed. “But I let things get out of hand,” He glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck. “And look, I'm apologizing now, right? All water under the bridge, eh?”

“She doesn’t owe you forgiveness. So why don’t you take your ‘apology’ and shove off?”

The sound of Sebastian’s voice sent a jolt of surprise through you. He strode into the courtyard with the easy confidence that always seemed to cloak him, his hands tucked casually into the pocket of his hoodie. His expression, however, was anything but casual. His dark eyes burned with cold intensity as they locked onto the redhead.

Leander bristled, his cheeks darkening. “I wasn’t talking to you, Sallow.”

Sebastian stopped a few paces away, tilting his head slightly as if considering the words. Then he shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’m talking to you.” His tone was calm, but there was a sharp edge to it, a quiet threat simmering beneath the surface. “What do you think you’re going to accomplish here? Hoping she’ll tell you everything's fine so you can feel better about yourself?"

Leander’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “You're just as guilty as I am."

Sebastian's smirk flickered into something sharper, more dangerous. His posture remained deceptively casual, but you caught the subtle shift in his stance—the way his shoulders squared just slightly, the faint clench of his jaw.

“Maybe,” he said coolly. “But I’m not the one hounding her for absolution in public, am I?”

Leander’s face flushed deeper, his frustration bubbling over as he took a step forward. “You think you’re better than me? You—”

Sebastian cut him off with a low chuckle, shaking his head. "I owned up to what I did weeks ago." He took a small step forward, closing the distance between them.

“You’ve been more of a thorn in her side than I have," Leander snapped, his voice rising slightly. "You’re not some knight in shining armor.”

Sebastian tilted his head, his expression hardening. "Fuck off, Prewett. She doesn’t owe you anything. Not her forgiveness, not her time, not a second more of her day. So do us all a favor and walk away before you make an even bigger fool of yourself.”

The words hung heavy in the chilly morning air, and for a moment, neither of man moved. Leander’s hands flexed at his sides, his gaze flickering toward you briefly, as though looking for some kind of support. When he found none, his shoulders sagged, his bluster faltering.

With a frustrated huff, he muttered, “Fine,” and turned on his heel, stalking off toward the castle.

The tension in the courtyard seemed to dissipate with every step Leander took, leaving behind only the faint rustle of the wind and the chatter of students who'd watched the encounter unfold. You let out a breath, your arms dropping to your sides.

Sebastian turned to you then, the hard edges of his expression softening. “You alright?”

You nodded slowly, still processing what had just happened. “Yeah,” you said softly. “I’m fine.”

Sebastian studied you for a moment longer, his gaze lingering as though he was trying to read your thoughts.

��Good,” he said simply.

You cleared your throat. “You, um. You didn’t have to step in."

“Maybe not,” Sebastian admitted, shrugging one shoulder. “But I wanted to.”

There was something about the way he said it—so calm, so matter-of-fact—that sent warmth flooding through you again, unbidden and maddeningly persistent. You hesitated, your thoughts swirling, before finally managing a quiet, “Thanks.”

“Anytime."

With that, he turned and walked off, sticking his earbuds in as he disappeared around the corner.

The rest of the morning passed in a haze, each class a blur as your mind stubbornly refused to focus. Charms brought top marks on your essay, and Potions earned you a rare nod of approval from Professor Sharp, yet neither accomplishment could hold your attention. Instead, your thoughts kept circling back to Sebastian, as if your mind were intent on sabotaging any attempt to take notes or absorb useful information.

In Transfiguration, you caught yourself watching him (again). He was in his usual spot near the window, the sunlight casting a soft glow over his dark hair. He wasn’t doing anything remarkable—just sitting there, his head tilted slightly as he listened to Professor Weasley explain a complex spell theory. And yet, for some reason, you couldn’t look away.

Your gaze drifted to the curls of his hair at the nape of his neck, where it just brushed the collar of his robes. It looked impossibly soft, the kind of tousled imperfection that seemed to call for your fingertips. The light caught on his skin, and you unwittingly traced the freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. You’d noticed them before, of course, but now you found yourself wondering just how many there were, how long it would take to count them all—freckle by freckle. The thought made your stomach flip, heat creeping up your neck as you quickly turned your attention back to your notes.

But the distraction was short-lived. Your gaze flickered back to him almost involuntarily, your mind filling with questions you had no business asking. Did the freckles continue down his neck, hidden beneath the crisp collar of his shirt? How far down did they go? The thought sent your pulse racing, and you clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to look at your parchment again.

This is ridiculous, you told yourself. He's just… Sebastian. Sitting there, exactly like he always has, nothing out of the ordinary. But the more you tried to brush it off, the more you noticed. Like the breadth of his shoulders, broad and steady beneath the dark fabric of his robes. Or the way his hands moved as he wrote, the quick, precise strokes of his quill against parchment. His fingers were long, thick, and somehow graceful despite their callouses—no doubt from years of dueling and gripping a broomstick.

You let out a quiet huff of frustration, earning a glance from Imelda, who sat beside you. She arched a brow, her expression a mix of curiosity and suspicion, but thankfully said nothing.

When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of class, you scrambled to gather your things, determined to escape before your thoughts spiraled any further. But as you hurried out of the classroom, the sound of Sebastian's laugh—low and rich, in response to something Garreth had said—followed you, lingering in your mind long after you’d left.

By the time dinner rolled around, you’d resigned yourself to the distraction. Seated at the Slytherin table, you barely touched your food, your fork idly pushing a slice of roast potato around your plate as your mind wandered. You barely noticed when Imelda slid into the seat across from you until she waved a hand in front of your face, snapping you out of your daze.

“Oi, earth to Chouette. You alright, or did someone hit you with a Confundus?”

Startled, you blinked at her, trying to mask your flustered expression. “What? No, I’m fine.”

Imelda raised an unimpressed brow, her sharp eyes narrowing. “You don’t look fine. You’ve been spaced out all day. Even during quidditch practice, and you never zone out during practice.”

You forced a weak smile, brushing off her concern with a shrug. “Didn’t sleep well last night,” you lied, hoping she wouldn’t press further.

Her skeptical snort told you she wasn’t buying it. “You’re a terrible liar, you know. But fine, don’t tell me. Just don’t fall off your broom again, yeah? You’ve already filled your quota for near-death experiences this month.”

Her teasing tone struck a chord, the memory of the match, the memory of Sebastian's face so close to yours, flashing through your mind again. You gave her a tight smile, muttering something about needing to grab a book from the library before hastily excusing yourself.

The last thing you needed was Imelda poking further into your thoughts.

The library was a welcome reprieve, the familiar scent of old books and ink soothing your frayed nerves. You found a secluded corner near the Restricted Section, sinking into a chair and pulling out your textbook with a quiet sigh. The faint rustle of pages and the scratch of quills filled the air, providing a steady backdrop to your spiraling thoughts.

You slipped your headphones in, grateful for the muffling cocoon of sound as your playlist began, drowning out the faint whispers of the library and, mercifully, the relentless thoughts of Sebastian that had plagued you all day.

Finally, your mind began to settle, and you turned your attention fully to the Arithmancy equations before you, the numbers and symbols pulling you into their intricate logic.

Time passed in a blur, marked only by the occasional shift of light through the high windows and the quiet rustle of nearby students. You felt productive, a small sense of triumph settling over you as your quill moved steadily across the parchment.

But the fragile peace shattered when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

You tensed, pulling your headphones out and turning to see none other than Amelia Rosier flanked by two of her equally polished friends. She stood with her arms crossed, her lips curved in a smile that dripped with insincerity.

“Well, well,” she began, her voice lilting with exaggerated sweetness, “look who we have here—Hogwarts’ most unexpected addition.”

Before you could respond, one of her friends, a blonde with perfectly braided hair, leaned against the edge of the table and chimed in, “It’s so brave of you to sit back here all alone. Most people would be too worried about looking… I don’t know… forgotten?”

The other friend, a petite brunette with sharp features, laughed softly, covering her mouth with a manicured hand. “But I suppose blending in would be difficult, wouldn’t it?”

Your stomach twisted, but you kept your expression neutral, your fingers tightening around the quill in your hand. “Can I help you with something?”

Amelia let out a soft laugh, clearly reveling in your discomfort. “Oh, no need to be so defensive. We just thought we’d stop by and say hello. After all, you’ve been the talk of the school lately.”

Her blonde friend, still leaning on the table, tilted her head and added, “You're all anyone can talk about—You know, Sebastian swooping in to defend you like some kind of damsel in distress this morning? It’s almost romantic, don’t you think?”

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself to stay calm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t play coy,” Amelia said, stepping closer and sliding gracefully into the chair across from you. Her friends followed suit, settling in like uninvited shadows. “Everyone knows he stood up to Leander for you. It’s practically heroic. But don’t let it go to your head, darling. He’s just being nice, that’s all.”

Your grip on the quill tightened until your knuckles ached. It took every ounce of restraint not to snap back, to remind yourself that giving them the reaction they clearly wanted would only add fuel to their fire.

Amelia leaned back in her chair, her icy blue eyes studying you with a smirk that made your skin crawl. "Oh, don’t look so serious," she said, her tone dripping with false sweetness. "We’re just having a bit of fun. No need to get upset."

Her blonde friend tilted her head, her expression feigning concern. “Do you think we’re upsetting her? I hope not. I mean, she has been through so much lately. The whole bet situation, falling off her broom…” Her lips curled into a sly smile. “It must be so exhausting.”

Amelia leaned forward, her icy gaze fixed on you as if she were a predator toying with her prey. “It was sweet, really, how Sebastian caught you after you fell."

The brunette chimed in, tilting her head as if she were genuinely curious. “Do you think he did it out of pity? Like, maybe he felt obligated because of the wager. It would explain a lot, don’t you think?”

Your chest tightened, the sting of their words sharp and unrelenting. You fought to keep your expression neutral, to keep the tremor out of your voice as you replied, “I don’t know what you’re trying to get at, but—”

“Oh, come now,” Amelia interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t be so sensitive. We’re just trying to help you manage your expectations. It’s a good thing, really. Wouldn’t want you getting your hopes up for someone like Sebastian.”

The blonde, still perched on the edge of the table, leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Sebastian has a type, you know? And let’s just say… it’s not you.”

Amelia shot her a look of mock disapproval, though the glee in her eyes was unmistakable. “Now, now, let’s not be mean. It’s not her fault she’s…” She trailed off, her gaze sweeping over you in a way that made you want to shrink into your seat. “Well, you know.”

Your chest tightened, the words slicing through you like shards of ice. You opened your mouth to retort, but Amelia cut you off with a saccharine smile.

“Speaking of which, I should probably let you in on something.” She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that was loud enough for the entire library to hear. “Sebastian will actually be joining me in the prefects’ bathroom tonight. You know, the one with the enchanted tub? Oh, that’s right—you’re a transfer. You probably don’t even know what the prefects’ bathroom is.”

Your stomach twisted violently, a bitter taste rising in your throat. Amelia’s tone was condescending, like she was explaining something to a child. “It’s this absolutely luxurious space, reserved for prefects and people like me, of course.”

Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

“Is that so?"

The words drew all eyes to the end of the aisle, where Sebastian stood, leaning casually against the edge of a nearby bookshelf. His dark eyes were sharp, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Oh, Seb!” Amelia’s voice pitched up, dripping with false sweetness as she quickly recovered from her surprise. She slid gracefully from her seat, smoothing the front of her robes as she approached him with an exaggerated sway of her hips. “We were just talking about you!"

Sebastian didn’t move from his spot at the end of the aisle, his arms crossed over his chest and his weight shifted lazily against the bookshelf. “Yeah, I caught that part,” he tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “It's just strange... because I’m pretty sure I would’ve remembered making plans with you.”

The other girls exchanged uneasy glances, clearly caught off guard by the cool detachment in his voice. Amelia, however, was undeterred. She stepped closer, her smile widening as she reached out to lightly touch his arm. “Don’t be silly, Seb. You know how forgetful you can be.”

Sebastian didn’t flinch, but his gaze dropped to where her fingers rested against his sleeve. With a deliberate slowness, he raised a single brow, and the corner of his mouth twitched with something close to disdain.

“Amelia,” he said, his voice calm but with an unmistakable edge, “you’ve got a better chance of seeing a Hungarian Horntail in the prefects’ bathroom than seeing me there with you.”

Amelia’s hand froze mid-motion, her confident smirk faltering for the briefest moment before she quickly recovered. “Oh, you’re such a tease,” she said with a strained laugh, withdrawing her hand and smoothing her hair. “Always so funny, aren’t you?”

“Funny?” he echoed, his voice quiet but cutting through the tension like a knife. “No, what’s funny is watching you embarrass yourself in front of half the library with these ridiculous lies.”

Amelia blinked, the saccharine confidence in her smile beginning to crack. “I—I don’t know what you mean. We were just—”

“You were just,” he interrupted smoothly, his tone as sharp as broken glass, “making a fool of yourself."

Her friends exchanged uneasy glances, shifting uncomfortably in their seats, but Sebastian didn’t give them a chance to intervene. He took another step forward, his gaze locked on Amelia, unflinching.

“Let me be perfectly clear,” he said, his voice steady and unwavering. "There is no us. Not friends, not acquaintances, and certainly not whatever ridiculous fantasy you’ve concocted in your head.”

Amelia’s face flushed crimson, her lips parting as if to argue, but Sebastian didn’t give her the chance.

“And if you think spreading lies about me—about her—makes you look clever or desirable, it doesn’t,” he continued, his tone sharpening with every word. “It makes you look petty. Desperate. And frankly, pathetic.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Amelia’s lips parted, as though she wanted to respond, but no words came. Her blue eyes darted around the aisle, searching for support from her friends, but they both seemed intent on avoiding her gaze.

Sebastian’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, it grew harder, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he added, “Oh, and for the record? My type is someone with enough self-respect not to pull this sort of pathetic stunt. So... evidently, not you."

Amelia's cheeks burned, and her mouth opened as though she wanted to retort, but no sound came out. For a moment, the tension between them hung thick in the air, like a volcano about to erupt.

You swallowed hard, heart pounding as you risked a glance around the library. As expected, the commotion had drawn attention—plenty of it. Students at tables and tucked into study carrels craned their necks to see what was happening, some even holding up their phones, the faint glow of screens unmistakable in the dim light.

A small, vindictive spark flared in your chest. Karma.

Amelia's eyes darted toward the other students, the weight of their gazes clearly dawning on her. Her composed façade cracked further, the sweetness in her expression warping into something more brittle and strained. “You really think this is a good look for you, Sebastian?” she said, her voice trembling slightly but still clinging to a thread of defiance.

Sebastian didn’t flinch, his broad frame seeming to loom even larger as he took one deliberate step closer. The movement wasn’t threatening, but it left no room for doubt about who held control of the situation.

“I think,” he said evenly, his tone cool and measured, “that the only person who looks bad here is you and your stupid little friends."

Amelia let out a frustrated huff, her composure cracking entirely. “Let’s go,” she barked at the other girls, who scrambled to follow her, their faces pale with embarrassment.

As the trio retreated down the aisle, the tension in the library began to dissipate. Whispers erupted among the students, punctuated by the occasional stifled laugh or the faint click of a phone camera.

Sebastian let out a breath as he turned to you. His expression softened, the sharp edges melting away to reveal something closer to concern.

“You alright?”

You stared at him, your lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. Shock, disbelief, and an undercurrent of gratitude coursed through you, leaving you rooted to your seat.

“Chouette?”

When you still didn’t respond, he let out a soft sigh and glanced around the room.

“Alright,” he said sharply, addressing the gawking crowd. “Put your damn phones away. Now.” His voice cut through the low hum of whispers, and his dark eyes swept the room like a storm. “She’s not a spectacle for your entertainment.”

Most of the students scrambled to comply, their guilty expressions betraying them as they shoved their phones back into their robes. A few lingered, clearly hoping for more drama, but Sebastian didn’t give them the satisfaction. He turned his attention back to you, crouching slightly so he was eye level.

“Let’s get out of here,” he murmured, already gathering your quill, parchment, and books.

You blinked, finally finding your voice, though it was faint. “Sebastian, you didn’t have to…”

“Yes, I did." He extended his free hand toward you, his expression softening as he added, “Come on.”

You hesitated for just a moment before slipping your hand into his, your fingers fitting into his as if they’d always belonged there.

With quiet confidence, Sebastian led you through the sea of onlookers, his broad frame effortlessly parting the crowd. You followed without question.

The walk through the castle was silent, save for the soft shuffle of your shoes against the stone floors. You didn’t ask where he was taking you—something about the way he moved, purposeful and unhurried, made it clear he had a destination in mind.

Finally, he stopped in what seemed like an unremarkable corridor—a dead-end tucked away in the Dark Arts Tower. Sebastian paused in front of an ornate clock, its hands frozen in place. Without a word, he drew his wand, tracing a pattern in the air.

Before you could ask what he was doing, the clock shifted with a low, mechanical groan, its face sliding open to reveal a hidden staircase disappearing into the shadows below.

He turned to you, his expression unreadable, though there was a flicker of vulnerability in his gaze. “This is… a bit of a secret,” he admitted quietly, stepping aside to let you enter first. "Ominis might kill me if he finds out I showed you."

You hesitated for a moment, your gaze flicking between him and the hidden staircase that now yawned open before you.

“A secret?” you echoed.

Sebastian offered a faint, lopsided smile. “Yeah. Ominis is… particular about who knows, so let’s keep this between us, alright?”

The flicker of vulnerability in his eyes made your chest tighten. You nodded wordlessly, stepping past him and onto the hidden staircase.

When you reached the bottom, the room before you opened up into a sprawling, dimly lit chamber. Mismatched furniture was scattered around—a worn sofa here, a rickety table there—giving the space an oddly comfortable, lived-in feel.

“This,” Sebastian said, stepping past you and gesturing with a casual sweep of his arm, “is the Undercroft.”

You turned slowly, taking in the details of the space. There was a strange kind of intimacy here, a sense of history that felt almost tangible. Your gaze drifted to Sebastian, who stood watching you, your belongings still tucked under his arm.

“It’s… I had no idea something like this even existed... how long have you known about this place?" You stammered.

His lips quirked into a faint, wistful smile. “It’s been our sanctuary for years—mine, Ominis’, and… well, my sister too, back when she was still here."

You blinked. "...You have a sister?"

Sebastian’s smile faltered slightly, the edges softening into something quieter, more introspective. He lowered your belongings onto a nearby table, his fingers lingering for a moment on the spine of your notebook before he straightened.

“I do,” he said softly, the word carrying a weight that hung heavy in the air. “Anne. She’s... she had to leave Hogwarts a few years ago.”

The way he said it made your chest tighten, a faint ache blooming there. You opened your mouth to ask more, then paused, uncertain whether your should ask more.

Sebastian seemed to catch the hesitation in your expression because he let out a quiet sigh. “She was cursed,” he said finally, his voice low but steady. "Lives full time at St. Mungo's now."

Your stomach twisted at the rawness in his voice, the faint crack around the edges. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly, the words feeling inadequate even as you said them.

He shrugged, though it wasn’t dismissive. “It’s not your fault. And I’ve made my peace with it. Mostly.” His lips twitched into a faint, self-deprecating smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Anyway, this is... where I come to think.”

He paused, his dark eyes flicking back to you, and for a moment, his gaze was so open it left you breathless. “That’s why I brought you here,” he added softly. “I figured you might need that too.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

The vulnerability in his tone, the way he was letting you in—it was so at odds with the cocky, sharp-tongued boy who used to tease you endlessly.

“I don’t… I mean, thank you,” you stammered, feeling unsteady under the weight of the moment. “This is—this is really nice of you.”

Sebastian let out a faint, self-deprecating laugh, the sound soft and low as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t give me too much credit,” he said, his tone laced with a wry edge. “It’s not as noble or selfless as it probably seems.”

You blinked. “...What do you mean?”

He shrugged, crossing the room with an easy, almost languid stride, and sank onto one of the worn couches. The way he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees and fingers loosely clasped, made it seem like he was trying to find the right words.

“I just…” He paused, exhaling slowly, his dark eyes focused on some distant point in the room. “I wanted to talk to you. That’s why I was in the library earlier... looking for you.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. His tone was quieter than usual, lacking the sharp confidence you’d come to expect from him. It made you uneasy—and curious.

After a moment of hesitation, you moved toward a nearby chair, lowering yourself into it cautiously.

Sebastian glanced at you briefly, his gaze flicking to your face before darting away. He shifted slightly, leaning back against the couch, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed his calm façade.

“I’ve been trying to give you space,” he admitted, his voice low, almost hesitant. “After… everything. I know it's what you wanted—”

“—I did,” you interrupted softly. “But…”

“...But?”

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. The flicker of vulnerability in his expression—so unguarded, so real—made your chest ache. “But it’s been… strange,” you admitted quietly, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess them. “Not having you around as much, I mean.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he quickly masked it, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “...Strange, huh?”

“Don’t make me regret saying that,” you muttered, feeling your cheeks heat.

Sebastian’s faint smile turned into a quiet laugh, warm and low. “I won't,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll behave.”

A small, reluctant smile tugged at your lips, your gaze lingering on him, drawn to every detail of his face.

Had his eyelashes always been that long? It wasn’t fair, really, the way they framed his eyes, making the rich, dark brown even warmer, softer. And the longer you looked, the more you noticed—the slope of his nose, the curve of his jaw, the way his mouth parted slightly as he exhaled, the faint scar by his eyebrow. And his mouth—Merlin help you, why were you staring at his mouth? The faint sheen of moisture on his lips made you wonder, for a fleeting, dangerous moment, what they might taste like. Would they be warm, firm, soft? Would he—

Your chest tightened, and you forced yourself to look away, only to find your gaze helplessly drawn back to him. His dark eyes were still locked on yours, deep and searching, like he was trying to unravel the thoughts tangled in your head.

