#rip cross duel

[luna-the-duel-chronologist]

Cross Duel End of Service

This just in! Good evening, Duelists, this is Luna, the Duel Reporter reporting that the mobile game, Yu-Gi-Oh Cross Duel, is terminating its service on September 4, 2023. Cross Duel players will be able to get support in Master Duel and Duel Links, via currency and icons.

I gotta say, while I didn’t play Cross Duel, I kinda expected it to live further than that. This game has been out six months, and it’s already calling it quits.

I mean, for crying out loud, Duel Links has been going strong for almost 7 years now. It has seen 2 Yu-Gi-Oh series come and go and SEVERAL new formats be either created or officially endorsed, like Rush Duel, Speed Duel, Common Charity, and Time Wizard.

So... what happened? Well, even a brief Google search will tell you that the player base for Cross Duel has been dwindling for a while now. And even then, Cross Duel doesn’t seem very Yu-Gi-Oh esque, past the art used, which can drive off people more invested in the actual card game, like myself. But, even then, I’m shocked to learn that it’s going down literally two days before it even becomes a year old.

I am going to mourn this game, however, both between being a Yu-Gi-Oh fan and not wanting to see something from one of my favorite franchises fail, but also as a fan of the new artwork the game brought. I mean, seriously, I just adore these Icons.

I mean, look at these. These have so much personality and fanservice.

Neos’ is cool and cocky, Stardust Dragon is riding Yusei’s bike, Superstar packs all of Shingo Sawatari’s fruitiness while still being an homage to the card and to Abyss Script, Borreload is doing Revolver’s JoJo pose from episode 46 of VRAINS, while also kinda looking like his redesign from Season 2.

All this to say, rest in peace Yu-Gi-Oh Cross Duel. You will be missed.

[sakuyapropaganda-eve]

I just remembered that there was actual art of Aki even interacting with the human Black Rose aND I CAN'T FIND IT

OH. OH. OH.

CROSS DUELS. CROSS DUELS. CROSS DUELS. IT DROPPED. IT MADE. IT DID.

BLAXK ROSE DRAGON AND STARDUST DEAGON???? THEY HAVE OFFICIAL HUMAN DESIGNS???

OH. OhHhhh I'm so mentally ill they are firlfriends. THEY ARW GIRLFRIN3D.S they have to be girlfriends they have to be they are girlfri3nds they are holding hands the dragons... the dragons are kissing the dragons ar wbebavdbabdbandbbabdnandb !!!!!!!!!!

(I am sane)

[chaosmax]

OooF something tells me syrus is speaking from experience

[nyupuun]

Something so important to make up your own lore and personality for Effect Monsters and otherwise

[kirain]

I decided to make adult designs and "where are they now" stories for all the child tieflings who are confirmed to survive to Act 3.

Unbeknownst to her, Arabella was a latent sorcerer with a natural connection to the Weave. Her powers likely would've manifested at puberty, but touching the idol of Silvanus imbued her with wild druid magic, multiclassing her prematurely. This caused an internal struggle between the two powers, which threatened to rip her and anyone around her apart. Fortunately, with Withers' guidance, she set out to follow the Weave and found balance in her new, strange abilities. For years she traveled Faerûn alone, honing her skills and making peace with her past. Eventually, she became known as the "Wondering Storm", so attuned to nature some would mistake her for Silvanus' Chosen. Those who crossed her, however, would swear she was Jergal's Chosen; able to end a life with a single stare. Though not unkind, Arabella became feared by many for her stoic personality, mysterious presence, and peculiar command of the Weave. It seemed that wherever she was needed, she would inexplicably be.

Though Raphael went silent, Mol continued to enjoy, and perhaps abuse, the gifts from her patron. With the Absolute defeated, she quickly clawed her way up the ranks of the Guild, eventually becoming a pseudo ward to Nine-Fingers Keene. For years she would sharpen her skills, mentored by Keene and her most trusted associates, until she challenged the notorious crime lord to a duel for leadership. Much to her surprise, Keene lost, and was therefore forced to relinquish command to the young tiefling. Seeing the move as a betrayal, however, the Guild's loyalty was split, causing the criminal powerhouse to fracture. This led to a dark time for the Guild, with many in Baldur's Gate referring to it as the "Outlaw Civil War". Much blood was shed during this conflict, but eventually Mol turned the tides in her favour, running Keene and those still loyal to her out of the city. She would go on to rebuild the Guild in her image, successfully and more fearsome than ever; though, when she approached her old colleagues with an invitation to join, they all declined.

Once he managed to enter the city, Mattis tried to find his companions from the Grove, but he ultimately turned his sights to conning rich families with "panaceas from the hells". For a while, he flourished under this racket, until his scheme was exposed by jealous competition. This led to him being violently assaulted by angry customers, nearly ending his life—he only survived by rolling into a rapid canal. After being saved by a kind, impoverished couple who fished him out of the water, he spent nearly three months confined to a bed. His recovery was slow and agonizing, but hardly discouraging. Instead of succumbing to his misery, he took the time to plot his revenge. With the couple's help, he learned the laws of the land and revived his strength. Then, when able, he cut his hair, disguised his face, spied on the man who wronged him, and subsequently tricked him into signing his business over to the couple. Together, they turned the questionable business into something respectable. Mostly. Mattis' silver tongue finally became an asset, rather than a survival tactic, though he was never above a good swindle.

Ide and Umi took up arms during the Absolute's attack on the city, each of them basking in the action. Realising that Umi had developed an insatiable bloodlust, and itching for more battles herself, Ide suggested they enlist into the army. Though technically too young, the new General—appointed by High Duke Ravengard after the fall of the Absolute—accepted them as apprentices until they came of age.

Though their time with the Flaming Fist was imperative to their training and survival, they found the rules and hypocrisy of the troop disheartening, and even more so when the General died. Eventually they deserted, leaving Baldur's Gate entirely and starting a small band of vigilantes. To some, they were a menace. To others, they became heroes of the Sword Coast. No matter the case, Ide and Umi were inseparable, never seen apart.

Inspired by his saviours, Mirkon continued to write stories about his time in the Grove and his rescue from the harpies. He never found his parents, but he refused to live in the slum's orphanage. Life was hard for the young tiefling, often forcing him to grovel for food and coin. On the worst days, he found comfort turning his stories into songs, which he slowly morphed into a semi-profitable street act. This eventually caught the attention of Alfira, who one day happened to be passing by. Recognising his talent, and overjoyed to be reunited, she took him in and taught him how to play the violin. Together, they created a lucrative show that expanded well beyond the Elfsong Tavern, which aided Alfira in opening her dream college. She and Lakrissa would soon adopt Mirkon, and he would later become one of the most beloved and celebrated instructors at the college.

Though working as a hawker for the Baldur's Mouth kept Silfy fed and relatively sheltered, she grew listless. Dealing with rude and racist customers hardened her enough to snap back, resulting in her termination. With nowhere to go, she found herself wandering into Ramazith's Tower, where she implored Rolan for a job. Feeling for her plight, Rolan put her to work stocking shelves and filling orders. It wasn't exciting work, but she was safe and satisfied, until one day a customer's tome exploded, causing a flurry of rainbow flames that whirled into the shape of a unicorn. This event, though frightening, would inspire Silfy to start reading the books in the shop, with the help of Tolna and Rolan. To everyone's surprise, she proved to have an impressive aptitude for magic, and she soon found herself enthralled. Within just a few years, Silfy would be accepted into Blackstaff Academy, where she would excel in her studies and catch the eye of the great Vajra Safahr. She would offer Silfy a position in the school, as well as a mentorship, but Silfy would politely decline, graduate, and return to Bauldr's Gate. Her true home.

[raccoonskoodilypoopdungeon]

sorry you had to find out this way

my fave thing about the cross duel icons is that its confirmed that the stardust x black rose ship is wlw

[crescenthistory]

steady me, guide me, love me

Pairing: Barty Crouch Junior x Reader

Summary: After yet another fight, you have a serious talk with Junior about being careful, and he allows himself to be vulnerable with you.

Words: 3.7k

Warnings: not proofread, references to duels, blood and bruised knuckles, hurt/comfort, reader is anxious and stressed for barty, talks of dying, reader is not matching barty's freak but it's because she loves him and wants him to take a breather, barty and reader have an emotional disagreement but i would not classify it as a "fight", kissingggggg, like one innuendo

Notes: this was originally going to be an entirely different fic and not at all this emotional, but then barty had a mind of his own and took over my writing. so i am simply not to blame

***

The torches lining the Slytherin common room flickered in the dim light of the early evening. A faint breeze swept through the castle, carrying the scent of damp stone and the promise of rain. The common room was unusually quiet for a Friday night – students scattered in clusters, engrossed in studying or murmuring in low tones about the latest drama from their shared classes.

Barty was not among them. 

You sat on one of the far couches, attempting to focus on your homework but mostly letting your mind wander. It wasn’t unusual for Barty to disappear, but you hadn’t seen him for hours now, and the knot of anxiety in your stomach tightened as time ticked by. You knew him too well. Whatever he was doing, it wasn’t good.

The door to the common room burst open with a loud thud, shaking the portraits on the walls. The students nearby jumped, startled, while your heart only jumped in recognition. Barty, his hair windswept, his tie undone, and his eyes gleaming with that feral, maniacal delight he wore like armour, strode in like he owned the place.

Trailing behind him, a faint scent of burnt fabric and… was that blood?

Your stomach clenched, and you shot up from the couch, abandoning your parchment as you hurried toward him. 

“Barty–” you began, but before you could even reach him, Barty’s voice rang out, sharp as ever.

“That was brilliant!” he declared, a wicked grin splitting his face. The students in the room shot wary glances at him before quickly looking away, clearly unwilling to be caught up in whatever this is.

You stopped in front of him, hands crossed over your chest, trying to keep your voice steady despite the surge of concern rising in your throat. “What did you do?”

His eyes flicked over to you, and for a brief moment, something in them softened, only for a moment – Barty wasn’t one to linger on emotions that exposed him.

“Oh, hi, Treasure,” he drawled, closing the distance between you in two strides. He leaned down, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your ear, the smell of singed air and danger still clinging to him. “You should’ve seen it. That prat, Avery, dared to insult us–”

“Barty, what did you do?” you repeated, your voice firmer this time. You gripped his arm, pulling him slightly away from the curious eyes in the room, off to the side.

His smirk widened, unbothered. “We duelled. A proper one. Out by the forest. Let’s just say…” He waved a hand dismissively, as if the details didn’t matter. “He won’t be insulting anyone for a while. Got a good lesson in fear.”

You stared at him, heart pounding. There was a faint smear of blood near the collar of his shirt – not his, you hoped – and his knuckles were bruised, like they’d been cracked against someone’s jaw. Clearly not just a magical duel. 

“Are you okay?” you asked, wanting to ensure he was good before you rip into him for putting himself in harm’s way again.

He half-scoffed at you, waving any concern off. “I’m here, ain’t I? I’m fine, Avery’s not the worst I’ve seen.”

“Barty, you can’t keep doing this,” you whispered, eyes darting toward the others in the common room. You lowered your voice even more. “You can’t keep getting into fights just because someone runs their mouth.”

“Can’t?” he repeated, his expression twisting into a mocking smile, though you could see some uncertainty in his eyes. “You know damn well I can, Treasure. I will. If some filthy coward thinks he can throw my name – our name – in the dirt, I’ll break him.”

“You’ll get yourself expelled, is what you’ll do,” you shot back, frustration bubbling up inside you. “Or worse – someone’s going to get seriously hurt. You can’t just throw yourself into these things because– because–”

“Because what?” Barty interrupted, his voice sharper than he usually was with you. His eyes bore into yours, demanding something you weren’t sure you could give him. “Because I care too much? Because I won’t let anyone talk down to us?”

There it was again, that us he always slipped in when talking about you and him. It made you stutter in more ways than one.

You sighed, staring at him for a minute. Your heart ached. You loved that Barty cared, albeit too much sometimes, but his obsession with proving himself, with protecting what he thought was his, was going to destroy him. You could see the cracks forming already.

“Come with me,” you said quietly, pulling on his arm again. This was not a conversation to be had here, not with a dozen of already too curious eyes watching. You needed to get him away, alone, where he could let down his guard fully and you could hopefully talk some sense into him.

His gaze flickered around the room, but he didn't put up a fight, he never did with you about these things. “Fine,” he muttered, letting you guide him out of the common room.

The hallways of Hogwarts were mostly deserted at this hour. The faint echo of your footsteps bounced off the stone walls as you led him down the stairs to a more secluded corner near the dungeons, where the stone was colder and the shadows thicker. Barty, as always, followed with a mix of curiosity and defiance in his eyes, the corners of his mouth still turned up in that maddening half-smile.

Once you were out of earshot from any stragglers, you stopped and turned to him. 

“Let me see,” you said, reaching for his hand.

Barty raised an eyebrow, but didn’t pull away as you gently lifted his bruised knuckles toward the dim light of a torch. The skin was split in a couple of places, dried blood smeared along his fingers. You swallowed the knot of worry in your throat, your thumb brushing against the cuts.

“What did he say?” you asked quietly.

“Doesn’t matter.” 

“It matters to me,” you insisted, not looking up from his hand.

He sighed, his free hand coming up to run through his dishevelled hair. “Something about my father. About how I’m ‘just like him,’ bound to be a disappointment. Then he said something about you. Called you…” He trailed off, anger clearly still knocked fully out of him. “Well, I don’t think I need to repeat that.”

Your stomach twisted. Avery was known for being a bully, but dragging you into it, using Barty’s relationship with you as some kind of twisted insult, was beyond cruel. Not to mention, beyond stupid.

No wonder Barty had reacted the way he did.

You stopped your inspection of his hand, instead interlacing your fingers with his as you leaned back against the cold stone wall. “You can’t keep doing this, Barty,” you repeated, your voice softer now, the fight draining out of you. “Don’t get me wrong, I understand, really I do. But you can’t just… lose yourself every time someone says something cruel.”

He stepped closer, his intense gaze locking onto yours. “I’m not losing myself,” he said, his voice low, the words a steady pulse of loyalty. “I’m doing what’s necessary. What no one else will do. I’m keeping us safe.”

You shook your head, blinking back the frustration building in your chest. “And what if next time, it’s not just a duel? What if next time you really hurt someone and get in serious trouble for once? Or, gods forbid, they hurt you?”

Barty laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “They can try, Treasure. But they’ll have to be a hell of a lot smarter than Avery.”

“That’s not the point!” you snapped, pushing off the wall and closing the space between you. You grabbed the front of his shirt, your fingers tangling in the fabric. “You’re going to get yourself killed one day, and I can’t–” Your voice cracked, the weight of your worry pressing down on you. “I can’t stand it.”

His smile faltered, and you saw the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. It was brief, but it was there, like a flash of lightning in a storm, gone before you could fully grasp it. 

His hands moved to your wrists, gently prying your fingers away from his shirt, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he held your hands in his against his chest, his thumb brushing against your skin in slow circles, grounding you in the moment.

“You worry too much,” he murmured, his voice softer now, as though the fight in him had dulled with the weight of your concern. “I know what I’m doing.”

“You think you do, but you don’t,” you whispered back, your voice almost breaking. “You think throwing yourself into danger is some kind of answer, that it’ll make you feel something, or prove something– either to them, or to yourself. I don’t know, but one day, Barty, it’s going to be too much, and you–”

You cut yourself off, biting down on your lip to keep your voice from shaking. You weren’t sure how to finish that sentence. Thoughts often consumed you of a world where Barty’s recklessness finally caught up to him, your own unhealthy way of coping with your feelings for him. He had his fists, you had your thoughts, and you both had your spirals. The thought of losing him scared you more than anything else.

His fingers tightened around yours, and his eyes flicked madly between yours and your lip you realised had quivered ever so slightly. For a moment, you thought he might agree, that he might actually take what you were saying to heart, but then that familiar smirk curled back up on his lips, and his mask slid into place again.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice low, smooth, with that edge of defiance you knew so well. “Not unless you’re coming with me.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding against your ribcage. The way he said it, like it was so simple, like the idea of you not being by his side was unthinkable, made your chest tighten. But it didn’t erase the fear that gnawed at your insides, the knowledge that Barty didn’t care about consequences in the same way you did. He only knew how to burn, and he didn’t care if he burned out in the process.

You took a breath, trying to steady yourself. “You can’t keep fighting for me, Barty. I don’t need–”

“Don’t,” he cut you off. His eyes flashed, something dangerous sparking behind them. “Don’t tell me I can’t fight for you. Don’t tell me to sit back and let people say whatever the hell they want. You are mine to protect, Treasure, whether you like it or not.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words. There it was again—that raw, possessive streak that ran through Barty like a current, so powerful it was almost overwhelming. The way he looked at you, like you were the one thing in the world that made sense to him, the one thing he could claim as his own, made your heart race. It wasn’t the first time he’d said something like this– something that hinted at what you both knew was there between you.

He never said “I love you,” never asked for anything, but this– this was his way of showing it. He’d destroy anything, anyone, who threatened what was his.

“I am,” you relented softly. “But I usually don’t need protecting. Not like this.”