The moment stretched thinner and thinner, a wire ready to snap as he leaned forward, just a fraction, the movement so subtle it was almost imperceptible.

Then, just as the tension became unbearable—

“Sebastian?” A voice drawled from the staircase, breaking the fragile quiet like shattering glass.

You jolted back instinctively, your heart slamming against your ribs as Ominis descended the stairs, his phone in hand.

“You’ve gone viral again.” Ominis huffed a laugh, moving through the room and holding his phone out.

Sebastian groaned, the sound low and frustrated, as he slumped back against the couch. The spell between you was broken, the moment slipping away like sand through your fingers.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, running a hand down his face. “How'd you know I was here?!”

Ominis raised an unimpressed brow. “Where else would you be? You publicly humiliated Amelia Rosier in the middle of the library not 20 minutes ago."

Sebastian let out a derisive snort. “The video got out already, then?

“Videos. Plural." Ominis said dryly, holding out the phone again. “Apparently there’s a particularly flattering angle of you towering over her like some vengeful storm cloud. Very cinematic.”

Sebastian smirked faintly, his usual cocky demeanor slipping back into place like a well-worn cloak. “Well,” he drawled, leaning back with a casual air that was entirely too practiced. “Can’t help it if I’m naturally dramatic. Someone had to put her in her place. Might as well make it entertaining.”

Ominis sighed heavily, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “insufferable,” before holding out the phone toward Sebastian. “Here. You might want to see just how entertaining you looked.”

Sebastian reached for the phone, but as Ominis shifted slightly to hand it over, he stiffened. His brows furrowed, his head tilting as though he were trying to listen for something.

“You’re not alone,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, a hint of suspicion creeping into his tone.

You cleared your throat awkwardly, shifting slightly in your chair. “Uh… hi, Ominis.”

His head snapped in your direction, his expression quickly shifting from suspicion to something closer to alarm. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Chouette?”

Sebastian groaned, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “Relax, Ominis. She’s not going to tell anyone.”

“That’s not the point!” Ominis snapped. “You can’t just bring anyone here—”

“She’s not anyone,” Sebastian interjected firmly.

Ominis’ jaw tightened, his lips parting as though to argue, but he stopped himself. Instead, he inhaled deeply, his shoulders stiffening as he turned toward you, his expression unreadable. “This place is… important,” he said carefully, his tone measured. “It’s not just somewhere we hang out, it’s—”

“I know,” you interrupted softly, your voice steady but quiet. “Sebastian explained. I understand.”

Ominis’ frown deepened, but he didn’t say anything for a long moment. The silence was heavy, thick with unspoken tension, until finally, he let out a long, resigned sigh. “Alright,” he muttered. “Fine. But if you breathe a word about this to anyone—”

“She won’t,” Sebastian interrupted again, his tone cutting and impatient now. “Merlin’s sake, Ominis, can you stop for once and just… trust me? Or her?”

Ominis stiffened at that, his expression flickering for a moment before he sighed again. “Fine,” he muttered, clearly begrudging but unwilling to argue further. He turned, muttering something under his breath as he moved to one of the armchairs.

Sebastian watched him for a moment, his jaw tight, before turning back to you. His dark eyes softened slightly as they met yours, a quiet apology flickering in their depths.

“So…” you began, clearing your throat. “What’s… the general sentiment about the videos?”

Ominis snorted, the sound cutting through the tension like a razor. “It's astonishing,” he drawled, his tone dripping with dry amusement, “how little it takes for Sebastian to sway people. One dramatic confrontation, a few cutting remarks, and suddenly, you're everyone’s favorite underdog, Chouette."

Sebastian smirked faintly, leaning back against the couch and crossing his arms over his chest. “What can I say? I have a certain… charm,” he said, the self-satisfaction practically oozing from his voice.

Ominis rolled his eyes, though his lips twitched as if suppressing a smirk. “Yes, well, your charm has also turned Amelia Rosier into the school’s latest social pariah. She’s lost hundreds of followers already. The poor girl might actually have to face the consequences of her actions. Imagine that.”

Your eyebrows shot up, surprised. “Hundreds?” you echoed, glancing between the two boys. “That’s… kind of a lot.”

Ominis shrugged, his expression indifferent. “People are fickle,” he said simply. “They’ll rally behind whatever makes for the best story—and right now, that happens to be you and Sebastian.”

Sebastian’s grin widened, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “Finally, some proper recognition.”

Ominis let out a groan of amused annoyance and you glanced between them, a faint smile tugging at your lips as they continued their familiar bickering. But something still lingered in your mind, nagging at you.

After a beat, you cleared your throat softly. “So… about the Prefects’ Bathroom…” you began hesitantly.

Both boys turned to look at you—Sebastian with raised eyebrows, and Ominis with a subtle crease of curiosity forming between his brows.

“What about it?” Sebastian asked.

You swallowed, feeling a faint heat creeping up your neck. “Is it, um… is it a real place?”

Sebastian blinked, clearly taken off guard, before a wide grin spread across his face. “Oh, Chouette,” he drawled, his tone laced with playful mockery. “Don’t tell me you thought she made that up.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you crossed your arms defensively. “Well, excuse me for not knowing the intricacies of Hogwarts plumbing,” you shot back, glaring at him.

Ominis let out a soft chuckle, his head tilting slightly as he addressed you. “It’s real,” he confirmed. “Though it’s not quite as… glamorous as certain rumors might make it out to be.”

“Not glamorous?” Sebastian interjected, outraged. “Speak for yourself, Ominis! The Prefects’ Bathroom is practically the height of luxury. Enchanted taps, a massive pool of a tub… Honestly, it’s wasted on the likes of those bloody prefects.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “Wait, really?"

“Absolutely,” Sebastian said, his grin widening. “Fluffy towels, loads of bubbles, stained glass... Very fancy. And let me tell you, Chouette—Amelia Rosier wouldn’t last five minutes trying to sneak in.”

Ominis scoffed. “Neither would you, Sebastian. If memory serves, the last time you got anywhere near the door, you were caught by Mr. Moon.”

Sebastian winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, that was one time, and I was fifteen. It doesn’t count.”

“It absolutely counts,” Ominis deadpanned.

You bit back a laugh, shaking your head. “I should’ve known you’d have a story about it.”

Sebastian shrugged, his grin unwavering. “I’m full of stories. Stick around, and I’ll tell you all of them.”

Ominis groaned again, though there was no real malice in it. “Merlin help us,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair. “One of these days, we’re all going to regret enabling you.”

Sebastian smirked. “But today’s not that day,” he said smoothly.

You let their banter wash over you, but your mind wandered further, a spark of mischief flickering to life. The more you thought about it, the more the idea began to take shape, and you had to suppress the smirk threatening to tug at your lips.

"But hypothetically... if someone wanted to get in, is it really that hard?"

Ominis turned his head sharply in your direction, and Sebastian's eyebrows shot up.

"You want to get in?" The brunette asked, grin widening.

"Hypothetically," You repeated.

Ominis sighed heavily, his hand gripping the arm of his chair as though bracing himself for the chaos that was surely about to unfold. "This is a bad idea," he muttered. "A catastrophically bad idea."

"You say that about everything," Sebastian quipped, waving a hand dismissively. "And yet, here you are, still alive and not expelled."

Ominis’ frown deepened, but he said nothing.

Sebastian leaned toward you conspiratorially as he rested an elbow on his knee. "Well, hypothetically," he began, his voice dropping to a mock whisper, "it’s not impossible. The bathroom is on the fifth floor, behind the fourth door to the left of a statue of Boris the Bewildered. You need the current password to get in, and it's only known to prefects, Head Boys and Girls, and Quidditch captains."

"And if you had the password?" you asked, tilting your head innocently.

Sebastian’s grin grew wider. "Then you’d just need a good alibi and a decent bit of stealth."

Ominis sighed heavily, his head tilting back in defeat. "This is madness."

"Madness?" Sebastian echoed. "No, Ominis. This is fun."

You bit your lip, fighting back a grin. "What if," you said slowly, your voice measured, "we got in and took a picture? Just for… posterity."

Sebastian tilted his head. "A picture?"

You nodded, a sly smile creeping onto your face. "You know... to make a point."

Ominis frowned, his brows knitting together as though he could sense your intent even without seeing your face. "What kind of point?"

"I dunno. I mean, Amelia seemed really keen on getting in there with Sebastian..." You trailed off, shrugging a shoulder. "How'd you think she'd feel if she saw a picture of us in there instead?"

Sebastian's eyebrows shot up, and then he burst out laughing, the sound echoing off the stone walls of the Undercroft. "Oh, Chouette," he said between laughs, leaning back in his chair and raking a hand through his hair. "You’re absolutely wicked."

Ominis groaned audibly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is the worst idea I’ve ever heard."

"Oh, come on," Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Don’t you see the poetic justice here?"

You crossed your arms. "She started it, after all," you added, your tone almost innocent. "I’m just finishing it."

Ominis tilted his head in your direction, his pale eyes narrowing slightly as though he could somehow see the mischief radiating off you. "And how, exactly, do you plan on pulling this off? Even if we were insane enough to go along with this—which, for the record, I’m not—you’d still need the password."

"Simple," you said, a sly grin tugging at your lips. "You seem to forget that Imelda and I are thick as thieves—and she just so happens to be our Quidditch captain."

 ← Previous Chapter Next Chapter →

[dfortrafalgar]

Rectify- Part 2

Law x Fem Reader

There's no shame in using a safety net to catch you when you're falling.

Warnings: direct mentions of past domestic violence, hurt/comfort, unspoken romance, fluffy ending

A/N: this is a sequel to my request fic 'Rectify'! I typed this on a whim after re-reading my own work, and after having a few really rough days recently, it was pretty cathartic to hammer this out. It's not my best fic recently, but sometimes you just need something simple.

There was a handwritten note taped to the door of your apartment.

Your feet stayed planted in front of your door as your eyes glazed over the sloppy writing over and over again.  You couldn’t even bite the inside of your cheek as a nervous tic, the harsh bruise still covering your jaw causing aches and pains even two weeks later.  It was embarrassingly noticeable.  Your friends questioned it, your professors questioned it, passersby on campus gave you strange looks.  It was humiliating.

A victim of domestic abuse.  That’s what the school psychiatrist had told you.

Humiliating.

The note was snatched from your door, the tape on the back of the paper ripping off with an obnoxious tearing sound.

Right.  Law was still there.

Standing next to you, he crumpled the note with a firm scowl on his face, steely golden eyes seeming to flicker with a barely-subdued rage.  In the two weeks since the incident with Bellamy, he had barely left your side.  And you liked it better that way.

“Pussy,” the medical student swore under his breath, his gentle hand against the small of your back a harsh contrast to his words.  “Come on, let’s go inside.”

You silently nodded, blinking out of your paranoid daze and fumbling for your key in the pocket of your coat, undoing the lock and pushing the heavy door open.  The apartment was still occupied by only you, with your roommate having gone home for winter break.  In her absence, however, Law took over.