Barty’s jaw clenched, and he pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours. His breath was warm against your skin, the scent of smoke still clinging to him.

“Maybe not,” he murmured, his voice so low it was almost a growl. “But I need to protect you. Please understand.”

You froze at that, blinking up at him. His eyes were locked onto yours, and for once, there was no smirk, no playful deflection. Just raw, unfiltered passion. You could see the truth of it there, in the way his fingers held yours so tightly, like he was afraid to let go. 

In his eyes, you understood this part of him more closely. This was the only thing that made him feel like he was in control, like he had some kind of power over the chaos in his life. His father’s expectations, the pressure to be perfect, the constant disappointment looming over him. It all faded when he was with you. With you, he wasn’t a failure. He was needed because he was yours.

Heat rose in your cheeks, the air between you thick with unspoken words, unspoken feelings. His thumb traced the inside of your wrist, sending shivers up your arm. You closed your eyes, trying to find the words, but they stuck in your throat. 

“Barty,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I… I do understand. But for the same reason, I need you to be safe.”

He swallowed and nodded briefly, his hair falling into his eyes, and consequently yours, black and green strands filling your vision. You laughed a bit, tension clearing for half a second, as you freed one of your hands to push his hair away. You let your hand trail down to ghost across his cheek and jaw.

“Stop treating yourself like you don’t matter,” you whispered.

Whatever remnants of a self-assured smile he had clung to were wiped from his face. He just stared at you, his eyes wide, like he didn’t know what to say. Slowly, as if he was unaware his body was moving, his shoulders slumped, and he leaned further into you, allowing the wall you were leaned against to keep you both upright.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Yet you could read his lips – a soft do I? – and you let your hand hold his jaw more securely, as you whispered, “You do, Barty. You do. To me.”

Barty didn’t look at you. His jaw was clenched, his eyes staring down at the stone floor as if it held the answers to everything. For a moment, you thought he might pull away again, retreat behind that mask of bravado and chaos that he wore so well, but then, slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet yours, and the raw pain in his eyes nearly took your breath away.

“You really are all I have,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “If I lose you because of some tosser–”

“You won’t,” you cut him off, flattening your other hand over his heart, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath your fingers. “You won’t lose me, Barty. I’m not going anywhere. And neither will you, because I’m not letting you. Wreak havoc as much as you please, but I beg you to be careful.”

Barty’s eyes softened, and he mustered a small smile for you, the one you loved the most. “Well, you know I love it when you beg,” he teased, smile widening when you rolled your eyes and joke scoffed at him. You couldn’t hide your grin – exactly what he was aiming for.

“Very funny, Junior, but I do mean it.”

“I know you do,” he whispered, closing his eyes as he leaned into your touch. Then, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it: “I’m sorry.”

Before he could say another word, you shook your head, humming in disagreement. “Don’t apologise, love, not for caring.”

“No, no. Just sorry for worrying you, s’all.” His eyes remained shut, and your heart ached in acknowledgement of how hard that must be for him to say.

“All I need you to do is be a bit more careful in your chaos and mischief, ‘kay?” You moved your face tentatively closer to his, admiring his features when his guard is down.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, opening his eyes to look into yours with a small smile playing across his lips. His hands came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he muttered, his voice a mix of frustration and affection. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest. “Just… stay with me.”

For a moment, there was silence. The flicker of the torchlight cast long shadows on Barty’s face, highlighting the vulnerability in his eyes, the way his lips parted like he was about to say something but couldn’t quite bring himself to.

His hands were still on your face, warm and grounding, and you leaned into his touch, feeling the heat of him against your skin. Your nose barely brushed his as you did, and you could swear his breath hitched. With so much raw emotion in the air between you, you let your heart dictate your actions, and you closed the small gap between you, kissing him tentatively.

It was far from the first kiss you and Barty shared, but it was much softer than the others. This was not a drunken party kiss, neither of you were aiming for distraction or entertainment. It felt oddly pure as he kissed you back passionately, but slowly, allowing it to hang between you. This was him letting you in, letting himself be intimate and vulnerable.

“I’ll stay with you,” Barty finally whispered once you separated ever so slightly, his voice so low it was barely audible. “Always.”

He said it with such conviction, such raw honesty, that you knew he meant it. The knot of anxiety that had rested strongly in your chest loosened at his words, reassurance and safety washing over you. 

“Then stop fighting like you’ve got nothing left to lose,” you said softly, your fingers tracing along his neck. “Because you have me, and I'm not letting you go.”

“I have you,” he repeated, looking as if he was deep in thought. His hands tightened on your face, expression hardening for a moment. 

“I want you to know that I’m not on some ego power trip, I’m not like that.” He trailed off, his brow furrowing as if he couldn’t quite find the right words. “It’s about making sure they know I’m not weak. That we’re not weak. It makes me feel, I don’t know… safer.”

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, smiling to reassure him. “I know you’re not. You’re… scared, which probably feels even worse. But we are okay, we’re fine.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes flickering with something – doubt, maybe, or fear. It was rare to see him uncertain, for a boy who usually lived in absolutes and extremes. You knew how hard it was for him to let anyone see the cracks in his armour, even you, but there was a part of him, the part that clung to you like you were his lifeline, that wanted to believe you. The part you needed to foster.

He let out a shaky breath, nodding slightly again, and for a moment, you both just stood there, the tension between you shifting into something more intimate. His hands slid down from your face to rest on your shoulders, then your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, entirely flush against one another.

“I’m not scared,” he muttered, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. It was like he was speaking to himself more than you.

You smiled faintly, shaking your head. “Liar.”

A huff of laughter escaped his lips, though it was tinged with exhaustion. “Maybe a little,” he admitted, his tone softening in a way it rarely did with anyone but you. “Can you blame me?”

“I never blame you, love.” You leaned down to rest your head against his shoulder, feeling his breathing move you. He hummed at that, but didn't move to say anything else.

“I don’t need you to be perfect, Barty,” you whispered, playing with his hair. “I just need you to stop tearing yourself apart. I just need you to let me care for you like you care for me.”

His arms tightened around you, and you could feel the tension in his muscles, the way he was still fighting some internal battle you couldn’t fully understand.

“You make it sound so easy,” he murmured, his lips brushing the top of your head.

“It’s not,” you said quietly, your fingers tracing lazy patterns along his back. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”

Barty was silent for a long time, his arms still wrapped around you, his breath slow and steady against your hair. You could feel the weight of his emotions pressing down on him, the years of anger and frustration and fear that he’d carried with him for so long. Then, you felt him press a hard kiss to the crown of your head.

“You’re the only thing that makes me feel like… like I’m not falling apart,” he admitted, his words barely above a whisper. Your heart clenched at his confession, and you lifted your head to look up at him. 

“You’re not falling apart,” you said softly, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. “Not while I’m here, I won’t let you.”

Barty’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite name, and before you could react, his lips were on yours again, soft, tentative, but full of the intensity you had come to expect from him. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer, and you could feel the raw desperation in his kiss, the way he was clinging to you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

When his lips left yours, his face barely moved, noses still touching and his breath fanning your face. The both of you stood breathing heavily in the quiet hallway, and you came to realise how grateful you should be no one had walked past yet. His eyes searched yours, as if looking for some kind of confirmation that you were still there, that you hadn’t disappeared.

Barty’s lips curled into a small, tired smile, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw a flicker of peace in his eyes.

“I’ll be good. Just… stay with me,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

You smiled softly, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “Always.”

[chickenlizard13]

All You’ve Done

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x Reader (gender neutral)

Word Count: 12790

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Like a hint of spice

Description: Buckle up kids. This got waaaaayyy longer than I’d planned, and I’ve taken a lot of liberties with the story. I envision Ominis’s wand working like a topographical map, kind of like Toph in Avatar The Last Airbender. Anyway, mainly follows Sebastian’s quest line.

“You got a staring problem?”

You were violently ripped from your thoughts by a low angry voice. Tearing your eyes from the other side of the room, you look up at the boy glaring at you from the end of the table. Furrowing your brow, you tilt your head in challenge, eyebrows rising. “Excuse you?”

You watch his hackles rise and his scowl deepen, before letting out an irritated huff. “I asked if you have a fucking staring problem.”

You give him a once over, trying to figure out where you’d seen him before. You vaguely remember dueling him in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but were struggling to produce his name. He was in Slytherin, and you were pretty sure he had an interesting reputation, but that was all you knew at the moment.

You’d met so many people in your first few days here, who could really blame you for blanking on a name? Squinting harder, you looked at the smattering of freckles across his face and wild brunette locks, hoping they’d trigger your memory. He bristled at your intense gaze, mistaking your concentration for hostility, and refused to back down.

Bringing your hand up, you repeatedly tapped the center of your forehead with your index finger, trying to summon his name to your mind. S something. Ssss-tanley. Steven. Sylis?

He’d started to fidget at your odd behavior, eyes darting questioningly to Natty as she sat beside you. Natty had seen you do this before, and laughed at Sebastian’s bewildered look, telling him to give you a moment.

“Sebastian!” You snap your fingers and point at him with a triumphant look on your face. “I’m sorry, uh, what did you want again?”

Suddenly remembering why he’d approached you in the first place, his face darkened once more. Leaning down, he gets right in your face, blocking your line of sight from your previous fixation. “You’ve been staring at Ominis for a particularly long time, and I’d like to know why.” You return his scowl and roll your eyes at his aggressive display.

“Don’t see why it’s any of your business, freckles. Can’t someone just enjoy the view in peace?” Your dismissive tone does little to dissuade him. Sebastian narrows his eyes, and doesn’t budge.

“I would think twice about messing with Ominis, if I were you. House Slytherin is not an enemy you want.” Rolling your eyes, you let out an exasperated sigh and stand up, brushing past him. You ignore his irritated calls, striding towards the blonde’s table. Ominis sat hunched over, frustratedly staring at the leaves in his hands. You purposefully make a noisy approach, so as not to spook the blind boy with your presence. Stopping next to his chair, you take a breath before you speak.

“Hello.”

Ominis slowly raises his head and does his best to look in your general direction, the look of frustration staying on his face. “...Hello. Can I help you?”

You smile at the warry tone and attempt to make your voice as sincere as possible. “I noticed you’ve been staring at these leaves for quite awhile. I was wondering if you’d want some help with…whatever, it is you’re doing?”

A look of indignation crosses his features and he sticks his nose up at you. “I don’t need anything, thank you very much. Just because I’m blind doesn’t mean that I’m incapable.”

Merlin’s beard, Slytherin boys were a prickly bunch. Sighing tiredly, you consider just turning around and walking away, but instead cross your arms and lean your hip against the table.

“I didn’t ask if you NEED any help. I asked you if you WANT any help. It’s fine if you don’t, but you’ve been sitting here fondling leaves for the better part of an hour. I assumed the wrinkle in your forehead would become permanent if I didn’t put you out of your misery. I see that I was mistaken” Without waiting for a response you turn to leave, only taking a few steps before he calls out to you.

“Wait.” You stop and turn, raising an eyebrow expectantly even though he can’t see it. He shuffles his feet and looks down at the floor, mumbling begrudgingly. “I have to write 5 inches on the medicinal and physical differences between Mallowsweet and Dittany for Herbology, and I’m having trouble with the physical portion. Someone was supposed to be here half an hour ago to help, but he still hasn’t shown up.”

Gazing over your shoulder, you could see the smoke coming out of Sebastian’s ears as he scowled at you. Natty hid an amused smile behind her hand, eyes darting between the both of you. Taunting him, you give him a wink and a sly smirk, resisting the urge to chuckle as you hear him curse you out from across the room.

Facing Ominis, you sit on the table and put your feet on the chair next to him. “So, Dittany grows on long stalks, ending in bright pink flowers. The leaves are smooth, and more circular, than Mallowsweet.” His attention had been drawn away, as he’d no doubt heard Sebastian’s string of expletives across the room, but swung his head in your direction as you spoke.

Grabbing a Dittany leaf, you gently take his wrist, ignoring the way he stiffens at the contact. You place the leaf in his hand, letting him feel the edges for a moment before moving on.

“Mallowsweet on the other hand, ends in a point and has small ridges along the edge. The leaves progressively become more yellow, the closer they get to the cluster of orange flowers at the top. Unlike Dittany, Mallowsweet grows in short clumps, the stalks close together.” You pick up a Mallowsweet leaf and tap the back of his other hand with your knuckle, signaling that he should turn his palm over for the second leaf. He does so willingly, and takes a second to feel both leaves simultaneously.

This whole time you’d been focused on describing the leaves as accurately as possible, and only now turned your gaze to his face. He seemed to be deep in thought, features unreadable, his eyes pointedly turned toward his hands.

He turned his face towards you and opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Sebastian's untimely arrival. “And what is going on over here?”

Apparently he’d had enough of watching from afar and decided to make himself known. You rolled your eyes at him once more and hopped down from the edge of the table. “Oh, there he is, you’re late. Just a little homework help, don’t get your panties in a twist.” You could hear Sebastian grumbling about how he doesn’t wear panties as you walked away. What you didn’t see was Ominis grabbing his wand and pointing it in your direction, trying to discern any identifying features from your retreating figure.

__________________

The next few weeks flew by as you dove head first into your classes, doing your best to catch up to your fellow fifth years, as per Professor Weasley’s expectations.

You were in the middle of Potions class, finishing up your Wiggenweld brew, when Professor Sharp walked up behind you quietly. Corking the bottle, you turn and face him, silently handing him the potion with a pleased smile. He took the vial just as silently and inspected it thoroughly, examining the liquid and smelling the contents. Grunting in approval, he replaced the cork and handed it back to you. “Impressive. Wiggenweld is not an easy potion, and you’ve executed it exceptionally well.”

Your smile grows a bit as you thank him for his kind words. He gestures for you to follow him back to his desk with a slight nod of his head. The two of you make your way over, and you stop at the front, as he circles around to stand behind his chair. “Professor Weasley has asked me to give you extra assignments to help you catch up with the rest of the fifth years. I’d like you to try your hand at the Edurus potion. You can find the ingredients in my office. You may use them for today, but you will be expected to provide your own in the future. We’ll see if your Wiggenweld was actual skill, or just pure luck.”

You smile as you thank him again, making your way to his office. As you walk over, you can see Garreth Weasley lurking conspicuously by the door. There’d been many a conversation in the halls about Garreth’s failed brews, and how he often roped unsuspecting students into his schemes. Uninterested in being involved, you did your best to avoid eye contact, walking quickly to the office door. Before you could escape, he stopped you, a mischievous smile lighting up his face as he spoke your name. “Did I hear correctly that you’ve gotten permission to go into Sharp’s office?”

Groaning internally, you close your eyes before turning to face him. “Yes, Garreth. Why do you want to know?”

His eyes grew bigger as the mischief turned to giddy excitement. “That’s great! How would you like to be part of something truly spectacular? I’m working on a new potion, and there’s just one final ingredient before it’s finished!” You open your mouth to deny his request, but he continues without letting you get a word out. “What is this ingredient you may ask? A Fwooper feather! Sharp has one in his office, and it would be a great help if you could grab it for me while you're there.”

Shaking your head, you let out a large sigh before looking him in the eyes. “Garreth, I’m not stealing from Professor Sharp for you.” Garreth began waving his hands back and forth frantically, a panicked look on his face.

“No, no, no, listen. It’ll be fine! Fwooper feathers aren’t THAT valuable. He won’t even miss it! Please, do this for me? Just this once, I swear!”

You pressed your lips into a thin line as you regarded the red head. He was pouting, giving you the biggest puppy eyes you’d ever seen. It was tempting to just give in and get him the feather, if only to spare you the crocodile tears. Ultimately, you decided that you’d rather stay on Sharp’s good side, and that Garreth should really focus on actually learning to brew potions instead of his semi dangerous concoctions.

“Look, Garreth. I can appreciate your…creative vision, but I am not willing to compromise my current standing in Professor Sharp’s good graces. You’re going to have to find another way to get that Fwooper feather.” You turn to continue your way into the office and feel a hand grab your sleeve.

“Wait! I promise you won’t get in trouble! I just really need-” You gave him a stern glare and whirled on him.

“Garreth. I will not be pressured into doing something I don’t want to. I’m all for breaking some rules every now and then, but stealing from a professor I respect and want to learn from, is not something I’m willing to do at this juncture. Please, drop it.” Unprepared for your ire, Garreth took a step back in shock, before slinking away in dejection. You felt a little bad, but it was for his own good. It would serve him to be told no every once in a while.

Quickly gathering the ingredients, you start walking back to your potions table, having spent way too much class time arguing with Garreth. You passed behind Ominis sitting at his own station, still trying to perfect his Wiggenweld, when he accidently knocked his wand off the counter. It hit the floor with a small clunk, and Ominis scrunched his eyebrows together, leaning down to retrieve it.

He must have misjudged where the counter started, and was about to put his whole hand into his scalding potion pot. Before you could think, you grabbed his wrist and yanked it away from the cauldron, burning the back of your hand on the lip.

You immediately went to apologize for grabbing him so suddenly, when he ripped his wrist from your grasp. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Opening your mouth, you attempt to explain what happened. Ominis heard none of it and continued to yell, drawing the attention of the rest of the class.

“You think it’s funny to just grab someone like that?! You’ve got some fucking nerve-” You caught Sebastian stalking over out of the corner of your eye, a dark look on his face. The entire class was giving this spectacle their undivided attention, heaven forbid you had one uneventful potions class. Wanting nothing more than to finish this potion and leave, you interrupt Ominis as he accuses you of purposefully knocking his wand over.

“Ominis.” Upon hearing your voice, he clamps his mouth shut, a look of surprise and something else crossing his face. Sebastian comes to a halt next to you, teeth bared, but you ignore him and continue talking.

“You were about to put your hand into your boiling cauldron. I didn’t think that you’d particularly want to take a trip to the Hospital Wing today. I apologize for startling you.” Picking up his wand, you place it carefully onto the table, still within arms reach, but far enough that it won’t fall again. Sebastian bashfully scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment, as you brushed past him. Ignoring the stares of your classmates, you quietly brewed the Edurus potion, face carefully neutral.

Upon finishing, you brought it over to Professor Sharp. He gave it the same level of scrutiny he’d given your Wiggenweld, grunting in approval when it was up to his standards. You turned to follow the other students out of the room, when you heard Professor Sharp clear his throat. “I appreciate you denying Mr. Weasley’s request earlier, not many are able to resist his particular brand of...persuasion. He would do well to focus on actual potions while he’s still a student.” Letting out an amused huff at what he meant by ‘persuasion’, you bid him goodbye, continuing on with the rest of your classes.

——————————————-

You hated that you had to ask Sebastian for help. The smug satisfaction ever present on his face as you snuck through the Restricted Section, searching for any wisps of ancient magic. He’d been needling you endlessly about what you were after, but you successfully evaded his questioning each time.

Sebastian was too busy trying to annoy an answer out of you to notice Peeves popping out of a bookshelf, threatening to tell the librarian about your late night escapades. Fearing the consequences awaiting you if you were caught, you allowed the familiar pull of ancient magic to guide your wand. A book flew off the shelf, opening on its own, hovering before you. Peeves started floating away, taunting Sebastian with your impending detention, when your wand pulsed and dragged Peeves screaming into the pages. The book snapped shut and shuddered once, before calmly putting itself back on the shelf.

The both of you blinked at the shelf silently, holding your breath, before staring blankly at each other. Sebastian opened his mouth to ask, closing it as you held up a hand, shaking your head. You turn away from him, sensing that you needed to travel deeper into the Restricted Section, knowing he couldn’t come along.

“Well, it looks like you have free reign of the Restricted Section this evening. You can poke around to your heart's content.” He looked at you quizzically as you started heading down the stairs leading deeper below the school.

“You’re going alone? Why can’t I come? What about Peeves?” You stop and give him a gentle smile over your shoulder.

“Don’t worry about Peeves. He’ll find his way out.” Probably.

You turn to face him fully on the stairs, your smile widening. “I figured you’d want a free evening to peruse the books, uninhibited. Don’t worry about me. Thank you for getting me this far. It wasn’t completely terrible.”

He gave you a wide, boyish grin. “I think I miss judged you.” He gave you a parting wave, before sneaking off to bury himself in as many illicit tomes as possible. Smiling to yourself, you continue your way downwards, excited to discover what secrets lay so far beneath Hogwarts.

—————————————

After your jaunt through the library, you discovered that you rather enjoyed Sebastian’s company. Contrary to your first impression, he actually had a working brain between those ears, and he knew how to use it. Your friendship slowly grew over the passing weeks, until finally, he sent you an owl requesting your presence in the Defense Against the Dark Arts Tower.

Meeting him late that night, he shared with you his dearly kept secret, known only to him, Ominis, and now you. You guessed he still felt a little guilty about his behavior during your early interactions, thus offering the Undercroft in apology. The only stipulation being no one, especially Ominis, would know.

Swearing to guard his secret, you left the Undercroft, hoping to catch a few hours of sleep before your morning classes.

As fate would have it, you’re immediately cornered by the last person you wanted to see.

“Hello Sebastian.” Wide eyed, you stare at Ominis, unblinking. Perhaps if you didn’t breathe, he wouldn’t notice you. Instead assuming he’d just missed Sebastian entering the Undercroft.

It would seem that luck had abandoned you, his eyes narrowing at the lack of response. “Hold on. You aren’t Sebastian at all, are you? Did you just come from the Undercroft?!”

Biting your lip, you consider your options. You could always lie, and say you stumbled upon the room by accident. You could come clean, and admit Sebastian’s guilt. You very briefly even considered just making a break for it, praying Ominis wouldn’t catch you. You had no good options, least of all one that would end with the three of you on good terms.

Ominis’s brow twitched impatiently, wand pointed directly at your chest. You supposed that the blonde boy already thought pretty poorly of you, seeing how your previous interaction ended. Why not give him one more reason?

“I…did.” You answered cautiously, unsure where you were going, letting your lips take you.

Ominis’s scowl deepened, a haughty sneer placing itself on his lips. “Sebastian showed you didn’t he? That fool. I can’t believe he would-”

“Relax, Ominis. Sebastian didn’t give up your secret, um…willingly.” What were you saying? What did that even mean? Before you could say anything else, Ominis stopped talking and narrowed his eyes dangerously.

“What do you mean by that.” There was no question in his voice, only a frosty demand. You resisted the shiver tickling at your spine, swallowing the need to take a few steps back.

“I saw Sebastian duck in here earlier and followed him. He- uh, he’s not as sneaky as he thinks.” You had absolutely no control over the words coming out of your mouth. Cringing internally at your horrid acting, you wondered how Ominis hadn’t seen right through you.

“Don’t worry. I promised to keep the Undercroft a secret…for a…a price?” WHAT. Why would you say that? Why would you say that? You watched his chest heave in anger, latching onto the implication of your threat. It seemed he’d rather believe you the villain, than consider his friend's betrayal.

“What. Price.” There was something in his voice that sent a chill through your bones. Something hissed behind his lips, sinister and cold, almost too faint for you to hear. You felt like a rabbit cornered by a cobra, nowhere to go but through him.

Swallowing, you steeled yourself, resolving to end this interaction quickly so you could wallow in self pity from the comfort of your bed. “Nothing much, just a favor. No need to concern yourself over it.” You stupidly give him your back as you slide past, wanting to bolt from this absolute disaster, but forcing your legs to maintain a casual pace.

“If you tell anyone about this place, I will make sure the rest of your time at this school is a living hell. My father is good friends with Professor Black, and I will not hesitate to exploit that connection if I need to. Not even your precious Professor Fig will be able to save you.”

Humming lowly, you continued down the hall without looking back. You could faintly hear Ominis snarl in rage, as he opened the door roughly to question Sebastian. The sound was drowned out by the whirling thoughts in your head. What had you done? You couldn’t have created a bigger mess if you’d tried. There was no way you could come back from this, no way Ominis would want to be anywhere near you. You didn’t even know if you’d be allowed around Sebastian anymore, knowledge of the Undercroft not worth the loss of a new friend.

Resigning yourself to lie in the bed you’d made, your legs trudged the rest of the way to your dorm. Wondering what the morning would have in store.

——————————————-

Whatever had been said that night between the two, Sebastian never brought it up.

Instead, he invited you to Feldcroft to meet his sister, and uncle. Which was a less than pleasant experience, to put it lightly. You would see Ominis around the halls and in classes, but you wouldn’t get much more than a withering glare in your general direction. Sebastian reassured you that he just needed a little time to cool down, but his seemingly permanent scowl lines told a different story.

You took some comfort in knowing that Sebastian and Ominis’s friendship improved greatly, often seeing them walking together between classes. It brought a smile to your face every time Sebastian would wave to you enthusiastically when Ominis wasn’t looking, quickly putting his arm down when the blonde would face his direction. Things continued on like this for a while, settling into this weird passive aggressive routine you weren’t sure how to break.

————————————————-

Ominis was pissed. Ever since the Undercroft, he’d made sure you knew how displeased he was in your presence. He’d spent the rest of that night cursing himself for being so foolish, having believed you to be kind, just as the rest of the student body. After his outburst in potions class, he’d been contemplating ways to apologize, wanting to give you a better impression of him. Not anymore. After that night, he couldn’t even stand to hear your voice.

Your loud laugh would echo through the halls, instantly souring his mood. He questioned Sebastian constantly about the favor he owed you, but was brushed off every time. The brunette remaining tight lipped, telling him not to worry about it. In truth, he really did owe you, for taking the full brunt of Ominis’s wrath. Sebastian planned to come clean once Ominis had settled, but it seemed to be taking longer than expected.

Ominis couldn’t let it go. He began lurking around corners, listening to the whispers of other students. He listened intently for any other favors you were owed, paying particularly close attention to those you’d been seen with frequently. Nothing. All people ever did was sing your praises.

He sat alone on the second floor of the library, hiding between the tall stacks. For once, trying to avoid all human contact, his nerves frayed and mind tired.

Low murmurs were filtering in from the next aisle over. Ominis sat, uninterested, until an unmistakable laugh caught his attention. His ears perked up, instantly recognizing your carefree giggles, followed by Natty’s light scolding to be quiet. Ominis slowly stood from his seat, creeping to stand just around the corner, out of sight but in better ear shot.

Once the giggling from the both of you faded, you stood in comfortable silence, returning your borrowed books to their respective shelves. Standing there, it didn’t seem to Ominis that you were going to say anything more, taking a step away to find another hiding spot. Just as he lifted his foot, Natty’s voice quietly broke your companionable silence.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, my friend.” Her voice was quiet, as to keep her question private, but not quiet enough to escape Ominis’s sharp hearing. You hum in acknowledgement, awaiting Natty’s inquiry.

“What on Earth did you do to piss off Ominis Gaunt so badly?” Natty never minced her words, always opting to get straight to the point, something you truly appreciated about her.

Ominis could hear your breathing stop, before heaving a big sigh and plopping down in a chair. His wand pulsed, and he could tell that you’d put your head in your hands, face directed to the floor.

“You noticed that, huh?”

Natty laughed jovially, ignoring your obvious distress. “Who hasn’t? He certainly isn’t trying to be subtle.”

He could hear you sit back, your voice muffled by the hands covering your face. “…it’s embarrassing.”

Natty nudged you to continue. Sighing, you dropped your arms, hands slapping your thighs loudly. “Sebastian…told me something he shouldn’t have, and the only stipulation was that Ominis wouldn’t find out. Unfortunately, as if by magic, he caught me almost immediately. Which, believe me, was already bad enough, but then I had to make it worse by lying to him.”

Natty hummed, waiting for you to continue. “He was so angry, and I’d just promised Sebastian I’d keep his secret, you know, a secret. We’d just started really being friends and I didn’t want to jeopardize that, so I panicked and just said the first thing that came to mind.”

Natty’s brow lifted. “Which was…?” Your head fell back into your hands, your words becoming slightly muffled.

“I told him that I’d keep their secret for a price. A price, Natty! Like I was some kind of Ashwinder demanding ransom. What the fuck was I thinking?” You groaned, and Natty remained silent as you rambled, the words spilling out of your mouth.

“You don’t understand. He was so scary. I was nearly pissing myself the whole time. It took everything in me to not sprint away. Ranrok’s loyalists have nothing on Ominis when he’s well and truly put out.” You paused briefly to take a breath before charging forward. “I just- I just kept talking. I couldn’t stop. And my acting was so bad. I really don’t understand how he even believed me.”

Natty attempted to hide her smile with her hand. Ominis could vaguely hear you smack her lightly, crying that it wasn’t funny, but his mind was elsewhere.

He suddenly felt very guilty about how he’d treated you that night, now recognizing your obvious discomfort and nervousness. Why had Sebastian let you take the blame for him? Ominis thought back to his boarish behavior the last few weeks, angry at his blatant hostility and lack of attention. If he’d taken a moment to actually consider the situation, he might not have wasted so much energy hating you. He hoped you’d be willing to forgive him, but didn’t have very high hopes.

————————————————-

It took a couple days before Ominis gathered enough courage to approach you, but broke down after hearing you laugh with Sebastian before Potions. You’d noticed his sudden change in behavior, because of course you did. He seemed more withdrawn than normal, barely ever facing your direction. His newfound stoicism had begun to worry you, and asking Sebastian had been no help. He’d simply shrugged and grumbled something about Ominis being too clever for his own good.

Acquiring your extra assignments from Professor Sharp, you headed to the Room of Requirement with your newly rescued beasts, excited to show them their vivarium.

Clearing the classroom threshold, you spotted Ominis, arms crossed, leaning against the wall conspicuously. He’d been avoiding you the last few days, so it was odd to see him openly waiting around. You paused your steps and regarded him. He looked a little worse for wear, but otherwise seemed fine, physically at least. Approaching him cautiously, you stop a healthy distance away. “Hello, Ominis. Did- Did you need something?”

His fingers tighten on his sleeve, brows scrunching. You thought that you’d maybe been mistaken and you were only aggravating him further.

He didn’t turn his head to face you, but his eyes looked in your direction, trying harder than usual to pinpoint your location. “You can drop the act now.”

You fidget with your fingers and bite your lip, looking up at him through your lashes.

“I, um, I don’t-“

“Don’t even bother. Sebastian already told me about your little charade. You might as well stop while I still have a modicum of patience.”

You sighed, shoulders slumping, letting the nervous tension leave your body. “You know, it’s just like him to tell on me and ruin all my hard work.” You glance at Ominis briefly, noticing his expression had morphed into something like amusement, but it just as likely could have been a trick of the light. “So you know, but you still seem upset?”

Huffing at you, he rolled his eyes and pushed off the wall, keeping his arms crossed as he faced you fully. “Of course I’m still upset. I don’t enjoy being lied to, no matter how noble the reason. I’m perfectly capable of making my own judgments, thank you very much.” You looked at the ground and flattened your lips into a thin line, nodding in agreement before remembering that he couldn’t see you.

“Yeah ok, I deserve that. I’m sorry.” You watched him shake his head and turn his head, looking pointedly down the hall.

“Yes, well, please refrain in the future. It’s going to be very difficult spending time together if I can’t trust your word.” Slight color rose to his cheeks as he realized the possible implication of his words. “Since you’re friends with Sebastian and all. I imagine you’ll start frequenting the Undercroft more often now that your farce has been discovered.”

You chuckled and smiled at him. “Of course. I’ll try not to make a habit of it.” He nodded once, and turned to swiftly walk down the hall.

You’d thought that was the end of it, but are surprised when Ominis stops abruptly, calling to you over his shoulder. “I apologize for my behavior the other night, and everyday since then. It was rather rude and unnecessary.” Without waiting for a response, he walks off down the hall. You smile after him and continue on with the rest of your day, feeling lighter than you had in weeks.

————————————————

You did, in fact, visit the Undercroft more frequently after that. Mostly with Sebastian, but Ominis was slowly making a habit of accompanying the brunette when the two of you made plans. He’d also started showing up to your study table without so much as a greeting, simply sitting down and pulling out his assignments for the day. Today was one of those days. You glanced up from your Herbology homework to see Ominis making a beeline for your table. Smiling to yourself, you watch him approach, waiting for him to be fully seated before greeting him.

“Ominis.” You only get a hum of acknowledgement in return, before you both turn your attention to your respective assignments. An hour passes in comfortable silence, only interrupted by the clock tower signaling the start of a new hour. You’d planned to practice your spell work in the Undercroft after the library, and started packing your things to head out. Glancing at Ominis, you hesitate for only a moment before circling around to his side of the table, leaning down next to him.

“Ominis.” His head turns slightly in your direction, signaling that you had his attention without looking away from his enchanted quill. “I’m heading to the Undercroft for a bit. Care to join me?” You lean away and watch him consider your offer, before quietly disenchanting his quill and following you out of the library.

The walk to the Undercroft was done in comfortable silence, occasionally bumping shoulders on the way. He led the way down to his secret room, making sure no one had seen your entrance before closing the door securely. He headed for the center of the room, casually discarding his robe on a lounge chair on the way. You’d just crossed the threshold when he whipped around without warning. “Levioso.”

Instinctively, you shout Protego, his spell bouncing off the shield harmlessly. You look at him bewildered, about to ask what had gotten into him, when he whipped two more spells at you in quick succession. Dodging one and shielding against the other, you cast Stupify, only for him to roll out of the way effortlessly. “You know, you’ll never stand a chance against dark wizards if all you do is run away.”

“Ominis, what is happening right now? Did I do something to upset you?” He huffed and rolled his eyes, still brandishing his wand in your direction.

“Did you not come here to practice your spells?” He shot off another basic cast without warning. You leapt out of the way just in time, the spell hitting the wall behind you.

“I mean, I did, I jus- oh shit! uh, I wasn’t expecting to- fuck! Immediately find myself in a duel.” You continue to tuck and roll, as Ominis quickly fires a few more spells your way. A cocky smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, giving you the sense that he was only playing with you at the moment.

“You think Sebastian became so good at dueling by accident? He’s only considered the best because I don’t care to waste my time playing in Lucan’s little club. I’d wipe the floor with my eyes closed.” You barked out a surprised laugh, almost costing you your robes as a ball of fire came hurtling towards you. Ominis’s smirk grew into a wicked smile. Your eyes lingered a bit too long on his lips as you circled around each other slowly.