It seemed the two of you had formed an unconventional routine, with Law making sure to keep tabs on your mouth injury every single evening.  For the first four days, he continued to supply you with an antibiotic rinse for your tongue, going out of his way to cook bland and soft foods for you to easily ingest without irritating your injury.  He masterfully reduced the inflammation of your bruise and even helped you apply concealer for the first few days before you grew exhausted of the tedious ordeal (and the pain of your beauty blender being blotted over your tender jaw).  He did all of this without question, without expecting any thanks or repayment, and you, likewise, didn’t comment.  You were afraid that if you did, the influx of tears behind your eyelids would finally spill out.

So instead of vocalizing your questions, your concerns, and the nagging confession in your mind, you insisted that Law sleep in your bed, under your sheets, with your legs tangled together and his calloused, tattooed hands planted safely on your back and waist.

“Hey.”

A quiet, firm voice saying your name shook you from your thoughts.  When had you been seated on your couch?

“What are you thinking about for dinner?”  Law was washing his hands in the kitchen, peering around the doorframe to where you sat.

You shrugged.  “I don’t think I’m too hungry.”

The faucet was turned off, the sound of the man drying his hands on a cloth towel following suit before he entered your living space, sitting next to you on the couch.  You wasted no time crawling into his lap, resting the uninjured side of your face across his legs.  His hands ghosted across your shoulder, and you couldn’t see the way his eyes softened with remorse.

“I still think you should go back to the school psych again,” Law mumbled, rubbing your skin through the fabric of your shirt.

“They won’t help me,” you replied, voice muffled thanks to your curled up position.  “She’s just gonna tell me to go somewhere different.”

“Maybe that’s what you should do,” he added.

Those same hot tears began to sting, slipping out of your eyes and pooling across the bridge of your nose.  “It’s fucking humiliating.  All of this.”  You balled your fist against your chest.  “I don’t even feel safe in my own apartment anymore.  Why did I let myself get involved with that crew?”

“You couldn’t have known,” Law added.  He lost count of the amount of times the two of you had this conversation in the past 14 days, but that didn’t matter to him.  He’d tell you as many times as you needed to hear it- none of what transpired was your fault.

“All he did was hit me once and yet I’m a mess because of it.”

Law’s jaw clenched.  “Doesn’t matter how many times.  He hurt you.”

“But–”

“No ‘buts’,” Law’s firm voice refuted, shutting down your protests.  “You were hurt, end of story.  You’re not accounting for the emotional abuse he put you through, the words and comments.”

“I hate that word,” you uttered.  “Abuse.  It’s sour.”

“It is.”

You rolled onto your back, gazing through your teary eyes at Law, who gazed down on you with nothing but patience and tenderness.

“Don’t you ever get sick of me acting like this?” you suddenly asked.

Law’s heart skipped a beat in his chest, his throat tightening with pity at how feeble your voice sounded.  “Never.”  He leaned over your form slightly, tracing the backs of his inked fingers over the unblemished side of your face.  “Have you ever felt sick of me when I have bad nights thinking about my dad?  Have you ever thought I was annoying when I’d come to you crying as a teenager?”

You frantically shook your head.  “Of course not.”

“Then you need to believe me when I say I’ll never feel like that with you, either.”  His words were level, soft yet firm, and you were left with no choice but to believe him.  “Doesn’t matter if he hit you once, twice, or not at all.  You were hurt by him regardless, and you deserve to be able to feel the emotions that come with that.  Because it was you who got hurt, no one else matters in this situation but you and your emotions.”

“I suppose so,” you said back meekly.

“And,” he began again.  “There’s nothing wrong with asking for help from a professional to guide you through this.  I could even join if you wanted me to.  Regardless, I think it would be good for you to talk to someone with more experience than me.”  A small smile crawled onto his lips.  “I’m really only good with physical illness.”

“Nah,” you replied, your own shaky grin appearing.  “You’re patching me up on the inside just fine.”

“You know… if it would help you feel safer…” he suddenly blurted, anxiously averting his eyes from your tender gaze.  “I wouldn’t be opposed to you lodging in my dorm until all of this blows over.  Or… longer than that, even.”

You felt your face warm up at his offer.  “You mean it?”

“He’s leaving notes on your door.  If I’m being honest, I’m too anxious to leave you here alone.”

Law had a justified point.

“I have a futon,” he added.

“I don’t want the futon,” you stated.

Law’s knuckles continued to stroke the side of your face, the softness of your cheeks feeling like the finest velvet over his rough skin.  “When the school psych opens again next semester, we’ll go and get you a referral.”

“And I can move my favorite pillows onto your bed,” you chirped with a grin, the weight of the situation finally lifting off of your shoulders, even just slightly.

“And I’ll start carrying around my nodachi on campus–”

“NO!  I don’t want you to get arrested!” you nearly shrieked, a full laugh erupting from your lungs at the thought of Law’s obnoxiously large sword that he purchased in high school for the hell of it.  You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down to lay on the couch next to you.  “Just promise you won’t leave me alone…” you mumbled shyly, voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s the easiest promise you could ever have me make,” he replied, nuzzling his lips into your hair.

[globalrebrand]

The Marriage of Music and Alchemy: Chapter Four

Warnings: None!

A/N: Posting from AO3.

~The students make a drastic choice to deal with a new rival.

6.2K words

Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV

It was around 5:22 when the Prefect sent an SOS to the group chat, comprised of Ace, Deuce, and Cater.

Prefect: MAYDAY! The plan is jeopardy! I repeat the plan is in jeopardy!

Cater: Everyone meet in my room ASAP!

They all agreed to meet on short notice as everyone beelined to Cater's room after club activities let out, taking the precious break 30 minute break between extracurriculars and dinner to devote time B+C = A.  

"Guys, there's trouble," the Prefect and Grim burst into Cater's room to see him mindlessly texting on his bed. Followed shortly by Deuce who confirmed. "We've got a rival in the picture." 

"Who could possibly rival Crewel? Dude's smokin'." Cater sits up, not looking up from his phone, and slides on his rug to join his other classmates, who circle up to discuss the major wrench in their previously thought fool-proof plan. 

"Add him to the screen." The Prefect urges as Deuce pulls out his laptop and opens the slide presentation.

"What was his name again?" Deuce groans in his haste, frantically making a new slide. 

"Something Rogerson? All I know is that he's a Professor at RSA." The Prefect chimes in. 

"What!" Ace shouts, the door slamming open as he enters the room, having arrived just in time to hear everything he needed to know. "I have too much riding on this plan, from some goody two shoes from RSA to cock it all up." He reminds the group with a firm glare. 

With a quick search, the students find Rogerson's faculty profile on Royal Sword Academy's website, which includes everything from his hometown, educational background and a portrait that they all agree is horribly unflattering.

"Here he is. Clifford Rogerson." Deuce flips the screen to show the group huddled on the floor in the low lamplight of Cater's room, the setting sun peering through the windows as if it too, wants to get a glance at this new threat to your budding relationship with Crewel. 

"He doesn't look like a Clifford," Grim mumbles, absent-mindedly scratching his tummy with his paw. 

Cater agrees, scrutinizing the headshot further. "It doesn't suit him at all, such an old man name. And I mean he doesn't look that old."

"So this is the RSA prick?" Ace pulls the screen towards him. Obstructing Grim's view, eyes narrowed as he takes in the details of Rogerson's profile.

"Well, at least we don't have to worry about looks. Crewel's got him beat by far." Ace decides with a nod. 

"Not everything is about looks, you know." The Prefect chastises, tugging the laptop back to the center of the plush carpet.  "And it's not like he's ugly…just kind of plain, but charming in his own way." 

"Prefect, don't tell me you think this loser's hot." Ace scrunches his face in distaste. 

"One, I didn't say that, but I admit it was sweet that he bought Professor Bellamy flowers. And really beautiful ones at that. Apparently, he's a big fan of her work." 

"Hmm, sounds like a simp. Professor B. wouldn't fall for that." Cater insists. "Besides his socials are horribly cringey. Just a bunch of crap about how rewarding it is to be a teacher."

"If you're calling him a simp because he's considerate, then you don't recognize a decent man when you see one." The Prefect snaps at Cater, who, in his defense, always came across as terribly shallow, but his critique of Rogerson was a new low. 

"I don't see Professor Crewel putting in that kind of effort." Deuce adds, and the group pauses in contemplation. 

Ace is the first to break the silence. 

"I'm just gonna say it, his raw stats don't match up to Crewel's," Ace argues with a flash of his palms. 

"Not rich, not hot. A nobody." Cater seconds. "There's no competition here, be so for real." 

"Well, he has a date with the Professor, and Crewel doesn't, so I don't think we should take this lightly." Deuce mumbles in a huff, his tone frustrated that his dorm mates don't seem to see the urgency of the situation. 

"Whoa, what?!" Ace shouts. 

You two should have led with that." Cater's eyes go wide as he finally drops his phone. 

"They're meeting at some cafe or bar? Well whatever it is, they're meeting there tomorrow night." The Prefect adds. 

"We have to get Crewel to crash that date." Ace jumps to his feet. Pacing frantically as he brainstorms solutions. 

"How? I feel like there's no way to cue him in on it without exposing our whole operation. Remember this whole thing is supposed to be a secret!"  The Prefect reminds. 

"And more importantly, I made a deal with Azul to get the inner workings of Crewel's schedule. I won't let my sacrifice be in vain." Cater huffs. 

"If Professor B and this nobody hit it off, then it would have been in vain anyway!" Ace snaps at them. He pauses. "Sorry that was rude." Ace apologizes sheepishly. 

"But the point still stands," He insists, "I think we have to show our hand." Ace reasons. "Fuck, this is happening early than I thought." 

With a deep sigh, Ace grabs the Prefect's shoulders. "It's all up to you now. You'll go to Crewel tomorrow morning before class." 

"What, how am I going to get Crewel to the bar?" The prefect stutters, flabbergasted by the proposition. 

"It's up to you to be our trojan horse."

"I don't think that metaphor works-" The Prefect is quickly shh-ed by Ace. 

"We'll go back to ramshackle with you. We have out work cut out for us."

*            *           *            *   

There is a shortage of single women on Sage's Isle. 

While it certainly isn't the first thing that comes to mind when people think of the Island with two renowned magic colleges, it is most definitely an issue at the top of mind for any would-be-eligible bachelor presently residing there. 

Sure, Crewel is lucky that he at least isn't a full-time resident; he spends his weekends and summers in the Queendom of Roses, but finding a lover off-Island who is tolerant of his disjointed schedule is harder than it seems. Well perhaps it wouldn't be, if he didn't have standards. 

And, of course, single women on Sage's Isle do exist, but the reality is that there are two large boys' schools on the Island, with a majority of male teaching staff. The nearby national parks, forest, and marine life institute attracted many forest rangers and researchers from off the Island, many of whom again happened to be men. Of the women on the Island, many were taken, whether married or soon to be, and the greater issue still was that Divus was picky . Horribly so. His sister, Delphine, often chided him for it. Countless times, she'd sent near-perfect specimens of the feminine form his way only to hear him reply, "There wasn't a spark." 

You, his dear colleague, weren't the first single woman he encountered on the Island, but you were the first he perhaps well and truly liked or had the capacity to like in a romantic sense. Divus had a cadre of lady friends and acquaintances he'd made at the gym, consignment shops, or simple walks around the city. Divus wasn't blind to his own good looks, and he typically didn't have to work hard to attract a woman's attention, single or otherwise. However, he was confident none of those relationships would evolve into anything else, even if his lady friends aspired for more with him. 

There was nothing wrong with these women, of course. Many of them were smart and talented, attractive and considerate. Just for whatever fickle reason in Divus' brain, they were worthy friends but not worthy lovers...for more than a few nights or so. Perhaps the reason he was so finicky was that Divus didn't truly know what he was looking for—that was until he met you.

Someone accomplished and witty with aplomb in spades. Elegant and poised but cheeky and well-humoured.  That's why the students liked you so much, Crewel thought. You were intuitive and knew when to drop the facade of the stern teacher to a compassionate and playful adult. And perhaps due to all of those traits, he found you to be the most alluring specimen who ever walked the planet; he could search another lifetime and never find someone as magnificent as you. Who's to say if you were the most beautiful of all the partners he's had? Frankly, it didn't even matter. He hadn't even had you yet, and you were by far the most perfect. 

He found himself wanting to give you things that he'd never even remotely offered to past partners, things like assurance, comfort, security…children, the errant thought pops into his mind at the mere thought of you! Oh dear, things were worse than he original thought, his feelings in the short three months he's known you were far more profound than he anticipated.

However, if Crewel liked you, it meant that a great deal of other men would pine after you as well. It was already clear that Rogerson had felt similarly. He needed to move swiftly and convey his intentions, but here was the pivotal problem. 

Crewel had never properly courted someone before. 

As far as romance was concerned, he'd never been in a competition where he wasn't automatically chosen. With his looks, it wasn't hard to find a superficial fling. People often liked the idea of him more than the reality.  

And while he's never been tested on it persay, it should be obvious he's the best suitor around, shouldn't it? Crewel never had to struggle to get a woman's attention before. He didn't know why the task dating you seemed so daunting. Perhaps it was because he intended to be serious this time. But he wasn't quite sure how to be. 

Ugh. Crewel didn't have time to ponder such things today. Crowley insisted on having him in for a meeting this morning. As he exited his car, parked in his spot in the garage conveniently nestled in the cliffside and hidden from view, he made his way through the labyrinth like tunnels leading the to schools main building. 

Suddenly, his attention moved from his stagnating love life to the vibrating in his pocket. A phone call at this hour was strange. It was likely his eldest sister or his close childhood friend.

"Annie?" Crewel answers, a bit surprised by the early morning phone call. 

Good morning!" Annie chirped into the phone, her voice bright and warm like a silver flute.

"Good morning," Crewel replied, his tone notably more dour. 

"Divus, you sound cross already, what's going on?" Worry now coloring her tone. 

"Just contemplating....things. Did you need something?" He inquires, quickie changing the subject form his worries, to literally anything else. 

"Ah, I just wanted to know when you'd be home, back in the Queendom, that is."

"I'll be home from Friday evening to Sunday evening, as I always am." He adds for good measure. Annie knows this. 

"Well, I just wanted to know if you'd have more time than just an obligatory dog playdate and afternoon tea." Achillies and Apollo on quite good terms with Annie's dalmatian Portia and had been for perhaps a decade now. A weekly romp in the park with Annie and her pet were the best way Crewel could atone to his spoiled beasts for his absence during the week. 

"More? What were you thinking?" Crewel found that they spent more than enough time together, more in such a short weekend would pull his attention from other things. Crewel had an excuse on his lips but Annie cut him off. 

"Your old brand is hosting Pre-party for fall fashion week Saturday night. I wanted if ask if you'd come with me as my plus one?" Divus could practically hear her nervous grin over the phone. 

"Bold of you to assume I didn't receive my own invite." He replies, casually. 

"Did you? Well, we should still go together in any case! It'll be fun!" Annie implores.

After a brief deliberation Crewel shrugs and acquiesces it was hard to reject Annie when she pleaded so earnestly. 

"Why not? It'll  be good to see old friends from my industry days." Divus agrees.  

"You're supposed to say it will be good to see me, Divus." Annie pouts.  

"And it will, but I've seen you nearly every odd week for the last 25 years duckie, it's not exactly as if I never see you." 

"Well, I don't see you nearly as much as I'd like." 

"Fine, I'll see you evening Saturday for a bit more than our usual routine, now I've got to step into a meeting." 

"At this hour? Well, ta-ta darling.” Crewel bids her farewell and hangs up the phone, now at the looming doors of Crowley's office. 

Divus enters with a knock, and to his surprise, the old crow is doing his best to cast a stern glare in his direction, his hands clasped on the hardwood surface.

"Professor Crewel, have a seat." Crowley gestured to a plush violet armchair arranged in front of his desk. Mozus loomed in the corner like a malicious spirit come to haunt him for past misdeeds. Which perhaps wasn't so far from the truth. 

"It has been brought to my attention-" Crowley begins.

"By Mozus, I presume?" Crewel interrupts.  

"Ahem," Crowley glides past his interjection, "that you have taken a romantic interest in Professor Bellamy." 

"Hardly." Crewel rolls his eyes. The accusation is easy to deny, primarily because nothing has transpired yet, only an increasingly weighty tension brewing between you both. Or at least it seemed mutual enough. Now was not the time for alarm and HR forms, but perhaps in a month or so, it would be. If you were amenable to things that is. 

"Well, good. Keep it that way." Crowley seemed surprised by the denial and seemed quite prepared to wrap up the conversation. 

"Dire." Mozus scolds. 

"Right. Just know, Divus, that I spent a lot of money on her teaching contract, and if she leaves prematurely, we'll have to give back all the grant funding she brought in with her acquisition!"

"Noted. I will not do anything to discourage Professor Bellamy's tenure." Crewel nods in acknowledgment, causing Trein and Crowley to relax. Clearly, the conversation was going much easier than they had anticipated. 

"However, I can't promise I won't pursue her romantically," Crewel replied with a facetious frown. 

"What?!" Crowley snapped, banging a fist on the table. 

"Professor Bellamy and I have no romantic relationship at present, but I will not preclude myself from engaging with her in the future," Crewel suggests with a dismissive inspection of his nail beds. 

"In all my years, I have never seen a cad as relentless as you roaming these halls. Do your antics never cease!" Crowley shouts, raising from his seat to point a stern finger in Crewel's direction. 

"I take offense at the term cad." Crewel scoffs. "Besides, I have never engaged in romantic relationships with my colleagues before."

"By the very grace of the seven," Mozus mutters quietly. 

"There's no precedent for these concerns." Crewel ignores his colleague's sardonic quip. "Besides, I hold no position of power over her, so technically, I'm free to do as I please." Crewel researched the rules immediately after meeting you at your orientation over the summer.

"Divus, I can't legally tell you not-" Crowley begins. 

"So don't." Crewel offers. 

"Legally, I can't, but I would strongly advise against it. I see no situation where this ends well." Crowley folds his arms across his chest, the feathers on his cape ruffling with the gesture.  

"What if we fall in love, get married, and have decades of a happy union?" Surely, that would be a great outcome that Divus sees as entirely possible.  

"Well, that'd be worse!" Crowley shouts, indignant and apparently highly offended by the suggestion that Crewel pursues you with intention. "Then I have to give you both time off for things like a wedding, a honeymoon, and ugh, seven forbid you to have kids. That's months off at a time for two top instructors for the foreseeable future. Hiring temporary replacements for parental leave? Are you so selfish that you don't see how that would mean years of logistical hell for me!"

Trein rolls his eyes at the headmaster's outburst. Clearly, the thread of the initial conversation has been lost entirely now. 

"Come now, Dire. I think your warning is clear. If unheeded." Mozus offers icily.

"You're worrying yourselves about nothing." Divus insists, standing to take his leave. No one stops him. 

Yes, yes, they're worried about absolutely nothing, Divus thinks, well, for now that is.  

*            *           *            *

For the first time in your dating life, things were looking up. Sage's Isle was a veritable paradise for a single woman. Handsome school teachers, sexy park rangers, sharp researchers, and even the fisherman weren't too shabby!

But only one man of the many you'd met stood out in your mind. 

And while Divus was not quite your type. Well rather he was everyone's type, which made him someone common sense told you to stay away from if you were looking for commitment.  

In your experience, men so devastatingly handsome were often notoriously horrible partners. That, paired with whatever inordinate amount of wealth visibly ran in his lineage, he had to be an absolute disaster to date…right?

Things that seemed too good to be true often were. And as things stood, your colleague was entirely too good. 

Aside from his frankly irresistible physical trappings, you would say that the two of you seemed rather compatible. Crewel was clever and dashing, if not a little arrogant, but then again so were you. You could see the deep compassion that pervades his stern teaching style and when it was simply the two of you, smiles never ceased. Sure, outside of a few car rides, you hadn't really spent time together, but that tension that grew between the two of you crackled like freshly ignited wood in a hearth.

But you couldn't trust your instincts. Wouldn't trust them. Not with him. All rationality flew out of the door when you looked up at his silvery catlike eyes lined with dark lashes, chiseled jaw, impossibly smooth skin, broad shoulders, svelte frame, and long legs, drawing your eye up to an impossibly tight a-

See! All of it, it was horribly distracting. He was distractingly alluring. You showed a picture of him to your friend, and she responded a man that beautiful has never been faithful to anything once in his life, but she said you should definitely fuck him if you can, just to say you had; such men are for borrowing, not for keeping as they seldom wanted to be kept. 

You found that advice to be rather objectifying. Besides you weren't getting any younger. You needed to pursue love interests with intention. 

Would it be foolish to think he would change? Could change? For you? 

Of course, it would. So it was better not to get your hopes up. 

These plagued you as you made your way to the music room and would be absolutely unproductive for the day ahead, but just as you sought to banish thoughts of Crewel from your head, at least for a few hours if your mind allow it, he happened across your path.

Oh, speak of the devil. 

"Professor Crewel. Good morning." You greeted me with a slight wave. 

This subtle gesture successfully caught Crewel's attention, and the scowl on his face immediately lessened at the sight of you, making your silly little heart go all a flutter. 

"Professor Bellamy. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" He smiles, but you can still perceive a weariness.  

"As I so aspire to be." You reply with a coy nod. "What's wrong?" You step closer to him, placing a tentative hand on his arm. Crewel's smile deepens at your touch. 

"Nothing you need concern yourself with." He places his hand over yours as he holds your gaze. You try to scan his expression, looking for any signs of what could be affecting his mood, but now sweet expression successfully allow whatever worries were previously on his mind to allude you. 

"Alright, reluctantly, I won't pry. But it isn't a burden to hear your troubles, Professor Crewel." You give his arm a little squeeze. 

"I'll keep that in mind." He gives your hand a squeeze in return before letting go.  