“You should add ‘comedian’ to your long list of talents.”

“Is it comedy, or just honesty?”

“Mmm, humble too.” This time you take the attack, casting Depulso, attempting to knock him prone. He threw up his shield and cast Stupify in retaliation, hitting you in the chest.

You stumble a bit, and scramble to regain your balance. Before you could react, Ominis cast Expelliarmus, ripping your wand from your hand. He followed with Accio, yanking you across the room towards him before your wand finished falling. Spinning, you land directly in front of him, feet wobbling as you hit the ground.

An arm snakes around your waist and tugs you forward, steadying you. You feel the point of a wand lightly touch your throat, and a low amused rumble come from the chest pressing against you. Looking up at Ominis’s face, you notice he’d closed his eyes at some point during your sparring, a pleased smile resting comfortably on his lips. Your mouth hangs open as you gape up at him, mind reeling at how good he looks like this. Relaxed and happy, if not a little cocky. You search for something to say, anything, when he parts his lips.

“I win.” His voice is barely above a whisper, his smile growing at your indignant huff.

“You cheated. That wasn’t a fair fight.” His arm tightens ever so slightly around you as another chuckle escapes him.

“They never are. I even gave you a handicap, and you still lost.” He opened his eyes as you clicked your tongue in annoyance, eyes crinkling around the edges as you lightly smacked his arm.

“It doesn’t count as a handicap if you’re not actually restricting yourself, you ass.” He barked out a laugh and lowered his wand, but didn’t remove his arm from you.

“You’re free to try again, if you’d like. Though I doubt being prepared this time will change the outcome.” You narrow your eyes at him.

“I’m gonna kick your ass.”

His haughty smirk morphed into an actual grin as he finally released his hold on you. “I’m looking forward to it.”

——————————————

You, in fact, did not kick his ass. The tension between you continued to grow after every round, the air growing heavy with something unnamed, calling it quits after the fourth duel.

Following that, you would sneak into the Undercroft together while Sebastian was in class, enjoying the easy banter that came without the brunette dominating the conversation. Not that it had been very difficult to hide your increasingly frequent rendezvous. Sebastian had become more and more preoccupied with his search for a cure recently, talking about his latest discoveries every time you were all together. Both you and Ominis grew more concerned the deeper Sebastian delved into the Dark Arts, often discussing how to steer him away from the path he traveled on. You’d decided to trust him to know when to stop, but you weren’t convinced when he started pestering Ominis about the location of Salazar Slytherin’s secret Scriptorium. Ominis continuously refused to tell him any information, and was just getting more irritated by the day.

Ominis was ranting to you one day after combat training, yelling about how Sebastian had kept him up half the night prior with his whining. You’d been contemplating how to end Sebastian’s obsession without potentially pushing him away, when a truly wild thought occurred to you. You tried to interrupt Ominis’s pacing and irritated grumbles.

“Ominis.” He continued on as if he hadn’t heard you, eyebrows scrunching further the more he worked himself up.

“Ominis.” You called his name a bit louder. Still no response. You could sense a whole new wave of annoyance about to explode out of his mouth, and attempted to interrupt it before he really got going.

“Ominis!”

“What?!” He whipped around to face you, a slightly unhinged look in his silver eyes.

“Stop your incessant pacing for a moment and come over here.” He narrowed his eyes and grumbled, but did as he was asked, stopping a short distance away.

“What.” He was decidedly calmer than he had been, so you excused his shortness. You took a deep breath, preparing to share your possible solution, knowing he’d object immediately, but hoping to persuade him.

“I had a thought, but I don’t think you’re going to like it.” He huffed and crossed his arms, putting all his weight on his left leg while raising one eyebrow.

“Well? Spit it out.” You rolled your eyes and took a deep breath, knowing he was acting this way out of worry.

“Alright, first of all, you can lose the attitude. We’re on the same team here. No reason for you to get pissy with me.” He clicked his tongue and looked away, but didn’t make any more comments as he waited for you to speak. Rolling your eyes again, you try to choose your next words carefully. “What if, and hear me out here, we take him to the Scriptorium.”

Ominis went to object, but you covered his mouth with your hand before he could get any words out. You tried to ignore the feel of his lips on your fingers and kept talking. “I wasn’t finished. We take him to the Scriptorium, and if we find something, we hide it before he can get his hands on it. He’ll see it’s a dead end, and look elsewhere.”

You look up into Ominis’s hard eyes and slowly remove your hand from his mouth. His arms remain crossed as he scowls, remaining quiet for only a moment longer.

“Congratulations. That was officially the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Absolutely not. How could you think going INTO the Scriptorium is a viable solution? My Aunt Noctua disappeared after entering that place, and we all assume she died terribly in her search.” You could see the sadness creep into his expression at the mention of his beloved aunt.

As you’d grown closer the last few weeks, he’d started opening up to you about his family history, and how he adored his aunt for sharing his personal beliefs. Your brow furrowed in sympathy, completely understanding his aversion to anything to do with the Dark Arts. You place your hand gently on his elbow before speaking again.

“I know, but letting him think his search is futile would be better than the alternative. I have a bad feeling it’ll only escalate if we don’t intervene.” His face is turned to the floor, and his eyes still hold the same hardness from before, but he is clearly considering your words carefully. You squeeze his elbow gently, pushing on. “It would also be nice if you could get some closure about your aunt. Maybe there’s something she left behind?” You watched his shoulders sag as he exhaled loudly. Defeated. “We stop as soon as things get too dangerous. Ok? I promise.”

He thinks for a moment more, but you could tell that you’d won. He heaves a large sigh before looking up at you, eyes searching your face as if he could actually see your expression. “Ok.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and give his still folded arm a tight squeeze. “-but, we leave as soon as I say, alright? Not a second later.” You nod in agreement and say yes, hoping the two of you would be able to pull this heist off under Sebastian’s nose.

—————————————————

The following night, you found yourself standing in a dark hallway deep in the Hogwarts dungeon. No other students ventured this far, and your only source of light were the sparsely scattered torches. Which only served to cast an eerie glow over the bricks.

“The entrance is here, but there’s some kind of trick to getting it to open. Something about three’s.”

You look around and notice two large, unlit braziers flanking the arch way towards the Slytherin Common Room. Three pairs of bejeweled snake eyes seemingly following your every movement. Looking around, you spot a similar brazier standing alone down the opposite hall. Having become familiar with the little puzzles peppered around the castle, designed to bolster your field guide, you theorized those braziers probably needed to be lit.

Taking out your wand, you cast Confringo on the lone brazier, quickly casting it on the other two after. For a moment, nothing happens, and you second guess yourself. Just as you went to ask the boys for other ideas, faint hissing traveled past your ears, and only grew louder as a door revealed itself on the wall.

Sebastian’s face holds a poorly concealed grin, giddy at the new discovery. Ominis looks like he wants to call the whole thing off here, but instead approaches the door. “Alright, we found the entrance. Now, how to open the door.” He puts his hand on it, feeling for some sort of doorknob or locking mechanism, coming up empty handed. Sebastian squeezes in next to him to get a better look and the ornate designs.

“Say something in Parseltongue.” You cock your head at Sebastian quizzically.

“What’s Parseltongue?” Ominis sighs heavily, but doesn’t look at you.

“A Parseltongue is someone who can speak to snakes. It’s a rare ability, and almost all known Parseltongues are directly descended from Salazar Slytherin.”

Sebastian shuffles his feet excitedly and stops trying to hide his boyish grin. “And we just so happen to have one standing right here!”

Ominis looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. You knew he was feeling uneasy. Walking up beside him, you grab his hand, causing him to look in your direction uncertainly. You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, ignoring Sebastian’s gaze darting between you two. Ominis squeezes back, and doesn’t release you as he starts speaking. The unknown words caress your skin as they slither through the air.

The door responds, granting access to the pitch black rooms beyond. You give Ominis one last squeeze before letting go and heading into the dark, Sebastian following close behind. Ominis hesitated, but decided that whatever was beyond the door would be best faced by the three of you. As soon as everyone crossed the threshold, the entrance closed and locked, forcing you to continue forward through the maze.

“So, what did you say to Ominis?” Sebastian came up next to you, speaking in a low tone just out of their companions earshot.

“What makes you think I said anything to him?” You kept your gaze focused on the stones in front of you, worried Sebastian would glean something from your expression. Sebastian huffed in amusement while moving some cobwebs out of his way.

“Don’t even try. I’ve been hounding him for information for weeks. I tell you about the Scriptorium, and suddenly he’s on board? Clearly something happened with you two.” You blush a bit at the underlying implication in his words, thankful for the low light in this maze.

“You just don’t have the same way with words, Sebastian. I simply put the situation into perspective for him.” Without giving him a chance to respond, you push forward, scanning each surface for a hint of what was to come. Sebastian muttered a doubtful ‘Right.’ under his breath, but dropped it for the moment.

You found several unlit torches on the walls, getting to work lighting as many as possible. There were unique puzzles acting as locks needed to move forward. You found scattered pages along the way, each revealing itself to be written by Noctua Gaunt. Handing each one to Ominis, he stores them safely in his robes to read later.

Solving the last puzzle, the three of you cross into the next room. You had a feeling this was the final hurdle before discovering the Scriptorium, but stop short after entering the room. A pile of bones lie on the ground near the opposite door, next to the word ‘Crucio’ scratched into the floor.

Mind reeling, you pivot, attempting to walk back to Ominis, only to find him directly behind you.

He’d stopped so close that your forehead nearly bounced off his chest. His face unreadable as he stares in the direction of the body, the hand holding his wand shaking ever so slightly. You take his other hand in yours, silently confirming his terrible suspicion. He lets out a shaky breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding, body tense, only worsening when Sebastian read the word aloud. “Crucio?”

Ominis sucked in a sharp breath, his grip on your hand tightening painfully.

Keeping his grasp on you, he whirled back the way you came, dragging you along with him. “We’re leaving.”

Just before you’d reached the doorway, it vanished, leaving you nowhere to go but forward. You yanked on Ominis’s hand, preventing him from hitting his head on the solid wall before you. His breaths became erratic, his hand shaking violently in yours.

“Ominis it’s- the door’s gone. We have to- we have to keep going.” You tried your best to remain calm and keep your voice from trembling. Ominis started shaking his head, tears beginning to gather in the corner of his eyes.

“No. No, no, no this can’t- we can’t- we shouldn’t- we shouldn’t have come. I knew we shouldn’t have done this. You- You promised we’d leave when I said. You-” Tears started to gather in your eyes from watching Ominis’s worst fear come true. You hated yourself for ever suggesting this in the first place, wishing you could take it all back. You hold his hand in both of yours, staring helplessly, trying to figure out how to calm his panic. Sebastian spoke from the other side of the room.

“We’re not trapped, Ominis. We just need to cast Crucio and we’re in. Since you’re the only one who’s cast it before, you should-”

“NO, Sebastian. I’ll never go near that spell again. I can’t.” His silver eyes were wild as they shot in Sebastian’s direction, a shuddering breath escaping his lips.”You need- You need to want to cause pain when you cast it. I have no such desire. I- I can’t.” You squeezed his hand as hard as you could, trying desperately to squeeze the guilt out of him. Tears were openly running down his cheeks, his expression one of pure torture, as if he was reliving the day he cast the curse all over again.

“It wasn’t your fault, Ominis. Your family-”

“That doesn’t excuse anything. At the end of the day, I still cast it, and I will live the rest of my days haunted by the memory.” You looked to Sebastian for help, but only received a gesture to come over to him. Annoyed that he wasn’t trying to help his distraught friend, you looked back at Ominis.

“Ok. It’s ok. You won’t have to cast it. We’ll figure out another way out of here. Stay right here.” You gave his hand one final squeeze before making your way to Sebastian. “What do we do?” He regarded you for a moment before flicking his eyes back towards Ominis.

“Well, I also technically know the Cruciatus Curse, but I haven’t actually cast it before, so I can’t entirely guarantee anyone’s safety. I can either cast it on you, or teach you and have it cast on me.”

You already knew the answer. There wasn't a bone in your body that would allow you to cast such a horrid curse on your friends, growing nauseous at the thought. You looked at Ominis, once again facing the wall you’d come through, and steeled yourself.

“Cast it on me.” Sebastian nodded and took a step back, waiting for you to give the signal.

“I won’t forget this.”

You took a steadying breath and nodded. Faster than you had anticipated, a bolt of red lightning was streaking from Sebastian’s wand. “Crucio!”

Your knees hit the ground as you were struck. You’d tried to hold in your screams, for Ominis, but the pain was too great. Your wails echoed loudly in the tight space.

Through your tears, you could vaguely make out Ominis crouched over, covering his ears. A small part of you thought that you deserved this for opening his old wounds, but that thought was quickly replaced with another wave of blinding agony.

As the spell began to fade, you could hear the door into the Scriptorium melt against the floor, the path open. Your body screamed in protest, but you stood up as quickly as possible and focused on the task at hand.

“Are you alright?” Sebastian wore a look of concern, and it warmed your heart that he hadn’t immediately run off into the other room. You nodded and walked inside, still clutching your ribs.

“Fine. Let’s look around inside. Sebastian, start in this room, we’ll search upstairs.” Without waiting to see if Ominis would follow, you dragged yourself by the handrail to the study on the second floor.

Casting Revelio, you spot a book lying on the desk emitting a dark and twisted aura. You pick it up and examine the cover, identifying it as Salazar Slytherin’s spell book. If Sebastian wanted anything in this room, it would be this book. You hear footsteps coming up the stairs, pulling you out of your thoughts, whirling around, you recognize Ominis’s blonde hair ascending the staircase.

As he reached the last step, you whispered his name, beckoning him closer. You started hurriedly filling him in when he got close enough. “Ominis, this is Salazar Slytherin’s spell book. We can’t let Sebastian find it. Help me look for a place to-”

“Does it still hurt?” You sputtered in surprise.

“Does what still hurt?”

You could see deep set worry in Ominis’s brows, his lips turned down in a sorrowful frown. “The curse. Does it still hurt?”

You blinked slowly, not quite understanding his train of thought. “Um, well yes, but that’s not important right now-”

“Yes it is. Of course it is. How could that not be the most important thing right now?” His hand took your unoccupied one gently. His other came up to lightly stroke the side of your head, tucking his thumb gently behind your ear, barely touching you.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to experience that torture.” You could feel his breath on your face from how close he’d gotten and how breathy his voice had become. “So sorry.”

His face shone with regret, wishing he’d been able to spare you this pain. You squeezed his fingers, about to reassure him that you were alright, when you heard Sebastian call up to you.

“I haven’t found anything useful down here! What about up there?” You were ripped from the intimate moment by the realization that you still had a job to do. You cursed under your breath and looked around, seeing a book of similar size on a top shelf behind Ominis. Casting Accio, you pull it towards you, placing it in the spot the spell book previously occupied. Thankfully, it filled the outline in the dust well enough to avoid suspicion. There was no time to stash the book in your hands, hearing Sebastian climbing the stairs, calling for you both. You look at Ominis wildly and shove the book into his chest.

“Tuck the book into my waistband.” You let go of the book, forcing him to catch it before it fell to the ground. You quickly grabbed the back of his neck and yanked him down toward you. Pausing only briefly to apologize.

“Please forgive me.”

“What-” You didn’t give him time to ask what you meant, hoping that he’d figure it out. You pulled him the rest of the way down and crashed your lips together clumsily. He stood there frozen until he heard Sebastain call for you again, almost to the top of the stairs. Ominis wound his arms around your waist, underneath your cloak, tucking the spell book into your waistband like you’d asked. Making sure it would be secure until you could move it to a safer location.

You could hear Sebastian stop short at the top of the stairs and just stare. Both you and Ominis pretending you hadn’t heard him, continuing to kiss. You started losing yourself in the blonde’s mouth, realizing how much you liked kissing him. His hands clutched your waist, pulling you as close to him as possible, seemingly becoming as lost as you. One hand came up to cradle your cheek, thumb stroking just under your eye. Your fingers found their way into his hair, lightly scratching his scalp and tugging slightly on the short strands. Ominis groaned into your mouth and deepened the kiss, licking at your bottom lip needily.

“OK, that’s enough. What exactly is going on here?” You tear your mouths away from each other in genuine surprise, having both forgotten Sebastian had been standing there. He raised an eyebrow, regarding the both of you as you stayed intertwined.

“Uh, well, the um, the pain from the, the curse hadn’t fully subsided yet, and I needed a…distraction.” You hoped your half baked lie would be enough to fool the brunette, but you weren’t very confident.

Sebastian's eyes flickered back and forth between you two, definitely suspecting something was going on, also noting that you had yet to release each other. Ominis’s body curled protectively around you, shoulders hunched as if to shield you from Sebastian’s gaze. He closed his eyes and shook his head, deciding that he wasn’t willing to deal with this right now.