"Please do." You encourage, but before you can say anything else, the two of you are interrupted by the frantic patter of the Prefect's footsteps across the stone floor. 

"Professor Crewel!" They call, slightly breathless from their run over from the Ramshackle dorm.  

"I, um, I have something I need your help with." They stutter out. 

"Easy now." Crewel waits for them to catch their breath. "Speak plainly, pup. I'll do what I can to assist." 

"Well, it's a rather sensitive issue." The perfect warily glances in your direction. You take the cue and excuse yourself.  

"Oh, I see. I'll see you both later. I'm down the hall if you need me." With those words, you depart. 

"Step into my classroom," Crewel instructs, and the Prefect nods. 

Showtime.

*            *           *            *

It was strange to see their home room so empty, the Prefect thought as Crewel led them inside towards his desk. 

"Tea?" He offered, gesturing to a beautifully designed electric kettle plugged in on his desk. 

"No, no, I'm alright." The Prefect declines. 

"Perhaps a sweet then?" Crewel tapped a tin of cookies with his pointer."

The Prefect shook their head anxiously. They were already about to tell the most fantastical lie. They couldn't let their guard down. Ace had trained them all night to get the story straight come morning.  

"Well now pup go on. What's the matter?" Crewel sunk into the plush leather of his seat, and instead of his normal leisurely reclined posture he sat upright with his hands clasped in front of him and his gaze fierce with concern.

"The other day," The Prefect started, "I was out in Foothill town with Deuce, Ace, and Grim, coming home from one of Ace's basketball games." 

"Go on," Crewel encouraged.

"And those three want to grab food from the taco place by the coast, but I really wanted a burger. So we split off. While I was there, this older man wouldn't stop bothering me. The shop was empty, and the owner was in the back making the food." A line the Prefect had rehearsed mere hours before.  

"He wouldn't leave me alone! He kept pestering me, complimenting my school uniform. It was all rather icky. He demanded my number, and I had no choice but to give him the real one because he called my phone right there." 

"Oh dear." Crewel saw where this was going.  

"He's been harassing me for the past few days, and he told me if I don't meet him at this bar, he'd come find me."

"And I just really don't want him to show up at school, and I know I'm safe here, but I'm scared to go into Foothill town now." The Prefect pretended to be on the verge of tears, making their voice watery and whimpery, praying Crewel bought the tall tale Ace spun in a rush just the night prior. 

"Pup, I know that in your home world, you must have adages about keeping away from strangers." Crewel chides.

"I know it was just scary, and I wasn't clever enough to evade him." The Prefect throws in a particularly pitiful sigh for good measure.

"He expects you to meet him this evening?" Crewel looks to confirm.  

The Prefect nods.

"Fret not, I will handle it. Thank you for trusting me with such a sensitive issue." As if on cue the other students started filtering into home room. 

"Thank you, Professor." The Prefect stuttered, honestly in awe of how easy it was to get Crewel to believe them. They scurried to their normal spot next to Ace, Deuce, and Grim. All three made sure to keep it cool for the duration of homeroom as Crewel read announcements. 

The second they left the room, Ace was quick to ask. "Did he buy it?"

"I really think so." The Prefect replied, still in shock that they managed successfully deceive Crewel. 

Now came the hard part, bracing themselves for the inevitable moment when Crewel learned that he had been lied to, but hey, anything for love, they supposed. 

*            *           *            *

It'd had been a long time since Crewel had a good excuse to fight, and damn if he hadn't been itching for an excuse. 

Of course, there were other ways to handle things. Crewel didn't have to intervene at this bar, but regretfully, the Prefect was without any guidance in this world, and someone had to step up. Informing Crowley would be a poor solution, and Trein didn't have the sensitivity to manage such matters. He thought about calling you but decided that you and the Prefect were sufficiently close and that if there was a reason they came to him and not you, he ought to respect their choice and keep things confidential. 

Once he pummeled, he means defused the situation with this suspicious older man, he and the Prefect would be due for a very lengthy talk about strangers and boundaries but for now Crewel just needed to get them out of what could potentially be a very dangerous situation. 

The bar was a nice establishment he was familiar with. A popular date spot amongst Foothill town's residents due to its beautiful view of the sea and trendy yet casual atmosphere. A strange place for a local pervert to choose to accost a student, but Crewel couldn't say he was familiar with the mindset.

When he walked into the bar, still in his suit coat from work, he was surprised to see you were seated alone. Sipping on a glass of something deep red and sparkling. Your outfit was what you had worn to school a long-sleeved calf-length knit dress buttoned at the top, but here in the bar you'd undone the top few exposing a only modest bit of cleavage, but enough that it would set a boys high school classroom alight. The heels of your boots hooked daintly on the cross bar of the stool you rested on. 

Perhaps you, too, had heard of the Prefect's plan and took it upon yourself to intervene. You smiled and waved him over. 

"Oh, Crewel! I didn't know you'd be here."

"I could say the same for you, May I?" He gestures to the empty seat, and you nod emphatically, removing a particularly chic handbag from the chair and hooking it beneath the high counter. 

"I'm meeting Professor Rogerson this evening." You admit without any prodding. 

"Oh," Crewel tries not to let his displeasure show. 

"Don't worry, it's not a date or anything." You quickly amend. He must have failed. 

"Not that it's any of my business, but does Rogerson know that?" Crewel inquires.

"He'll learn soon enough if he isn't already aware." You offer with a slight snort. Crewel chuckles. 

"So it's no imposition if I join you?" He gestures to the seat beside you.

"None at all!" You assure him. "I've always hoped I'd run into you like this." You admit coyly, swishing the contents of your drink.

"Oh, and why is that?" You seem taken aback by his question, your doe eyes peering at him with a hint of confusion.

"Well, I seldom do, and I wanted to, oh, never mind. Don't look so smug." You stop once you see that teasing smile stretching across your colleague's features.

"Oh no please elaborate." Crewel encourages with a toothy grin. "If it's any consolation. I've dreamt of this exact scenario…only," He pauses and scrutinizes your sitting figure. 

"What?" You look concerned, glancing down at your outfit.

"Oh nothing, it's only you look far more ravishing than in my dreams. Somethings just can't be imitated."

"Professor Crewel, this is hardly my best." You insist.

"You may call me Divus if I may call you-"

"Professor Bellamy! Ah, and…Divus." Rogerson steps up to the bar with enthusiasm that diminishes as he recognizes the face of his old peer.

"Did you invite him?" It's now Rogerson's to attempt to hide his displeasure. 

"No, it was just a happy coincidence." You beam. 

"So very happy." Divus smirks. "Oh, am I interrupting? She assured me I wasn't." You cast a side glare to Crewel, finding his sassy comment bordering on impudence. 

"No, no, it's quite alright." Rogerson flushes,  "Though, I did wish to pick your brain about music perhaps privately." Rogerson smiled. "Admittedly, I am quite a fan of her musical work."

"Ah, how refreshing. You actually having taste." Divus quips.

"Such talk might bore you. I would hate for you to be held hostage in a conversation on musical technicalities." Rogerson suggests.

"Oh, I'd hardly be out of my depth. We have conversations like this all the time, but I suppose Professor Bellamy can do yet another night of charity work and indulge your inquiries." You looked rather amused that the two men went back and forth. 

"Well, forgive me, Professor Rogerson-" You begin.

"Please, call me Cliff." 

Crewel rolls his eyes. Where does a man as pathetic as Rogerson get off thinking he's earned the privilege of being on a first-name basis with you? 

"Well, Cliff, I'm afraid we'll have to save the technical talk for another time."

'Not if he has anything to say about it,' Crewel thinks blithely. 

"I wanted to get your perspective. And Divus, you can certainly help with this, I'm quite glad you came." 

Each man orders a drink as you get down to brass tacks.

Crewel scanned the bar's inhabitants and quickly realized that everyone in attendance was in either a couple or a group of some kind. There were no lone suspicious figures waiting for any underaged students to saunter in. He had the growing suspicion he'd been played and perhaps that a rendezvous with you had been the goal the entire time. Meddling pups . 

"As former students at each respective institution, I really wanted to talk to you both about an idea I had. I would love to deepen the bonds between RSA and NRC." You grab each man's hand and give him a squeeze. Crewel is sadly coming to realize that this gesture is just a part of your genial nature and not necessarily reflective of anything else.

"Go on…" Rogerson encourages. Unlikely , Crewel thinks. 

"I think holding joint musical concerts would be a delightful way to do that. We could rent an auditorium in the cultural center here in town." 

I couldn't agree more!" Rogerson heartily concurs. "More parents would be able to come that way as well," Rogerson suggests.

"And even local residents, should they be so inclined." You excitedly rattle off all of your ideas and Rogerson eagerly eat each and everyone up, yes and-ing all of your proposals.

"Crewel, what do you think?" You turn to him and check in; your features are relaxed but open as you anticipate his critique.  

The boys at NRC would likely resent such a decision, but Crewel didn't want to burst your bubble. And in truth, if anyone could bring the two sides together, it would be you. His homeroom students constantly raved to him about your humor, warmth, and talent, so maybe coming from you collaborating with their long-time rivals might not sound like such a bad idea. Every student at NRC, well, almost every student, inherits a strong grudge against RSA.

And even though Rogerson irritates him like no other, Crewel is certainly above such petty feelings. Well, he's pretty sure.

Crewel errs on the side of optimistic feedback.

"I think it could work. Our students might be a tad resentful, but I'm sure they'll work even harder knowing they'll have to perform alongside RSA students." 

"I had the same thought, Divus." You smile. As talk of the new joint series of concerts winds down, you change the topic of conversation. Curious to hear about the dynamic between Crewel and Rogerson.

"So you two go back quite a bit, it seems." You say lightly, sipping your wine and glancing between the two men. Crewel's face sours, and Rogerson's brow furrows with a bit of distaste.

Oh no. You've struck a nerve.

"The past can stay where it is. Forgotten."  Crewel states coldly.

"Of course, Divus would say that." Rogerson scoffs. "Even from across the island, he and his pack made my life at school quite difficult." The liquor has certainly loosened his tongue.

"Yes, yes, and I've since apologized." Crewel rolls his eyes, visibly annoyed that Rogerson would attempt to drudge up old news.

"I don't think you have, but bullies always remember things differently, don't they?" Crewel shifts uncomfortably but is quick to dismiss Rogerson's accusations.

"Well, now's a bad time to start." He replies blithely.  

You frown and quickly cut the tension.

"I didn't mean to bring up past animosities. Let's finish our drinks and be off. We all know we have to be up bright and early tomorrow."

Crewel and Rogerson attempt to laugh, but their uneasy grimaces stifle the sound. 

You frown and raise a hand. 

"I'd like to close my tab." You call to the bartender.

*            *           *            *

This is the first frosty night on Sage's Isle. The winds along the coast easily go through your leather trench coat that was ample weather protection mere hours ago.

"Would you like me to drive you home?" Divus asks. 

"No. I'll catch the bus." You decline. Your voice firm.

Crewel pauses, clearly taken aback by your rejection. He calls your name and you bristle. As if you hadn't revoked formalities with him a mere hour ago. 

"It's freezing." Crewel reminds. 

"I'll be fine." You insist. Your voice is as cold as the night's air.  

"Then I'll wait with you." He offers instead.

"If you'd like." The change in your demeanor is giving Crewel whiplash. He has no idea what could have upset you in the last hour or so.  

"Divus, might I be frank a moment?" But it seems he won't have to keep guessing for long. In different contexts, he'd say he admired your directness. 

"Of course." But Crewel isn't sure he actually wants to hear any criticisms you might level against him.

You take a deep breath before speaking. 

"If you've been cruel to Clifford in the past, as he claims, then you should own up to your mistakes and apologize." You level him with a stern glare, not unlike the one he gives to his students.

"I see," Crewel says, unable to offer anything more. Suddenly frozen by your words and the nights chill.  

"Being a bully shouldn't be a point of pride, but a point of shame. In my opinion." You turn to castigate him. "How can we be good role models for these young men if we ourselves can't take accountability for past wrongs?" You tell him, almost unable to understand how he could be so flippant in regard to Rogerson.  

"It is a matter of 15 years past. There would be little point in apologizing now." Crewel doubles down. He won't apologize.  The matter is done and an apology now won't change things. 

"Rogerson would beg to differ." You turn your gaze to the tram looming up the hill.   

"This hardly concerns you." He snaps. You turn to look at him, clearly offended by his tone, but your expression soon shifts to one of resignation. Disappointment .

"You're right. It doesn't." You pause, considering your next words carefully. "I don't know. I just thought you were...." You pause and Crewel can tell you want to say 'different' but you don't. "Someone man enough to own up to his mistakes instead of burying them." You finish. The wind tousles your hair and you pull your coat around you tighter. If you'd just let this whole thing go Crewel could have happily driven you home and perhaps kissed you goodnight but such fantasies seem impossible to envision now. 

Crewel, for once, had no reply prepared. 

The tram pulls into the station. You move to get on. 

"Good night, Professor Crewel." Ah, back to formalities, Crewel observes. 

"Good night, Professor Bellamy." 

You don't wave goodbye.

Well, shit. 

Series Masterlist

[professor-amaryllis]

Name: Rose

Species: Gardevoir

Gender: Female

Nature: Quirky

Ability: Telepathy

Capture Data: F̶͇͒i̶͚͝l̵̳͒ë̶́ͅ ̵̲͛C̵̤̏o̷̻̅ŗ̴̿ŗ̸̊u̸͎͝p̸̠̉t̶̨̉e̶̝̚d̷̛͎

Information: Rose seems to be one of the Bellamy's older pokemon, though there are no records of when or how she was acquired. She has a strikingly close emotional bond with the professor, indicating she may well have been raised from hatching. She's quite odd for a gardevoir, her dress lays heavy and trails on the ground, she seems incapable of the levitation of her peers, and her dark color and volatile habits seem to unsettle others of her kind, as well as many people. Despite this she is a relatively quiet pokemon that enjoys reading, blackout poetry, and complex puzzles.

For more posts about Rose, click [Here]!!

[hazyange1s]

𓉘❦ 𝑹𝒂𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝑫𝒆𝒔𝑹𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒔 ❦𓉝 *currently editing*

𝕭𝖆𝖘𝖎𝖈𝖘

Full name: Raegan Caítríona DesRosiers

Nicknames: Rae, Rae Rae, Reggie (don’t call her that she’ll hex you)

Gender: female

Species: witch

Date of birth: November 27, 1874

Nationality: French and Irish

Blood status: half-blood

Sexuality: bisexual

⋆༺𓆩⚔️𓆪༻⋆

𝕬𝖕𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊

Hair color: dark ginger

Hair style: often worn pulled back in a loose braid or bun, though she starts wearing it down in her natural messy waves after fifth year. seventh year brings on the trauma haircut. 💀

Eye color: amber/gold/red (when using ancient magic)

Skin tone: fair, often has a light tan

Height: 5’5”

Body type: curvy and toned from Quidditch/dueling

Clothing style: dark and warm colors (black, red, brown), likes heavy fabrics such as wool, velvet, and leather, prefers to dress casual in battle-ready clothes but also enjoys dressing up

Accessories:

likes to use her wand to keep her hair up

often wears dragon hide gloves

ring made of goblin metal (given to her in sixth year)

Other distinguishing features:

two old scars through her left eyebrow (no memory of getting them) and a longer scar over the same eye (cut by a sword during the final repository battle)

Unbreakable Vow and Dara knot tattoos

LOTS of freckles

𝕻𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖞

Positive traits: confident, persuasive, energetic, brave, passionate, clever, protective, good sense of humor

Neutral traits: rebellious, stubborn, domineering, competitive, flirtatious, sarcastic

Negative traits: hotheaded, proud, defensive, ruthless, slow to trust, can be manipulative, vengeful

Likes: summer, history, flying, parties, freedom, traveling, independence

Dislikes: authority, swimming/the rain, silence, wet blankets, seafood

Hobbies: dueling, Quidditch, historical research, dancing, weapon-making/collecting

Fears: drowning, being forgotten/insignificant, losing control

MBTI: ESTP-T

Enneagram: 8w7 (873) sx/sp

Zodiac: Sagittarius sun, scorpio moon, leo rising

Temperament: choleric

Archetype: The Rebel

Similar characters: Aelin Galthynius, Ginny Weasley, Damon Salvatore, Bellamy Blake, Jude Duarte, Faith Lehane

𝕸𝖆𝖌𝖎𝖈

Boggart: her father…until her guilt over the loss of Professor Fig leads him to be her new one

Patronus: tigress

Polyjuice: turns amber and tastes like honey mead

Amortentia: cinnamon, clove, smoke, and sandalwood

Special abilities:

Ancient magic —

bubbling in your veins until your blood heats and your skin flushes. eyes glowing red — then gold, and red again. it writhes around your bones, climbs up your throat, fills your lungs with smoke until you have no choice but to let it out. it burns, first orange and yellow and then white hot, exploding from trembling hands and spreading like a forest fire.

Dark Arts (wielded “when necessary” which is really just…whenever her instincts say)

Pyromancy - Raegan is an Igneus; a species of witch that is immune to and can conjure fire at will, the trait being passed through her mother’s bloodline

𝕽𝖊𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖕𝖘

Father: Marcel DesRosiers

As a French ambassador, Marcel is charismatic, cunning, and — though he hides it well — manipulative. His wealthy status and rumored descendance to the old French monarchy contribute to his massive ego, and growing up as a Catholic Muggle, he despised any mention of spirituality or “magic”.

Mother: Kassady DesRosiers (Fallon)

A kind, adventurous, and headstrong dragonologist from Galway, Kassady spent most of her adult life traveling until she settled in France after meeting Marcel. She had a brief reunion with an old flame, Aesop Sharp, just beforehand — leading to her becoming pregnant with her son Ronan only two months before Raegan is conceived.

Growing up, she attended Hogwarts as a Gryffindor and was very close with a Slytherin named Guinevere Faughn, who eventually becomes the mother of Raegan’s best friend, Diana. Kassady was also friendly with Samuel Sallow and his wife, Alyse.

A sometimes absent and distracted but very loving and protective mother.

Sibling: Ronan Sharp (half-brother/twin)

Born to parents Kassady DesRosiers and Aesop Sharp out of wedlock, Ronan grew up separated from his sister and mother. Raegan isn’t even aware she has a sibling until Sharp formally introduces them in their sixth year.

A charming Hufflepuff and future Healer who excels in inventing in his own Charms.

Companion: Soleil

A fiercely loyal phoenix rescued from poachers in a mountain mine, Soleil lives primarily in the Vivarium while Raegan is at Hogwarts — but he’s known for showing up anywhere and everywhere at the most unlikely times.

Friends: Diana Blackwine (childhood best friend), Sebastian Sallow, Natsai Onai, Garreth Weasley, Ominis Gaunt, Leander Prewett, Imelda Reyes (frenemies)

Love Interest(s): Sebastian Sallow

After they meet in fifth year during DADA, Raegan and Sebastian have a dynamic that can only be expressed as mutual respect hidden beneath a lighthearted rivalry. Though their equally willful and opinionated personalities tend to clash, they begin to find that they have more common ground than they thought. They’ll duel each other — no holds barred — to settle a squabble, but at the end of the day they’re sharing chocolate frogs as if it never happened.

(you can read more about them here)

𝕭𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖞

TW: infidelity, abuse, familial death

Born in Avignon, France, Raegan had a turbulent childhood. While her mother was loving and kind, she often had to travel for her work - as did Raegan’s father, meaning she was often with only one parent for extended periods of time or had to be watched by one of her paternal aunts. When he was around, Marcel was not an affectionate man…in fact, he was often physically and verbally abusive to his wife right in front of Raegan and extended the treatment to her as she got older.

Eventually he discovered that Kassady had had an affair and conceived a son with another man. This coupled with his disdain for witchcraft led him to abandon his wife and daughter. So, the two moved back to Kassady’s hometown of Galway, Ireland.

However, times were tough. Her mother’s career as a dragonologist was no longer lucrative enough in the troubling times, and so they again relocated to London.

It was there that Kassady met a tragic, sudden end at the hands of an unidentified serial killer (who many suspected was actually a wizard). A newly orphaned Raegan, upon hearing the news, burned her house to the ground and wound up killing the officer who reported it accidentally.

The emotion was enough to unlock the ancient magic that had been hidden away inside of her, and just days after her mother’s funeral she received her Hogwarts letter. She now lives with her best friend (Diana)’s aunt in Scotland.

𝕬𝖈𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖒𝖎𝖈𝖘

Best subject: DADA

Favorite subject: Flying and History of Magic

Favorite teacher: Hecat and Sharp

Worst subject: Herbology

Least favorite subject: Herbology and Divination

Least favorite teacher: Binns

Quidditch: Chaser (sixth year) and Quidditch Captain in seventh

Notes:

Rarely late, but she does miss (more than) a few classes in her fifth year

Detention record reads more like a rap sheet

Infamous but still respected as a dedicated and intelligent student

𝕱𝖚𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖊

Career: Auror

Though Raegan notoriously resists authority and despises the incompetence of the Ministry, she sees working for them as an opportunity to change things. Being in on the more secretive matters going on behind the scenes of the Wizarding World (and the chance to deal with them under the protection of their influence) doesn’t hurt, either.

They likely would have fired her on her first day for her insubordination, but they can’t deny the fact that she quickly becomes one of the best they have. Really, it’s a case of mutual loathing maintained through an advantageous truce.

Eventually, she does leave of her own accord, and takes up studying ancient history and magical weapon making.