“Right, well were you able to find anything of importance, or have you just been snogging this whole time?” You and Ominis finally realize you were still cradling each other, and jump apart. You looked down at the floor blushing, gesturing to the book on the desk. Ominis was looking anywhere but you, trying to hide his blush behind his hand. Sebastian eyed the both of you as he walked over to the book. You didn’t know what book you’d summoned from the shelf, but you hoped that it was something less dangerous than the spell book. Sebastian flipped through the pages, seemingly satisfied.

“A book of rare potions. This could definitely prove useful.” With that he snapped the book shut and turned towards the exit. “Let’s get out of here. We’ve all had enough excitement for one day.” He started walking without waiting for either you or Ominis. Exiting, the back of your hand brushed Ominis’s, silently promising him that you’d take care of the book. He nodded slightly and you bid the boys goodnight, quickly heading for the Room of Requirement, thinking of places to stash the tome.

—————————————————-

You didn’t see much of the boys for a while afterwards. Trials set by the Keepers and your academic responsibility pulling you in too many different directions to have much free time to spend with your friends. Ominis wore a constant face of worry when you were around, repeatedly asking if you were alright. You did your best to reassure him that you were just busy, before apologizing and hurrying to your next task.

Ominis hadn’t realized how much he enjoyed your company until he didn’t have it anymore. He craved it, and was struck with how much he missed you. He didn’t want to be selfish and ask you to carve out time to spend with him in your outrageous schedule, so he settled for keeping a close eye on you whenever you were near.

Thoughts of the Scriptorium floated through his mind constantly. Wanting to know why you’d thought to kiss him, and if you’d let him do it again. Sebastian had stuck his nose in the potions book you’d found, and had yet to come up for air. He wished there was a way to take some of the burden off his friends shoulders, but came up short every time.

After completing all of the Trials, you now had a fairly good grasp on the ancient power you wielded. You’d listened to all the warnings from the Keepers on the responsibility of this power, and you swore to use it wisely. However, there was one thing you needed to accomplish, preferably without the Keepers ever finding out. Surely removing a curse was more acceptable than removing emotion, but you thought it best to keep it secret.

That’s how you found yourself in Feldcroft, standing outside Sebastian’s uncle’s house. You knocked on the door lightly, praying that Anne was home alone. She opened the door and greeted you cheerily, inviting you in. You glanced around and didn’t see anyone else, which was exactly what you needed.

“Hello!! It’s been too long, thank you for the visit.” You smiled warmly and sat down at the table.

“It’s great to see you, Anne. How’ve you been? Have you seen Ominis or Sebastian recently?” She joined you sitting at the table, wincing a bit in discomfort before settling down.

“I’ve been well. As well as I can be anyway. Fortunately both Ominis and Sebastian have paid me a few visits since we last spoke. I believe they’re actually on their way over shortly.” You nod quickly, realizing that you didn’t have much time.

“Alright, we’ve gotta do this quickly. Anne, I can help you, but you can’t tell a single soul what happens here. I need you to trust me and not ask questions, ok? Explaining would take much too long and put you in too much danger. Please, please just trust me.” You looked her in the eyes, willing her to say yes, so you could accomplish your goal before the boys arrived. She bit her lip and studied the table, nodding hesitantly, and then more resolutely.

“Do it. Uh, whatever ‘it’ is.” You breathed out a sigh of relief and took out your wand, placing it over her heart.

“Take a deep breath.” She did as she was told, and you began to pull the curse out of her while she exhaled. She had a slight look of discomfort but remained still until you were done. She slumped back into her chair as you placed the curse in a jar, to dispose of when you returned to the castle. You could see the color already returning to her face as you studied her, making sure you hadn’t messed up in any way.

She had her head down quietly, and you were about to ask if she was alright, when you saw teardrops start falling into her lap. Panicking, you reach for her, afraid something was wrong. Suddenly her head shot up and she beamed at you, smiling so bright you thought you might end up blind.

“The pain, it’s- it’s just…gone! Thank you. Merlin’s beard, thank you. I can’t ever repay you for what you’ve done.” You shushed her with a hug, glad to see the girl Sebastian spoke about come back to the surface.

“You don’t have to thank me. Just promise me, if anyone asks, tell them it was Sebastian. One of his potions, or something. Please, keep this between us.”

She nodded and wiped her eyes with her hand. You wanted to say more, but heard the tell tale signs of the boys arguing as they approached the house. You got up quickly and cast Disillusionment on yourself before whispering to her. “I was never here.”

She nodded again as the door opened, both boys walking in. You waited until they went to greet her before slipping out the front door, creeping away. You could hear Sebastian’s cries of joy as he held his sister close, asking her a thousand questions.

What you didn’t notice, however, was Ominis watching you slink away down the path. Disillusionment never worked on him, his wand detecting a person’s mass. He’d accidentally exposed many hidden persons, often getting them into trouble.

He listened to Anne and Sebastian talk, wondering why you hadn’t stayed, but as Sebastian grilled Anne, he could hear the slight hesitance in her voice. He turned in their direction, watching Anne wring her hands under the table, something she did when she was lying.

She glanced over at him, noting his silence, in stark contrast with Sebastian’s excited chatter. Noticing how closely he studied her, she looked away quickly, laughing nervously at Sebastian, who was too wrapped up in his own excitement to notice.

Suddenly, it dawned on him what you’d done. He knew the rules you’d broken, the danger you’d put yourself in, and he wanted to weep. His emotions were everywhere, a part of him wanting to stay and celebrate, but a larger portion desperate to fly back to the castle in search of you. He struggled to get his breathing under control.

Anne could see the change in him, and shook her head, eyes wide, begging him not to say anything. Ominis took a few deep breaths, striding over to her quickly. He pushed Sebastian out of the way and enveloped Anne in his arms, squeezing her tight.

Sebastian wormed his way in between the two, joining the relieved embrace. The three of them sat quietly, and there wasn’t a dry eye when they’d finally pulled apart. Laughing through their tears, the boys regaled Anne with their latest escapades, excited for her eventual return to the school.

You sat in the back of Ominis’s mind as he celebrated with his friends, longing to share this moment with you, but understanding why he couldn’t. He resolved to find you as soon as they returned to the castle, eternally grateful for the risk you’d taken.

____________________

Sebastian and Ominis only spent a couple hours with Anne, wandering back towards the castle in the early afternoon. The boys parted ways after entering Hogwarts, Sebastian walking leisurely toward their Common Room.

Ominis didn’t even wait for Sebastian to turn the corner before taking off. He checked all of your usual haunts, failing to spot you anywhere. He started checking the classrooms to see if you’d maybe gone to speak to a professor, all coming up empty.

He made his way to the Astronomy Tower, having already checked the other classrooms, wondering where you could have possibly disappeared to. He passes a blank portion of wall, stopping at the light sound of metal on brick. Turning, he watches in awe as a door appears, beckoning him forward.

He opens the door slightly, cautiously sticking his wand in first, mapping the room beyond. His eyes widened as he yanked the door open, and taking a few hesitant steps in, he disappeared inside.

The room was enormous. He subconsciously wondered how his wand had never picked up such a huge space. He could hear the faint call of gulls and running water, sensing another large room down a nearby hall, but unable to glean any details.

There didn’t seem to be anyone else there, until a house elf appeared next to him, startling the blind boy. “Oh, Master Gaunt! What a surprise! What can Deek help you with?” Ominis looked from Deek, to the room, and back to Deek.

“Wha- What is this place, um…Deek?” Deek smiles at him kindly.

“It’s the Room of Requirement, Master Gaunt! It sometimes appears to students in need. What were you looking for when it appeared? Maybe Deek can help you find it!” Ominis blinked. He’d been thinking about you. His thoughts had been a jumbled mess, unsure what to even say when he finally found you. During his search, Ominis had considered keeping his knowledge to himself, but ultimately decided to come clean. He hadn’t thought he could keep his emotions in check enough to come up with a convincing lie. His heart was pounding too hard with a driving need to see you, the feeling only increasing the longer you evaded him.

He relayed his intentions to Deek, who smiled widely back. “Well! You’re certainly in the right place. They’re right down the hall, should Deek show you?”

Ominis shook his head and thanked the elf, walking quickly into the next room. There were plant pots and potion desks lining the walls, a pleasant scent hanging in the air. Ominis scanned the room, spotting you over by a truly massive Chinese chomping cabbage. He had no idea they could get that big, but there you were, petting it lovingly, unafraid.

He has no memory of walking towards you, not entirely in control of his body. You turn around, bumping directly into his chest, and let out a surprised gasp. “Fuck! Who- Ominis! You- Merlin's beard, you scared me. How did you-“

Ominis drops his wand on the floor carelessly, hands coming up to cradle your face reverently.

“Thank you.” His lips land on your forehead first, kissing the skin slowly. You make a small noise of surprise, but otherwise are unable to speak.

“Thank you.” He kissed your left eye, voice barely above a whisper. Your hands unconsciously rest themselves on his forearms, gripping them slightly.

“Thank you.” You feel the delicate press of his lips on your right eye.

“For saving Anne.” He kissed the bridge of your nose tenderly, before skipping your lips and kissing your chin. “For saving Sebastian.”

He looks at you with hooded eyes, stopping a hair's breadth away. Thumbs caressing your cheeks lovingly, pausing only for a moment. “For saving me.”

You shake your head slightly. “I didn’t-“

“You did.” He runs his thumb along your bottom lip, brushing it ever so slightly. He hadn’t realized until this moment, but you had indeed saved him. He’d lost so much so quickly, and was on the path to losing whatever he had left. Anne was gone, and Sebastian was killing himself to get her back. Ominis had felt like he was drowning. His friends, who were really his family, were fading. There had been nothing he could do to stop it, but…you did. Self sacrificing, stubborn, beautiful you. He knew he was done for. He wanted to fill his lungs with you, leaving no room for anything or anyone else.

The air hung heavily between you, the tension almost stifling. Ominis gently brushed your nose with his.

“Can I kiss you?” Ominis spoke the words into your mouth, his voice needy, waiting for your answer.

“If you want to.”

He let out a shuddering breath, and inched impossibly closer. “Desperately.”

Pressing your lips together, he kissed you slowly, savoring each second. He groaned, pulling away briefly, only to come surging back with renewed vigor. Ominis’s hands slid down your sides, coming to wrap around your middle. Your arms came up around his shoulders, fingers carding through his hair, tugging at the strands. Ominis gasps, pulling your hips impossibly closer, grinding his lower body into you.

He tears his mouth away from you, but doesn’t go far. Leaning his forehead against yours, you both take some time to catch your breath. He recovered faster, and started gently scattering soft kisses around your neck and jaw, continuing his ministrations while he spoke. “I don’t- I can’t articulate how grateful I am. You’ve done- Merlin’s beard, you’ve done so much for me. How would I even begin to repay you?”

You’re roused a bit from your dazed stupor at his words, tilting your head down slowly to look at him again, shaking your head. “Ominis, there’s nothing to repay. You owe me nothing.”

Ominis took a step back and sunk to the floor, kneeling in front of you. You had to grab onto the table behind you to avoid collapsing. You were rendered speechless at the sight of Ominis, on his knees before you. His hands rested on your outer thighs, thumbs stroking back and forth idly.

He looked up at you with unadulterated adoration, his sightless eyes searching for you longingly. “You saved my family.” His fingers tighten ever so slightly on your thighs.

“I owe you everything.” Leaning forward, his lips placed a light kiss on your left thigh, scorching you through the fabric. He moved to kiss the other thigh just as tenderly, a shiver racing down your spine in anticipation. Hands creeping up to rest on your hips, he pressed a couple more kisses into your stomach, face nuzzling you here and there.

“I’d spend the rest of my days showing you how grateful I am,” his chin came to rest on your stomach “if you’d let me.” Eyes hooded, boring into yours, you move your fingers to brush his cheek ever so slightly. He leaned his head fully into your palm, an edge of desperation slipping into his voice. “Please, let me.” He turned his face, kissing the palm of your hand, whispering into your skin like a prayer. “Please.”

You can hardly breathe. Your heart, pounding faster than your first time flying on Highwing. The sight of this beautiful, refined, proud man begging on his knees was something straight out of a muggle romance novel. You cupped his other cheek with your hand, bending over and pressing a firm kiss into his soft lips. He groaned into your mouth, chasing you as you tried to pull away. Indulging him for a few more seconds, he whines as you actually pull away this time.

“Ominis.” You pant his name into his mouth, he gasps and unconsciously rolls his hips forward, looking for friction.

“Yes, darling.” He looked like a man starving. His hands had tucked themselves behind your knees, trembling from the effort of maintaining a sliver of his composure.

“Ominis I-”

“I’m heading out to run a few errands for Professor Weasley, do you or Master Gaunt need Deek to get anything?” You and Ominis were startled out of your private little world, jumping apart for fear of Deek seeing you in such a compromising position.

Your brain fought through the foggy haze it'd settled in, and quickly answered Deek. “We’re ok Deek. Just talking. Take your time! No rush to come back.”

You waited until you heard the elf apparate out of the room, looking around for somewhere to conceal you both, should Deek return too soon. You hear the familiar sound of the room changing itself to accommodate your needs.

Ominis yelped and covered his head, and you spotted a door forming on the far wall. The door swung open on its own, revealing a spacious bedroom on the other side.

“What the hell just happened?” You turned back to Ominis to see him peeking out from under his arms comically, in great contrast to his previous behavior. Ominis lowers his arms at the sound of your amused laughter, pouting a bit. You brush the back of his hand with yours and he quickly captures it in his.

“Uh, well, it seems like the room thought we needed a more…private place to finish our conversation.” You looked away blushing, but quickly turned back when you felt an impatient tug on your hand.

“I can’t find it. Show me.” You could hear the barely contained neediness in Ominis’s voice. Realizing Ominis didn’t have his wand, you start searching the ground around you.

“Ominis, your wand-”

“Don’t care. We’ll look later.” Getting impatient, he starts dragging you in a random direction.

Laughing once more, you redirect him towards the open door, spotting a fully furnished master bedroom, attached bathroom and all. Ominis waits for the sound of the door closing, before crowding you against it, trapping you with his body. His hands cradle your face once again, forcing you to look into his stunning silver eyes. He looks like it pains him to keep your lips apart, but he resists the temptation with furrowed brows, waiting. “Well?”

You want to laugh at his ridiculous question, but your voice comes out closer to a sob. “Do you even have to ask? I think you know very well that I’m yours, that I have been for-” He didn’t even let you finish before slamming his mouth down onto yours. Hands quickly trailing down to your thighs before hoisting you up to wrap your legs around his hips. You exchanged pleased sighs and hungry moans, your tongues dancing to the tune.

You fought to stay together as long as possible, becoming lightheaded as your lungs screamed for air. Ominis only tore himself away to suck in a deep breath, panting a desperate ‘I love you’ against your lips before diving back in. You lost track of how long you stayed entangled, exchanging I love you’s between sweet kisses and gentle touches, your intense fervor for one another slowly cooling to a low simmer.

At some point Ominis had carried you to the bed, where you currently lay facing each other, basking in the other's arms. Your fingers ran through his hair as he placed lazy kisses on your neck and collar bone, purring a quiet ‘I love you’ after each one. You sighed contentedly, thinking about how far you’d both come from that very first meeting.

You laughed quietly to yourself, prompting a curious hum from Ominis, who continued his slow ministrations.

“You wanna know something?” Your voice was barely audible, afraid to break the peaceful atmosphere too soon.

“What’s that, my darling?” Ominis whispered the words into your shoulder, placing a light kiss on it right after.

You fought to keep the shit eating grin off your face, not wanting Ominis to get suspicious at the change in your tone. “The day we first met, when I came over to help you with your assignment?”

“Mhmm?” Another kiss behind your ear.

“Sebastian actually caught me staring at you.” You huffed out an amused laugh. “He’s very protective, tried picking a fight with me.” Ominis chuckled with you, running the tip of his nose along your jaw, quiet for a moment.

“What were you thinking about?” You smirked to yourself, knowing you’d caught him.

“When?” You put on an innocent act, pretending you didn’t know what he was asking.

He huffed another amused laugh against your cheek. “When you were ogling me shamelessly across the library.” His hand was gliding gently down your arm, coming to rest on your hip.

“Well…” You finally allowed the wide grin to spread itself across your face, making sure he’d be able to hear the taunting lilt to your voice. “I was thinking about how pretty you’d look with your dick in my mouth.”

Ominis barked out a surprised laugh, pulling you tighter against him and hiding his red face in the crook of your neck. You could feel the wide, happy grin he pressed into your skin, shoulders shaking with laughter. He brought his teeth to your ear, biting it gently in retaliation, causing you to squirm as he trapped you against his chest.

“You naughty thing.”

[loousir]

[Vampire] The only one

Vampire Male x Hunter Male Reader

Abel

Warnings/Notes: Mentions of blood, blood loss, knives, deep wounds, bandaging, nudity. I dunno, nothing crazy but part 2 coming soon. Will spice it up a bit with that one. I only went over this with a "proper" proof reading once so please forgive me

Part 2

If you like my work, please consider reblogging!