(thanks @rypnami for motivating me by association to finally post this months old draft 🤠)

[rexcurry]

Nazi salutes were born in the USA. Most people are unaware that the use of the military salute in the USA's early Pledge of Allegiance to the flag was the origin of Nazi salutes and Nazi behavior (that's a top discovery by American Historian Laureate Dr. Rex Curry). It happened in government schools (socialist schools) in Germany AND in the USA (the Bellamy Salute before Germany did it). The book “All Historians Did Not See” explains the amazing discoveries. "S means SOCIALISM" was the flag symbol of Germany's notorious socialist dictator (another #1 discovery by Dr. Rex Curry). Hitler was SOCIALISM'S top graphic design Artist. Compare the "NSV, SA, SS, VW Description Test" to learn more about Hitler's socialist symbols. Most videos are ignorant of all that and ignorant of Hitler's vocabulary. Hitler didn't call his symbol a swastika. Most content creators want their audience to believe a lie: that Hitler gave speeches about his "Nazi Party" and "Fascism" (Hitler didn't). Nearly everyone is a "Liar For Socialism". Everyone misgenders Hitler. Videographers refuse to tell the truth: "Hitler self-identified as SOCIALIST by the very word. He never self-identified as 'Nazi' nor 'Fascist'". Modern socialists are ashamed that they self-identify the same as Hitler: SOCIALIST. Soviet socialism joined German socialism to start WW2, invading Poland together and going onward for International Socialism. You have probably heard that Marxist professors teach socialist lies in colleges. But so-called "republicans, libertarians, and conservatives" teach socialist lies because they aren't smart enough to realize it and they just repeat popular socialist fabrications.

[yourdailyqueer]

Dodie Bellamy

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Bisexual

DOB: Born 1951

Ethnicity: White - American

Occupation: Writer, journalist, professor

[april-showers86]

Professor/Librarian Bellamy Blake

[pokemoncenter]

Hello Rotumblr

I am confused

Why do Bryony and Professor Bellamy not know they are married. Neither of them are aware of this and it is strange. What happens when two people are married and neither of them know it???

[bellamysgriffin]

after the storm

Summary:

Bellamy and Clarke have been English professors in the same department for four years when Bellamy's ex-girlfriend comes to town as a visiting professor. She's been invited to read the short story that all but ruined Bellamy's life. Little does he know that Clarke has a history with Echo too and will do anything to get under her skin. Ensue an elaborate fake dating scheme designed to prove to Echo that she's wrong for what she wrote in her story and that she's wrong for what she did to Clarke.

The only problem? Bellamy and Clarke have been enemies since the day they met. If they're going to convince Echo they're together, then they'll have to get through the next few weeks without fighting. And if that's possible, then who knows what could happen next?

(my @bellarke-events gift for @dustinswill with academic rivals to lovers & fake dating bc why choose? happy holidays!)

[glass-needles-and-futurisms]

I keep thinking back to Muse playing Survival at the closing ceremonies of the 2012 London Olympics, and I keep saying that one of these days I'm just gonna spew all my feelings about how it's not just one of my all-time favorite Muse moments, but also a hilarious, if perhaps unintentional, moment of social commentary.

I still remember our postgrad professor showing those same closing ceremonies in class, explaining the not-so-subtle propagandistic purpose the entire spectacle served on the global stage. (For those who don't know, the 2012 Olympics closing ceremonies were essentially a three-hour star-studded tribute to UK music and pop culture.)

Picture this: you just sat through about two hours of the UK's various national exports - One Direction, the Spice Girls, the Pet Shop Boys, George Michael, Ed Sheeran, Annie Lennox, erm, Russell Brand. You've just seen live performances of Bohemian Rhapsody, Imagine, Wonderwall, and Always Look on the Bright Side of Life, alongside tributes to David Bowie and Freddie Mercury. And you still have Queen, Take That and The Who to go after this.

Interestingly, that class glossed over what an afterthought the Muse performance felt like by comparison. You could argue a lot of extenuating circumstances: the controversial reception of Survival as the official London Olympics theme song, the infamous NBC debacle where it inadvertently got cut from the US broadcast of the ceremonies, or the simple fact that this far into the festivities, a fairly straightforward stage performance* by a band with slightly less name recognition than Coldplay was pretty underwhelming.

* Not sure if this is common knowledge, but apparently this performance was mostly playback with the exception of Matt's vocals. Which also makes this an underappreciated entry in the annals of Muse miming shenanigans.

But something becomes very apparent once you actually reach this part of the show: Survival is fucking bananas. I'll never forget that one internet commenter calling it the world's most epic villain song that doesn't know it's a villain song. I mean, just look at the lyrics:

Life's a race / and I am gonna win

And I'll light the fuse / and I'll never lose

And I choose to survive / whatever it takes

You won't pull ahead / I'll keep up the pace

And I'll reveal my strength / to the whole human race

This is how the song starts! You can sort of see the logic behind making it the Olympics theme song. And then it gets weirder from there:

Yes, I am prepared / to stay alive

I won't forgive / the vengeance is mine

And I won't give in / because I choose to thrive

Yeah, I'm gonna wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin

Good grief. No wonder it's called "Survival". The song makes slightly more sense in the thematic context of The 2nd Law, the album it was released on. But on its own it's just.... yeah.

And this performance ramps up the insanity even more by just taking the piss. Between Matt Bellamy peacocking in a sparkly suit and Union Jack t-shirt, the batshit guitar solo, the pyro, the backing choir, and the fact that everything onstage (including the grand piano) is pretty much just for show (and wobbling like mad), Survival feels cheesy and irreverent in a way that makes you suddenly hyper-conscious of how tightly orchestrated everything else you just saw (including the Monty Python and Mr. Bean stuff) was. Remember that this was all broadcast to an international audience of millions.

Pairing the sheer pageantry of the ceremonies thus far with the actual lyrics of Survival kinda puts everything in an uncomfortable new light. Then it dawns on you that you pretty much just watched an accidental three-hour love letter to British imperialism. (Okay maybe that's overselling it a bit but it's still pretty funny.)

[fox-poke-fanatic]

Say the line, Caleb!

Slut Congratulations to Doctor Professor Bellamy "Amy" "Wild Days" Amaryllis, Hudband to All!

[profanepurity]

So Lucifer's favorite is Primo. Terzo is Asmodeus' favorite. Do other Demon Lords consider Secondo or Copia their favorite?

Oh, very good question! You guys are going to get more design peaks and small name changes for the Lords with this one! (and a lore dump oops)

Secondo and Beelzebub actually see eye to eye on quite a few things. You would think two very similar, powerful men- stubborn, cold, and bitter powerful men I might add- would clash. However, they actually get along quite well. Secondo always provides exceptional offerings and has proven himself to be a worthy devotee and prophet, so much so that Beelzebub has even invited Secondo out to drink with him on several occasions. (They both made a freind you guys this a big accomplishment for both them.)

Beelzebub even offered to personally oversee Bellamy's education when she is older. To the church he may be a bishop, or a terrifying king of Hell, but in some circles he is known as "Reverend Professor Avarice". Many of the siblings, like Sister Natalie, can attest to how good of a teacher he is.

Copia on the other hand is a bit of a special case, since he gets baby privileges with the fact that many of the demons want to be close to him for one reason or another. But Saltarian and Imperator have Copia so locked down that Satanas even has to "put effort" into reaching out to him. This has deterred a lot of demons from working with our rat boy unfortunately...

except for Belial...

Belial is a wicked and cruel king. There are very few members within the church that are willing to work with him, simply because of how dark his energy is. (Something to note, Belial is very good at spotting witches, keep that in mind for later). His name roughly translates to "Godless", "worthless", "evil" and you feel that when you are in the presence of Lucifer's second. "Father Null" on the other hand is a very sweet young man, but is simply a lowly priest, often over looked and often dismissed. As Copia gets older, that is perhaps what draws him to Father Null and the darkness of Belial. Copia just wants companionship in the shadows from someone who's like him, over looked and dismissible.

If you look back at my post about Copia's "dedication", you can see a very old sketch of Belial in the background. Many of you caught on to how pissed he looked lol. Lilith actually ended up telling the other Lords what the church had done a few years after Copia had been born. Many of the Lords had been "out" for one reason or another, so when they'd returned they had done so excitedly, expecting to come back to two of their partners and a baby. Instead, Lilith looked more pale and ill than the day they had found her in that cave. She could barely describe what had happened without breaking into sobs. Lucifer was like a wounded animal being forced to perform as "Bishop Stell", giving sermon after sermon for the church while Saltarian practically held him at "gun point" to do so. It would not matter how many people spontaneously combusted into fire in the pews, how black the water became, how many swarms of locusts and toads covered the church, Lucifer could do nothing for Copia. He could only drag his bloody claws against Imperator's door at night, whispering all the things he as going to do to her in Hell (Oh I have a comic idea for that later hehe).

So you can imagine just how livid Belial was to come back to this. He only regretted not spending more time comforting Lilith initially. After she told him where Copia was, Belial took Lilith's head in both of his slightly shaking claws and kissed her in silence. He only broke it once her breathing had evened, and he watched her until she looked up at him. Belial was a sadistic fucker that rarely took anything seriously. His humor is a reflection of just how black his heart is.

But he has never looked more concerned and angry than in that moment in quite a long time. He looked at Lilith's face, which Belial adored, even as it was stricken by grief and anxiety. He had pressed his forehead to hers.

"Baby, can I leave you alone for a little bit?"

The Unholy Mother said yes, but she wanted him to come back with Lucifer. She was scared for him, terrified of Lucifer tearing himself apart trying to get them to release Copia.

Of course, Belial promised her everything would be fine.

He killed 36 monks who were under Nihil on his way to the nursery, one for each month Copia had been kept from his mother at that point. He left their bodies piled in the hall of Imperator's office, practically trapping her inside with corpses draped in red, cotton robes and sparkling grucifixes in front of her door.

When "Father Null" entered the nursery, he saw Copia playing on the ground, alone, with a couple rats who he was sharing his food with. In that moment, all the vile, sick intentions of the wicked king dissolved. All he saw when he looked at Copia was two of the loves of his life. He saw Lilith's eyes and Lucifer's smile in little Copia, who barely even noticed the priest had walked in. Null sat with Copia for a little while as a gentle priest, watching Copia play with his tail that he decided to unmask. Copia thought it was the coolest thing ever.

Before Belial returned to Lilith, he came into Bishop Stell's office to do as he promised. He approached Lucifer slowly and knelt before his king at his chair. Belial pulled both his beloved's hands away from his work, and kissed each of his damaged fingers. Lucifer didn't say a word as he looked at his lover, covered in the blood of traitors. Then he saw Belial smile at him. The evil demon, with such pure and warm affection, told Lucifer that their child was beautiful. He promised he would remain in the church for the entirety of Copia's childhood to ensure their child would be looked after in the shadows. Belial was seen as worthless and wicked in heaven and on earth, but Lucifer, the perfect being, has always looked at him with weakness and adoration. For that, Belial would be eternally devoted.

"I know you're angry, but you're scaring her."

Belial had whispered that against his head, and that was all it took for Lucifer to finally break down into sobs- that he'd been suppressing for three years- into Belial's arms.

Lilith felt like she could breath again when she saw Lucifer walk in behind Belial, hardly hearing him apologize to her as she pulled both the fallen angels closer to her and the other kings.

Copia has no idea how loved he is.