An infamous vampire you've been dueling with for the past decade has seemingly gone MIA. You didn't think much of it, assuming someone else ended him first or he had gone into hiding to plot his next move. Some days had gone by and there was no word of him, not even a confirmation he was dead. Not until you heard a weak knock at your door. You stood up from your arm chair and carefully opened the door. There knelt a battered and bruised body. It was covered in so much blood you couldn't even tell if it was a man or a woman.

The head lifted to reveal the slashed face of your rival, an awkward yet desperate expression on his face. "I'm sorry I... I didn't know where else to go..." He said weakly, blood dripping from the corners of his mouth. You stared down at him, a shocked and confused expression crossing your face as you realized what was happening. "What the hell..." You whispered. You looked around to make sure no one else was nearby and pulled him in. He may have been your enemy but you knew all about him.

"You understand who I am right?" You asked, staring down at him with furrowed brows. He nodded weakly. "Fully..." He said softly, voice rough with a cough, spitting blood across your floor. As much as your brain had been fighting with yourself, against your better judgment you pulled him into the bathroom. With a grunt, you picked him up and put him in the bath tub, turning on the water and letting it warm slightly before hosing him down. He didn't care you were being rough with him. His eyes remained closed as the blood was washed down the drain.

You were kicking yourself in the ass. You should have just killed him as soon as you opened the door and moved on with your life. But there was something that was keeping you from doing it. Maybe it was your curiosity. Wanting to know why or how he became so infamous. Or why he was a mess on your doorstep. Once he was as clean as you could get him, you ripped his clothes off, knowing they were ruined anyways. "Why did you come to me." You asked, tossing the wet, bloodied clothes into the sink. He didn't respond for a moment as he helped you get the clothes off. "I really... Didn't know where else to go..." He paused and glanced up to you while you were turned away. "I dont have anyone to help me..." He whispered.

You looked at him with a confused expression, starting to rinse him off again. He was fully naked and neither of you really cared in this moment. "I left my Coven." You blinked a couple times, pausing the water for a moment. "You left your Coven?" You asked, trying to understand what he had just said. He nods, still looking up to you. Now that the blood had been washed away, the cut that covered his face became more visible. It trailed from the left of his hairline and across his nose, stopping just at his right cheek bone, nearly missing his eye. It wasn't deep enough to warrant stitches. Thankfully.

"They did one hell of a number on you..." You said softly, continuing to rinse any wounds that were bleeding and carefully washing any blood that had crusted onto his skin. He closed his eyes and let you do whatever to take care of him. "Why?" He looked up to you again before looking away soon after. "It's a lot..." He said softly, sitting up more so you could get to his back and hair. "We've got all the time in the world..." You said, looking at the deeper slashes across his back that would need to be stitched. His hair was matted with blood, mostly at the ends so it didn't take much to wash it out.

He sighed, trying to find where he wants to start. "I've been turned for 60 years already but I hadn't joined a Coven until I was 47. I'm still a fledgling in Vampire terms." You listened to his words as you finished up washing him. "I was so brainwashed and dedicated to the Coven that I let them use me as a scape goat." He paused as you helped him out, sitting him down on the toilet and drying him off. You weren't sure if he could get sick but put a towel over his head to help soak up any leftover water. "Then we met." He paused as you stepped out to grab bandages as things you needed to patch him up.

"And you made me realize that I was just being used. So I did some digging around to find out what they were doing." You started with his legs, bandaging and stitching where it was needed, to which he didn't seem to mind. "And I'm sure you know... Considering you were pitted to hunt me and kill me." He said softly, tone changing a bit. You knew all too well. It was engraved into you. He was accused of committing mass genocide, and to say it was simply killing and drinking their blood was an understatement. You always assumed he had been some sort of all powerful ancient. It makes sense even if part of you didn't believe him. "Holy shit dude." You said, looking up to him. His expression was flicking between emotions. Shifting from anger, to sadness, to regret as he thought about everything that had happened.

You were onto his arms by now, leaving his torso and face til last. "Yeah. I'm sorry... For causing you trouble." He said softly. You shook your head. "Listen. As long as you, yourself, haven't killed anyone... I can't hold anything against you. Putting the facts together... There's no fucking way a towns worth of people could disappear in a night like that... Not without multiple parties." His eyes flicked up to look at you. Your expression held one of anger. You felt like you had been lied to as well. The hunters you were working for had to have known there was no way it was just one vampire doing this. There was definitely something going on. You had your suspicions on it but this confirms it.

He lifted his hand and placed it on your head gently, getting you to look up to him once more. "Thank you." He said softly, a tiny smile crossing his lips. You sighed and shook your head. "I dont really believe in people who are considered your 'allies' trying to kill you." You said, moving to work on his chest which wasn't nearly as bad as his back. His hand falls back to his side as he watches your hands work for a bit. "Just stay here for a while. Stay on the down low. I'll see what I can find out." You said softly, standing up from your kneeling position. "Let's go lay you down so I can do your back." You said softly, helping him stand and taking him into your bedroom. You didn't have a spare room and wasn't going to let him sleep on the couch. "On your stomach. Just be careful." You said, sitting him on the edge before letting him adjust as you went to grab the stuff from the bathroom.

"Are you hungry?" You asked, stepping back in. He was laying like a corpse with his eyes closed, opening them to look at you again for a moment. He looked away with what seemed like shame and didn't answer. "Hello?" You asked, leaning over the side of the bed to get started on his back. "I dont want to say yes..." He said softly. You nodded even though he couldn't see it. "Let me finish your back and I'll get you something." You said softly, phrasing it as if you weren't going to let him feed off of you.

Some time had passed as you carefully stitched his wounds. Neither of you spoke much and before too long, you had finished up and grabbed him some loose shorts to wear for the time so he wasn't buck naked. "Go easy for a while. Don't even think about ripping one of those stitches." You said, with a lighter tone as you left again to pack away the supplies you had brought out as well as dispose of the bloodied rags he had walked in with and clean the trail that had been left from your door. Thankfully no one really questioned when you came home covered in blood or took out soiled clothes as they were fully aware if what you did. It also helps it was the middle of the night.

Once you came back in, you make your way back to the bedroom to see him sitting up and looking at some of the decor that lined the walls. You grabbed a knife off of your night stand and sat on the bed next to him. He looked over to you as you held your palm up, slicing it open in front of him. His eyes widened as he grabbed your wrist. "The hells did you do that for?!" He asked, putting pressure so it didn't bleed much. "You said you were hungry. So eat." He shook his head and grabbed the role of bandages you left behind, trying to patch it up but you pushed it away. "I'll get you something tomorrow. Just for now."

He stared at you with wide eyes, looking from your hand back to your serious expression. "Eat, Abel." You said, using his true name. Abel went by several aliases and had no clue you even knew his real name. With great hesitance, he drank the blood that flowed from your palm. Albeit unintentionally, he hummed at the taste, enjoying the flavour. "Good to know I'm tasty." You teased lightly, a small smile crossing your lips. He looked up to you for a moment before looking away bashfully. "I didn't mean-" "I was teasing." You cut him off and pulled your hand back. "You can feed from me if needed but I'd be more than happy to find something when I go out tomorrow."

Abel looked back to you with a sweet gaze. "Thank you." He said softly. You nodded your head and stood up. "Keep a low profile. I could get in trouble if they knew I was housing you here. You are a wanted fugitive after all. By both human, and vampire terms." Abel smiled again and grabbed your hand, wrapping it up to make sure it didn't bleed anymore than it already had. "Rest well." He bid you as you walked back out.

Part 2

[werewolfetone]

Yes the 1782 revolution was undone in under twenty years no it did not materially make things better for basically anyone other than the ascendancy class yes ireland was still under the control of the british monarchy yes they still were controlled by a lord lieutenant yes the british still basically had full control of the government but ☝️ technically it did not fail. features not bugs and so on

It's so funny to me the frequency with which people on the r/irishhistory subreddit post asking about how history would be different if grattan's 1782 revolution for irish independence had worked seeing as at least in the way they defined irish independence at that time the 1782 scheme did work, almost totally, it was just so ineffectual that everyone assumes the endeavour ended in immediate spectacular failure a la the united irishmen. most cringe fail "revolution" in the history of humanity fr

[kaiowut99]

Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V Episode 1 "Dub-Uncut" (ENG Dub w/ JP OST) WIP #1 | Ladies & Gentlemen!

Soooo, after plugging away at this little project for more than a year, I'm pretty sure, I think I'm just about done with it--a "dub-uncut" take on ARC-V episode 1's dub! Like when I worked on those 5D's "dub-uncut" episodes, I find that there's some potential in the 4K/KCM dubs, but overall it's hampered by the dub's music [which especially hurts for ARC-V given the awesome score by Kotaro Nakagawa], some writing choices, and other little oddities/cuts. (I also did plan on trying to sub ARC-V up until Crunchyroll took the wheel on that, and I did want to do something with the work I'd put into prepping the OP/EN for that, lol; I think I actually started this a little in early 2022 at some point, but due to my SSD dying on me in October of that year, I pretty much lost everything and had to dig through what little backups I did to not start from scratch (I had to restart this though). This has also been an ongoing idea, since I did do a dub-with-JP-OST take on episode 10's first 10-or-so minutes years back.

Of course, since working on that version of episode 10, we now have things like UltimateVocalRemover out there to help with things like this, as well as Duel Links or Cross Duel (RIP) for better/more accurate takes on different lines. So, after using UVR to isolate episode 1's audio in both versions, I got to work piecing the dub back together with the JP OST/SFX, using lines from later episodes and Duel Links as helpful to make the dialogue more in line with the original; I'd been chipping away at it mostly for the past year, but worked a bit more on finalizing it and leveling the audio over the past few months to get it off the backburner, lol, along with revamping my subs for BelieveXBelieve and One Step (which I'll be showing off separately).

For this clip, I made Gongenzaka properly say his Monsters' names while tributing them by pulling audio from 138's dub (and one other); Yuya's "Ladies & Gentlemen!" and "Quick-Play Hippo Carnival" lines are from DL, and I found an AI-voice-generating site that had the voice of the Narrator from Pokemon's dub, which I thought would fit for the Action Duel narration before the OP. [Also, yes, I will be correcting every instance of "Zuzu" to "Yuzu" using lines with "you" in them because why.]

Lemme know what you think! I'll likely post another couple progress videos while I apply some finishing touches, and I should probably be posting about the full thing in the next week or two.

[jolalibrary]

rips in perfection

francisco morales x f!reader | frankie morales masterlist

summary: you just shine your light with determination through the cracks he allowed you to see. lips blowing away cobwebs, fingers wrapping around door handles inside of him that you throw open and step through without fear.  you make my days better, morales. 

word count: 2.7k warnings: angst, but with happy ending. mention of wound on reader (head and palm). mention (blink and you miss) nod to prev. drug use and ptsd. sad boy frankie not thinking he deserves the girl. jo wrote this because she's twisty inside. an: as the warning states, i angst'd close to the sun. but it ends happy because i'm incapable of not doing so.

He knows it means something that you called him—that you allow him through your front door.

Frankie’s eyes immediately catch sight of your wound—spotting the clotting scarlet and dried cerise. The rip in otherwise perfection that you attempt to hide with a kitchen towel around your palm. 

It’s tugged from you, shutting your front door with his heel as he tries to eye the deepness of the cut. The one which has, at one stage, made tears track down your cheeks—creating a road of pain in your skin.  

You, as to be expected, pretend to feign indifference that he’s here. Forcing it up, all a front. 

He knows he’s the one making you do it.

Your ego-bruised, now matching the hurt that blooms under your skin and around your eye. It’s the sole reason he doesn’t push, just follows when you turn on your heel. Forcing him to watch helplessly as you try, struggle and fail to jump onto your centre island. Frankie only dares step forward when you shoot him a glare—it’s a toxic cocktail of warning and pleading. 

If he has to choose a battle, he knows which one he’d rather be maimed by. Choosing to be burnt by your stare, then risk a further onslaught of a blizzard cast his way as he helps lift you. Turning gentle when you accept his invitation to see, sliding fingers around your wrist, index finger over skin—wanting to whisper an apology when you wince. 

But he swallows it, letting it join the other unspoken words that sit in the depths of him. The ones decaying and rotting. All swallowed back. 

Frankie tells himself you’d think they were empty anyway—bitterness simmering like a broth inside you. Plus, he’s sure it wouldn’t have sounded right from him. Words had never been his forte, his expertise. Least of all when it came to you. 

They always balled up, messily clumping, falling all out of order between loose fingers and delivered with carelessness. Even when he plans them out, mentally shoving doubts and insecurities aside to say something comforting.

It doesn’t matter now. There are no soft eyes or clumped words. Instead, wave-like worry is crashing against him. Taking in your appearance, how you look unsteady. Weak. Dizzy. 

“Ay. ¿Estás bien?” 

He braces for your tongue. 

The brilliant way it manages to both burn, mark and leave people cold when you spit words at whoever has upset you. 

It’s the first thing that made him smile when it came to you. 

Even with Benny stuck to your side, Santiago just behind you, you still have the man hitting on you in the bar embarrassingly storming away—before switching back into a softer, less sharp-edged version of yourself to reply to Benny’s earlier question. 

Now he’s experiencing that same sharpness. You’re frustrated, annoyed—cross, and livid. A sea of synonyms, but none quite hit the mark. 

You don’t snap at him, though, just let four words crack through the silence, all shaky, and trembling: “Me duele la cabeza….”

It’s like you command him, the way his eyes flick up. Your eyes all soft, the harshness ebbed away by the situation—the edges of your aura more welcoming than it’s been for weeks. 

Frankie had spotted the swelling when he arrived, knowing every inch of you like you’re moulded in his mind—painted on the back of his eyelids, seeing you even when he blinks. 

It's easy to slide his hand up, pads gliding over your neck, feeling you swallow as he brushes over your jaw, cheek—turning you to look over the swelling, how it’s rounding out, beginning to change. 

He’s soft when he whispers that you need stitches in your hand, ice for your head, blinking at him. Letting his words hang before forcing yourself to nod—pointing to a box on the counter, the one you’d likely gotten out the moment he told you he was on his way. 

Your voice all hoarse, words catching on teeth as you tell him about the stuff inside the green box, the kit you’d pulled together—the sharp needle and thread, alcohol wipes and bandages.

Only as he rummages, casting a quick glance at you, does he see the veil fall. Spots how your face twists in pain, lashes furiously blinking back tears, your thumb pushing at the skin on your palm—leaving half-moon marks, like a trail around the split skin. 

“Thought you’d have called Pope.” 

Your eyes fall, land on a spot on the ground—living there, fixated as you bite the inside of your cheek. Letting it stew and seethe. 

“I did. Didn’t answer.” 

It’s cold, lacking emotion. But it lands with a punch all the same.

He hates how his heart plummets. Becomes more determined to rummage for nothing forcibly—just so he can choose to keep his head bent, the beak of his hat hiding the discomfort undoubtedly stitched into his face. 

Because it’s his fault, the reason the two of you keep taking chunks out of one another. The dance the two of you have done, the closeness he’s allowed to bridge. 

One minute good friends, next moment wrestling with feelings he's too afraid to say. Then he overcompensates, egging you on to flirt with a man at the bar, with the next second wanting to throttle anyone who looked at you.  

It’s hard to unknot when it changed—when he found it difficult to rip his eyes from you, and you had rooted yourself in his life. 

It could have been somewhere over beers or under the fairy lights at the Miller house—eyes shimmering, smile growing. It also could have been when the stars were too pretty on that camping trip, when you’d moved your sleeping bag closer to him, sleeping under rustling leaves and blinking stars—the two of you waking curled up together, realising for the rocks and sticks in his spine, he’s never slept better. 

It was sealed, all the same, when he’d tugged you down the alleyway, beer tasting on your lips as brick cuts into his hand, his other hand gripping you close—almost bruising. Lost in feeling heaven collide, his world shifting, your mouth moving with his under the flickering bar light, kissing you as though to tell you that you're all he needs.

That’s when it all slid into one, a hot pot of things he can’t discern—a collection of emotions too complex to ascertain. 

You didn’t try to be what he needed, just tried to show kindness—all-second nature, undeserving of a fuck up like him. 

“You gonna stitch me or kiss me, Francisco?” 

Your voice cuts through his thoughts, slicing and ripping memories in two. There’s an edge to it, your words—one that makes him snort—shaking his head as he returns to you, taking your hand gently but leaving no room to fight him. 

Frankie doesn’t ask if you want him to stay. He just stays. 

Once stitched, he helps you off the counter, tells you to change—that he’ll begin cleaning up your accident.

Between the third and fourth stitch, you’d told him how a vegetable caused you to slip, pot and glass shards shattering in the chaos. 

He brushes each of them until he’s sure no piece could ever find your bare foot, then he wipes the crimson from your grout. Only as he lifts his head to stand does he see the edge of the counter, the one at fault for the growing swelling along your brow line. 

An additional reason for the silence your usually acidic tongue fills. It taking a rest, likely as you will your brain to stop thumping. 

He runs his knuckles along it, gritting his jaw, letting his feelings throb in his chest. The ones he’s felt for so long, they’re harder to control—fighting, desperately, to get out and greet your ear. 

Even though he convinces himself you deserve better, there's no one else for him.

What he wants and what you deserve a conflicting push and pull inside of him that have forced awkwardness and silence to take up space in between you.

You deserve someone more whole, without failure and a record to go with it. 

Even if Frankie knows it would be easy to love you—just like it is to breathe. It's part of him, his affection for you. Steadily threaded through his muscles and bones.

But he can’t even meet his own eyes in the mirror when he dresses, never mind hold yours. He’s forever greeted by the parts of him forever changed by the things he’s seen—the things he’s done. The parts altered and desperate for rest—the entire reason white powder greeted his nostrils, to begin with. 

He was, and is, broken and ruined. All poisoned by memories of orders and decisions, pouring down rain and the sound of Benny shouting for Tom. 

Not that you see it. 

You just shine your light with determination through the cracks he allowed you to see. Lips blowing away cobwebs, fingers wrapping around door handles inside of him that you throw open and step through without fear. 

You make my days better, Morales. 

Those words had fallen with ease as you grasped his wrist in your hand, leaving him with a smile that lingered like smoke until it faded in the loud bar. The key to the lock, the thing which melted the chains and made him suggest taking you home, stealing a moment where he could live a fairytale of being able to enjoy you.  

He supposes it’s why he came—rushed, in fact. 

You’re so deeply woven in him, have been for so long, he’s not sure how to ever untangle you from him. For as long as he’s known you, you’ve held him together without even knowing. Sometimes, more than he wanted you to. 

A friend of a friend, a girl who joined the group one night and never left. Etching your name amongst the friends in a way not too dissimilar to how you’d carved your initials into his heart. 

It’s why he tries to rip out his feelings. Attempted to burn them, bury them. 

Endeavoured to be reborn coated in the failings and vermillion he’s been painted in so many times. Let the voices mount, allow the illusions win—that the shadowed parts of his mind create. 

You clear your throat, looking at him, hovering in the doorway in an oversized tee he recognises as his and a pair of fluffy socks. You’re fidgeting, pupils having swallowed all and any colour—no hope or pain living there. 

You’re good at concealing, able to shift and perfectly apply an expression that shields him from your thoughts or feelings, as though attempting to convince him you’re fine. 

You’re not. 

It thrums in the air and needles him. 

Has been doing so since he listened to you try not to shatter when he left that day. Even if he wanted nothing more than to turn back around, marry his lips back to yours, and feel your breaths against his neck. 

You didn’t ask him to stay. He didn’t ask to either. 

Standing there in a robe, fragile and questioning what it is you'd done wrong, not knowing (because he never explained it) that all you were at fault for was falling for him. That you'd bonded yourself to ruin and rubble somehow still shaped like a person.

If you've figured it out, you don't acknowledge it. You're smart, though. Aware.

Your teeth biting the inside of your cheek as the two of you allow awkwardness to bubble, the silence plucking the tension until it thickens and becomes suffocated. 

All because he accepted your invitation that night, instead of declining when he dropped you home. 

Spent the evening and morning showing you what he’s felt for months, a year. Feeling it given back to him, hearing it in the way you pleaded for more and dug your heels into his spine. Please, Frankie. Please. All enthralled in fantasy that was ruined by morning light that illuminated that look in your eyes.

The one you're wearing now. All bewitched and full of adoration because you love him, likely the same as he loves you.

It hurt him, too, to walk away. So much so it irks him on good days and frustrates him on bad ones. It merges with his annoyance at your stubbornness, the ones he’s forced you to have. 

You blink, try to hide from him. Conceal yourself. Try to survive in the watery current of feelings you won’t spill to him again. Opting instead to drown in their storm—the story you told yourself that isn’t anything close to the fable it should have been. 

It tugs at him as he moves closer—the air-tight, constricting around the two of you. His eyes take in every inch of your features—awaiting the micro-expressions, the ones you try to keep back from him.

He shouldn’t curl into your touch, but he does so all the same when light, fairy touches brush his cheek. When you shuffle closer, leaving a gap of barely anything between the two of you. 

It would be easy, less complicated, to kiss you. To surrender, lay down his objections and give in. 

He doesn’t.

The vinyl playing in his head, the one swirling with lyrics about what you deserve, the life you truly want, the type of man who could give it to you. The harmony sang by Santi, the backing whispered by his doubts. 

“Francisco…” 

The way you say his name undoes something.

Each syllable given a chance to stand on its own as it slips into the air with such ease, like an instrumental sound that hopes to compete with the music in his head. 

“You don’t love me?” 

He sighs, soft—barely discernible. “You know I do.” 

You snort, tinged in annoyance and pain different from the one in your hand and head. “Still believe I deserve better?” 

“No lo creo, lo sé.”

Something flickers, trips over your face. Akin to sorrow and disappointment—heartache. 

“Saying it in Spanish doesn’t lessen that you’re choosing for me, Morales.” 

He knows. 

Realises it’s unfair, cruel and an injustice. 

He wants nothing more than to choose you, to let you in. A carnal need rising almost to do so, born from continuous want and grown in worry. Images still present on the back of his lids with each blink, the way your voice had sounded on the phone, the way you’d looked at him when he arrived—the way your expression contorted when he dug the needle in. It all nicked him, tiny slices through him he’d bear for a while.

“…Frankie.” 

Silence.

He lets it bloom. 

Your veil is almost translucent as you stare, pecking at him, pushing him without touching or speaking. 

You’re too good, too kind—it is almost brutish that the world stuck an arrow in you with his name on it. 

“You really call Pope?” 

You swallow, telling him without speaking, before you shake your head. 

He snorts. Takes the words in, chews them—lets it dilute and inflate his heart as it thumps, and thumps. 

“I should have asked you to stay,” you murmur. 

He swallows. “I should have asked to stay.” 

It’s that reason alone why he takes off his cap, throws it on the counter before he turns to look at you. His mask gone, ridden. Yours falling, landing somewhere at your feet. 

Frankie pulls you to his lips, somewhat soft but more intentional. It’s needy, but reserved, awaiting you to melt into him so he knows he can slide the tip of his tongue across your bottom lip and earn himself a whimper. Begin healing the parts he’s self-inflicted by choosing avoidance over acceptance. 

But before he can do that, he wants to heal you. Kiss each edge of you that bore pain from his faux indifference and cold shoulder; each muscle that remained taut because of his excuse that now sounded weak, as the vinyl in his mind came to a stop, vanishing from the player as though it never existed. 

Because with you, like this—albeit without a swollen temple and a stitched palm—things make sense.

You make sense. 

Just like you always have. 

AN: some call it range going from joyous to angst, i call it ✨ sad girl jo

everyone say a huge thanks to @guyfieriii for once again letting me blurt pain at her, and she not only drinks it up, but urges me to make it hurt more. thank you for always collecting my tears and then handing me them back so i can sprinkle them over my work.

[blradley]

intro powerpoint for that one whacky passion project of mine -

Do you enjoy unreliable narrators with a distinctive voice?

Do you like characters who have done genuinely bad things, and now have to Work Through All That while consciously choosing to be better?

Do you like characters who have redemption arcs dangled in front of them, and instead choose to be worse?

Then jump aboard a flying whale and set sail into no man's sky with

Voxalion Ilsair: Grave of Gods!

Cursed by a relic of their long-dead gods, Vox and Mavrik are bound to each other, life to life. If one dies, so shall the other – which is a problem, as Vox wants to eradicate humanity, Mavrik included; and Mavrik wants nothing more than to kill Vox, the lightning elemental who slaughtered her family. Their only hope of breaking the curse lies in the gods' tomb, located on a legendary lost island that rises above the endless Eversea. Mavrik and Vox embark on an expedition, braving skywaymen and sapient storms, so they can be free of each other – and commence their overdue duel to the death. But Mavrik and Vox aren't the only ones seeking the grave of the gods. When they cross a cult intent on claiming the gods’ powers for themselves, Vox and Mavrik learn that they have far worse enemies than each other.

Genre: adult solarpunk fantasy Suitable age range: 15+ (no explicit content but some swearing, violence, and creepy monsters) Status: with my wonderful agent for edits!

Image Descriptions:

Powerpoint slide with a blue sky background. Text reads: “HUMANITY HAD FALLEN. Unfortunately, they got back up again.” The quote is attributed to: Voxalion Ilsair, being a prat, as per the uzshe

Dark blue sky background, title of Worldbuilding Be Upon Ye. Text reads: Okay so hear me out. What if the gods created an amazing utopia where technology and magic were intertwined and humans and zstragi (fey forces of nature) lived side by side But then something went wrong. Their world ripped itself apart and the mountains crumbled and the seas rose and some monstrous force came and wiped out all the gods?? What if an approximate ten thousand humans survived in nine flying cities, situated across the drowned globe? And what if they began rebuilding their civilization – clumsily, desperately, devastated by the loss of 99% of their population? What if they were living in hollowed-out solarpunk temples to the dead gods, surrounded bydangerous artifacts that they didn’t understand, desperately scrabbling for survival on a hostile planet? What if, gradually, the tales of their past became warped by myth and conflicted retelling? What if the humans and zstragi were at war? And had been for centuries? Because, in their relentless struggle of survival, they began to consume each other? What if there were whispers that a treasure trove of ancient knowledge had survived the Cataclysm, hidden deep in zstragi territory: the lawless, storm-ravaged chaos of No Man’s Sky? A meme-drawing of a stick figure holding their head and looking perturbed while covered in sweat, is tucked in one corner of the slide. The caption reads 'okay that's enough world building'

Turquoise sky background. Text reads: TL; DR: In a world where land is a long-lost legend… Where whale carcass blimps, fat with helium, swim through an endless lightning-lashed sky… Where flying cities are beset by sentient storms… …an unlikely group of heroes embarks on an epic journey…

Pale blue sky background with a flying whale. Text reading: That's right! It's Voxalion Ilsiar: Grave of Gods by B. L. Radley

Piccrew of Vox, a blue-green skinned hairless inhuman being with pointed ears, sharp teeth, three eyes, and facial tattoos. Introductory text reads: Voxalion Ilisair, they/them Your humble narrator, providing you with a 100% trustworthy recollection of events ❤️ zero bias here. none whatsoever❤️❤️ (okay so maybe they’re a zstragi terrorist who wants to annihilate humanity) (what a shame it would be if, over the course of the story, they begin to question everything they’ve been taught hahahaaha) Ridiculously OP lightning zstragi who was raised to be a mass-murder weapon. Then they got nerfed by a little girl Now that little girl is all grown up. The divine artifact that tore away Vox’s powers also bound them to her soul – meaning, if she dies, Vox dies. Dammit. Tinkerbell-sized, with attitude to match. N#1 fear: becoming human

Piccrew of Mavrik, a white tan-skinned woman with short fluffy pale blonde hair, blue eyes, and half her face torn off, with lightning scars radiating out from the hole in her cheek that shows off her molars. Text reads: Mavrik Skarr, she/her Vox’s worst enemy. Their foresworn foe. Their nefarious nemesis… Okay, so maybe Vox killed her family and tore her face and (quite literally) broke her heart, and Mavrik swore she would have revenge First though, she’s gotta undo this stupid curse As a stormhunter, Mav is employed to slay zstragi like Vox Grumpy and stoic, she struggles to emote. prefers grunting to talking, and fighting to grunting Has suffered from heart problems since The Curse. Uses Vox as a defibrillator/pacemaker. Basically an unsocialized feral kitten who has 0 clue how to interact with anyone she isn’t battling to the death Juggling her desire for friends against her natural awkwardness, her lack of experience with other humans, and that dark, ugly inclination towards violence that whispers away in the back of her mind… N#1 fear: becoming a monster

Secondary characters slide. First piccrew is of Oliaris, a Black man with a delicate, pretty face, wearing expensive jewellery. Text reads: Oliaris, he/him Nice friendly guy who never did anything wrong in his entire life (I lie. there are atrocities.) (he is coming to terms with the atrocities. But it’ll take a while… 😉) Delicate pretty city-boy who prefers the finer things in life, but is living the Chronic Pain LifeTM instead Super-smart ex-scientist. why ‘ex’? haha don’t worry about that Gets dragged into helping Vox and Mavrik break their curse – but has an agenda of his own… Second picture is of Atticus, a white man with red-brown hair and freckles, in a labcoat. Text reads: Atticus, he/him SPEAKING OF EXES AND ATROCITIES - Has a somewhat turbulent past with Oliaris (they fucked. they absolutely fucked. they 100%, totally fucked.) Now he’s Oliaris’ bitter rival, racing to beat him to the grave of the gods and the treasure trove of ancient knowledge stashed therein Shy, awkward people-pleaser who just wants everyone to like him 😔 Don’t ask about the bloodstains. just. don’t. 🙂

Tertiary characters. First piccrew is of Sylvestra, a Black woman with similiar features to Oliaris. Text reads: Sylvestra, she/her Oliaris’s sister: a professional storm-hunter employed by Atticus who detests her brother. For reasons. Tries to be cold-hearted and unfeeling. isn’t very good at it. Deep down, she just wants her family back :c Next piccrew shows an Asian individual with long black hair and a tattoo on their throat. Text reads: Jagura, they/them Captain of a skywayman ship that terrorizes the vessels of No Man’s Sky Impulsive and friendly, but ruthless. Will rob you while chatting like you’re besties Here for a good time, not a long time xoxo Piccrew 3: a bulky purple inhuman creature with long pointed ears and tattoos. Text reads: Renzou, he/him Jagura’s loyal first mate Will rob you while apologizing profusely Protective and kind Humans are friends, not food! Fourth piccrew: a white boy with pale hair and very blue eyes. Text reads: ??? [no name or pronouns] Once upon a time, a boy crawled into the mouth of a dead whale. What crawled out was changed forever…

stormy grey background to the slide. text reads: One shared goal: To pilot their whale blimp safely through no man’s sky and find the lost grave of gods Conflicting ambitions: To undo a curse. to regain lost power to kill an old enemy. to restore reputation. To seek priceless treasure. To save the world – wait, what?

Quotes page, set against a blue sky background. Quotes are: ‘Zstragi ate humans, sure. But humans devoured us with equal impunity: crushing our heart-stones, shredding our life-force to add power to their grid and keep their impossible cities aloft.’ ‘As occurred approximately two dozen times a day, Mav got that look on her face that meant she was contemplating tossing me into the oceans and letting fate run its course. As also occurred approximately two dozen times a day, she decided against it. Grudgingly.She and I were trapped together. For better or worse, in sickness or health, till death did we part…’ “I spy with my three glowing eyes…” “Shut up, Vox.” and ‘The distant slurry of Mavrik’s thoughts slid against my own, lumpy with old memories. Dead parents, dead families. Dead-dead-dead; burnt from the inside out, eyeballs popped like squashed flies and tongues crisped to charcoal— Time was said to heal all wounds, but it couldn’t erase their scar. I awkwardly cleared my throat.’

Themes page, with a picture of several angel statues. Text reads: The way ahead is fraught with danger. Secrets abound, old  grudges flare, and hungry storms gather on the horizon… Themes: Humanity. What does it mean, to be human? Are some cruelties so great that the offender should never be redeemed? Equality. At what point do we decide that one life is worth more than another? Why? Family. How do you know when a bond is broken beyond repair?

Dark blue sky background, with text reading: What else have we got? #macguffins #unreliable narrator #enemies to…? #lovers to rivals #copious footnotes #corruption arcs #redemption arcs #multiple queer and disabled characters! #body horror #unique cultures #flying whales #solarpunk aesthetic #in-depth, innovative world building. A stick-figure meme sits in one corner, showing a character grabbing another person's shoulders and digging their nails in to hit blood, their face a grimace of pain. The text beneath reads: 'so much more world building'

[shinjisdone]

To Soften a Warrior’s Heart (Vinland Saga; Thorfinn; Part 9)

In which you have joined Askeladd’s band…and grow closer to the Son of Thors. Though it is more difficult than anyone can could ever imagine…

[Headcanons of how it would be like to meet and crawl your way into Thorfinn’s heart (based on season 1; both platonic and romantic)]

Part 1 is here - meeting Thorfinn at the age of 14 and how he is at that age

Part 2 is here - meeting Thorfinn at the age of 16/17 + headcanons of growing closer (slightly following s1 story)

Part 3 is here - blooming friendship with Thorfinn (slightly following s1 story)

Part 4 is here - Thorfinn unwittingly opening his heart as he realizes he does not want you to die

Part 5.1 is here - sweet things Thorfinn would do for you (headcanons)

Part 5.2 is here - other sweet things Thorfinn would do for you (headcanons)

Part 6 is here - meeting Canute and becoming his guard - Thorfinn accepts your relationship and bond

Part 7 is here - Canute grieving over Ragnar and Thorkell catching up; Thorfinn leaves you alone for revenge

Part 8 is here - Thorfinn wins against Thorkell; Questioning your bond with Thorfinn

Part 10 is here - Thorfinn and you bound by heart; Promises of Vinland broken and abandoned

Tag list:

@luopenis , @jinsecho , @mitsureigen , @theknightssecrets

Mentions of murder, death, war, slave trade, harrasment against women and whatever awful things happened in the viking era. Only mentioned and used as examples. Mostly gender-neutral examples but female-leaning ones are there, too.]

[This part will specifically mention: Slave woman purchased just to be killed, meeting with Leif, Thorfinn not giving a sht about Leif :( , and you are like??? bro that is LOVE, he loves you!!!!, THORFINN U IDIOT, Askeladd and Thorfinn dueling, Askeladd snapping, lots of plot-driven dialouge, Askeladd spittin facts, lost Thorfinn]

No, I Don't Want It, I Don't Want It, I Don't Want It...

No more was this a viking band - the majority has been killed by their own leader.

This was now the newest vessel of the youngest prince of Denmark. Leading of what remained of the men with Askeladd being his right-hand man.

Sailing along with all the tricks in the book that he had, all of which he had learned in his life felt like it was meant for a moment like this, for a future king like Canute.

And you had no choice but to go along with it if you wanted to keep on living.

Askeladd seemed more alive than ever. Youthful even as he grinned and spoke and chatted with Thorkell and Canute as if he had been waiting all his life for an opportunity like this. You and Thorfinn had never seen him this upbeat before, unless he was with Björn.

The man in question was still on a mat, resting though.

So in his usual fashion, the older man confidently stood on the boat with his typical shit-eating grin while crossing his arms. He spoke with carefreeness to the prince as they neared a dock in York. Left and right a crowd congegrated at the incoming ship, whispering among themselves on the return of prince Canute.

Yet as loud as their curioustiy was, deadly silent was the arrow that pierced the vulnerable chest almost precisely.

A thud ensued and a scream from your direction caused a commotion from the docks. The ship hurried to land and brought the wounded royal quickly to aid. While few ran over to him, another hurried away from the scene.

Clothes were ripped apart as someone abruptly stopped from taking out the arrow. The weapon was deep but what truly caused many to gasp and back away, was Canute himself approaching the dying woman.

You watched with a glare of anger (or perhaps pity? Indifference? Shock? Disgust?) as Askeladd casually trailed after Canute while letting out the obvious elephant in the room that someone apparently wanted him killed.

The leader made sure to purchase a slave with a form and stature similiar to the prince to act as bait. He ordered you to cause a commotion on land to have the culprit panic and escape from the scene - and then have Thorfinn silently get rid off him. To show the assasins that Askeladd is well aware of their presence and capable of taking them all out.

He has his tools for it, after all.

"Play the dumb but genuine witness," He grinned as he pointed at you before shooing you and Thorfinn out of his sight. Do your part and you'd all safely arrive at York. For now.

The perpetrator was cut down and the commotion that was supposed to bring the attention on the dying woman unfortunately was also brought to Thorfinn.

Still with his arm in a sling, he found himself surrounded by a few guards who also shadowed the culprit but put the blame on the young blonde instead. You hurried to him but even so, your own acting wasn't really able to save him.

"As if!" One pointed out, "You're just a kid, just like him! Obviously you two are in this together so you are trying to save his skin!"

"I told you, it wasn't me. It was him, he had the corssbow in hand."

Still, the guards were not relenting, drawing their swords at the two of you. Behind them was a much smaller man who called out, though his voice was way too meek compared to the spitting insults of the guards.

One insult too many and one step too close to you, and Thorfinn took one out with a single biff. As intimidating as the men seemed, they quickly turned tail and ran off at the sight of his two daggers.

"Thorfinn Karlsefni!"

The young lad who took Thorkell down with just two knifes - gossip turned real at the sight of the beaten blonde.

The scene clearing out so fast left you a bit relieved - perhaps speechless even. Would tension like this cease so quickly in the future too, whenever the name 'Karlsefni' was uttered?

Still, one stayed - the little man in the corner you had noticed. His green tunic was well kept for someone his age, short with half of his light hair already gone on his head. With his moustache spikey but kept short as well as his shining but wide eyes, you doubted this old geezer could pose as a threat.

"...Thorfinn...?" He muttered in a horse voice, "Thorfinn...Son of Thors? Are you the son of Thors?" With each word, he gingerly approached. You watched as Thorfinn merely rose a brow before his own eyes widened.

"...Uncle Leif?"

You watched with bated breath.

The hand on your weapon had long ceased shaking and resting upon it yet still; It was balled into a fist at your side.

Your eyes darted between the two men and their exchange of the past. With your back to the wall behind you and Thorfinn resting on the edge of the dock as this 'Leif' never seemed to stop talking about Thors.

About Iceland.

About family. An 'Helga' and an 'Ylva'.

"That does not concern me." Thorfinn uttered as he got up and adjusted his arm sling, "I am asking you about Vinland. Father wanted to go there and I want to know if you did anything about it."

"But Thorfinn," Leif stepped closer, his arms open as his eyes threatened to tear up again, "You don't need to be here. You want your revenge but what about your mother? She's been getting worse and worse ever since you got taken from us. Ylva has been worried sick as well, you could go back and see them. I'm sure Helga will feel better-!"

"I said that doesn't concern me!"

Swiftly the blonde spun back with dagger in his good hand. His face had quickly contorted into sheer rage once again. "I'm here to take my revenge! Nothing else!"

Seeming to lose air, Leif sobbed as his voice shook. "It's been enough! We've lost you since you were six, Thorfinn, six! You have been in this hell long enough, we can go back home! Go back to Iceland!"

You could feel it. Feel the familiar ire ooze out of Thorfinn. A hatred unrivaled and unequalled in a way you have never seen nor felt in your young years.

"Enough?" His tone was akin to a growl, like a switch.

"It will never be enough! Have you not seen it, how Father died?! As long as this damn bastard is eating, breathing and shitting, it'll never be enough! You hear me?!"

He tried to take a deep breath and in the next moment, grasped your hand and marched back to the boat with you in tow. His grip was tight enough to hurt you. Yet that was the least of your concerns.

Looking back, you could see the man tear up.

"I'll stay...I'll stay right here until you change your mind!"

Never have you heard of such absurdity before.

"I won't give you up, Thorfinn!"

A man from the past - a mere, old, harmless merchant - insisting on bringing someone back home, someone like Thorfinn. To have looked and searched for him. Embracing him tight like a son and weeping at the sight of him. Alive and safe.

"Let's go back home! Please!"

Such bravery, such determination for someone like Thorfinn. That is love, is it not?

You'd certainly feel loved if someone like that was searching for you.

"Let's go back to Iceland!"

I Don't Want It But I Know No One's There...

The day is quick to be over and morning approaches yet again.

Today at noon is the meeting with the king and all his investors and allies. Askeladd insisted on being there as well but you couldn't care enough about the details of high and mighty masteries.

About spying, about rumors, about hired assassins and slaves only to get rid of them...

You would love to say that Thorfinn shares your sentiment and he does but still approves on playing a puppet while you stay rigid and firm on the stage. Not moving.

You simply had watched. Watched as bands fought over a prince, watched as he tamed them like beasts, watched along as the band was reduced to mere three people that serve a royal now. Watched as Thorfinn continued to play along and along and along...

He was as focused as ever today. Today he insisted on getting his duel and revenge.

You sat still and watched. Perhaps a part of you adjusted his arm sling yet again. Out of kindness, out of pity, out of fear, anger, exhaustion...

You just didn't want him to die.

Gods, would it be awful. Would it be foolish if he were to die now.

Though it was noon, the sky was dark. Clouds forebode a storm or blizzard and Askeladd complained about the awful timing. How it had to be so close to the meeting...that two stubborn idiots insisted on dueling him now.

You went up the hill, next to Canute and Thorkell. Both of them said nothing as you invited yourself to their company.

Thorkell, who almost crushed you. Your shorter, younger body that of an insect compared to him, as well as in his eyes.

Canute, who was too bashful to glance at you. Someone who grieved and cried while clinging on your sleeve now seemed like a different, stronger person than you.

And the second dour fool...Björn crawled up the snowy path with nothing but a sword and his wound. He needed to go first and Thorfinn seemed to grant him that wish, watching from the sidelines.

Though the duel was quickly over. So fast and one-sided that it could barely be called a match, let alone a battle. Even as Askeladd held a sliver of shine and love in his eyes as Björn died in his arms, as he confessed his wish and reciprocated it with his own...as he gave him the final but merciful blow to send him to Valhalla...none could find it in their hearts to really feel anything for the old man anymore.

"...Awfully sorry to have kept you waiting, lad." He threw the blood off his sword with a clean swing after he covered the body.

While walking over to Thorfinn almost like in a trance, your eyes never left the snow sullied in blood nor the body growing ever so cold or the sword in Askeladd's hand.

"I shall be witness to this duel and as the prince here, I shall also be the one to decide when it ends." Canute spoke in a loud tone, it was hard to believe he only used to mumble. You didn't look back but felt thankful that he went out of his way to ensure Thorfinn's safety.

Even if that meant not satisfying him and his lust for vengeance.

And here you were in front of Thorfinn, yet again tugging and adjusting his arm sling - which he had also wrapped his dagger around, refusing to have it any other way while dueling the older man - to make sure it stayed put and firm. Firm enough to not have the weapon fall out of its grip and to not have the stubborn fool injure his arm more than needed.

He watched silently, his glare the moment he laid eyes on Askeladd today not yielding. Not softening at the sight of you as they ususally do.

Wordlessly you tug and tie and press the dagger deeper into the grip. Though your work is done, and even needless to an extent, your cold hands stayed on the sling. Cold, bare hands red from the chilling winter day. Hands that have seen and caused chaos gingerly carressed the sling and bandages alongside the blade. Your eyes never left it and neither did Thorfinn's.

No one commented a thing. All waited patiently for both men to begin.

Slowly, ever so slowly and reluctantly, your hands glided down his sling and swung back to your sides. Finally, you looked back at him and stared into his hardened eyes with your softened ones.

"...Don't die. Please..." Was all you could muster after an enduring silence. Thorfinn only left you there as he went up to Askeladd.

The sword is thrown into the snow.

Daggers in both hands, one broken.

Still, as he stood there, ready and unarmed with his neck so delicate and vulnerable, Thorfinn got pummeled nicely; One fist after another as he was headbutted, kicked, uppercutted, held by his hair and biffed until his face was red, blue and black. It was hard to watch.

Thorkell and Canute chatted about bets and strength. The giant of a man teasing you even for probably being the type to bet it all on your loyal friend and buddy Thorfinn even as he is getting the daylights beaten out of him. You refused to talk to him.

You never uttered a word during the duel nor to the other two, yet Canute could easily tell how tense you were with each punch Askeladd threw at Thorfinn. You were just watching with bated breath and a racing heart.

Even though this one-sided brawl was easily, so, so easily in Askeladd's favor, the leader grew more and more frustrated with each swing.

A fool. An idiot. Stubborn and small-minded, braying like a blind animal and lashing out in the most childish way he has ever seen. A real warrior.

How he wished he'd just get into his thick skull, use a bit of his brain! Just a damn bit for once, that complete moron!

Yet as he kicked him for one last time, having the young man fall head-first into the snow, knocked out cold, he rose his sword over his head, only to quickly raise his other arm the moment he heard stomping through the snow.

Canute had called out to you as you rushed towards the man with your own blade - cutting into his hand as he stopped the weapon from piercing through his chest.

Your glare was as dark as thunder and so akin to Thorfinn's. It made him laugh and just as frustrated.

"Calm down now. I didn't even harm a hair on his head." Askeladd gestured to tip of his sword dug into the snow, right next to Thorfinn's head. Swiftly, the man grabbed your own blade, pushing you away with a shove and shaking the blood off his palm. He eyed you with a matching scowl. "Don't get worked up over an fool like him. He'd just cause you trouble."

You paid no attention to his words. Throwing your weapon aside, you were fast as a storm, kneeling by Thorfinn's side and turning him around, holding him in your arms.

"Thorfinn! Thorfinn!" As you attempted to waken him, Canute followed close behind you, yelling out that the duel was over. Askeladd did not reply but instead, took a seat on a few bricks of an abandonded bridge. With a scoff he watched the young blonde regain conciousness but even as he awoke in your arms, the simpleton just jumped to his feet despite his injuries and whipped his head around in search for his prey.

Even as Canute explained the outcome and even as your hands and arms supported him like a mother, as Thorfinn looked dumbfounded at your hurt gaze at the sight of his blue, bloodied and pummeled face...he was still looking for Askeladd.

His blue eyes watched as you tried to wipe the blood off his nose, at the mere graze of your touch had the young viking jump in pain. It must hurt so much to see him make a fool of himself time and time again. Nevertheless, he keeps on crawling back to Askeladd and it sickened him.

For the first time in a long while, Askeladd called out your name in a calm and placid manner.

"Don't waste your enegry on an moron like him. He keeps on getting these injuries because of his own stupidity...you're better off without him."

At that Thorfinn let out an offended groan - Askeladd gestured to his outburst with an unimpressed sneer. "As I said. The idiot brays, then takes out his weapons and thinks himself the hunter as he charges head on while going for my neck. He thinks he's already won...by just roaring out a little victory chant and throwing himself into battle, just like all these self-proclaimed warriors do. They've all lost sight of the nice things in battling."

"Björn was right...I hate all warriors like that. Bastards that take, rampage, pillage, kill and then rob an entire culture of all that they had. Especially those Nordics...those vikings." Taking a deep breath, he called out calmly once again. "Laddie. Let me tell you...how to really murder an abhorrent bastard."

Don't Let Me Go, I Have Nothing Left To Lose...

His eyes never left him. Nor you.

The tale was as old as time for him, funny even in a way. A past that shaped him and all his actions he has done and will ever do but simply reciting it all brought a few chuckles out of him from the memories. The treatment. His mother and her belief of an returning king. The never-ending mountains of ash. The fools of half-brothers he used to have. All the wealth from the murder. The soft 'Why?' as his father met his end.

He didn't even think he'd remember that much!

But it all did happen...he remembered the respect he earned and how he dug her grave in Wales. It is all still there, he hoped.

The kid knew how to kill him now...he wondered if he would actually suceed after hearing his advice.

"So you know now, Thorfinn if you listened to me of course. I've managed to kill my most hated enemy within two years and still here I stand about ten later. Use your wits for next time, you damn numbskull." The man had long stood up and marched over to Björn's cold body. He threw one brief glance over his shoulder to Thorfinn - who was simply fuming in his own blood.

"Shut it!" He got up as briskly as he could from your arms, "Shut up, bastard! I'll, I'll kill you! Until my final breath, I'll rip out your heart! I will definitely-!"

Another clang. The sword hit the snow, it's tip dug deep within the earth. With more fiersome intent than him feigning the final blow on Thorfinn. If you were not mistaken, you reckoned to hear the metal crack.

"Damn it all. You're really pissin' me off."

In an attempt to control his anger, Askeladd balled his shaking hand as he scowled like a wounded beast at Thorfinn. The latter was startled, you noted.

"...You talk about killing and killing and killing. Yet you haven't achieved a single thing. Look at you, lad. You're covered in blood, snot and saliva, it's disgusting. You had so many, so many chances to kill and gut me yet you never used your damn brain for any of them! Look at you!"

With a sudden shout he pointed at him. You and Canute could not help but jump in fright. "You're quick, you're strong, you're talented! I can't deny that...and still you insist on going off on your emotions and losing each little duel you so wholeheartedly persist on! Keeping on losing your cool and brainlessly charging forward. You had so many chances, Thorfinn, and you had equally as much chances to get killed for your brainless behaviour if it weren't for them!" His digit went to point at you. Your breath got caught in your throat.

"If it weren't for the only damn friend you got in this messed up world, you'd be long dead! You owe them more than I owe you! And still...they're gonna end up being the death of you, too."

With a sharp gasp, Thorfinn once again swung his dagger at him. However, he struggled to catch his breath. "Don't bring them into this! This, this is between you and me! It always has been!"

"Don't be laughable, boy!" Askeladd bellowed at him, "It always has been until they arrived! Little dog that you are, you clung onto their hip since then and today as well! Your little attachment will get you killed, fool!"

Oh, how long Askeladd had waited to say that straight to his face! Thorfinn's attachment to you will end up killing him! And what good does that bring when a corpse can't avenge his father?

You watch with a darting, wide gaze between the men. Thorfinn kept denying it, throwing his tantrum with the same threats as before - the same threats he has been spitting his way since he was six years old - only for Askeladd to point out every. Single. Thing. He has ever done for you, sacrificed for you and only you. For your survival. For your honor. Everything. He can't fool him, boy.

"It all started with your absurd, small 'trades'. Yes, I've seen it as you threw them that bunny as amends. I've noticed you bringing in the horses, fix your gear together, having each other's back on the battlefield as you barely even acknowledged our existence. You think I haven't been paying attenton aside from our duels?"

He saw it in the early dawn of spring when you hunt and Thorfinn shared his prey with you. He witnessed it in the deadly cold night of winter when you are huddled and cuddled close together. He saw it when Thorfinn's dear dagger is in your hands as if it was nothing and the lad doesn't see anything wrong with it. Damn it, he sees it in his smile! He smiles when near you, at you and is brought only by you!

Boy, you are laughable!

"And when I told you to go fetch His Highness from Thorkell's men in an exchange for a chance to kill me, you just had to turn around and save their skin. You are as predictable as I thought, Thorfinn." Askeladd couldn't help but snicker, "I've given you so many chances and you all threw them away the moment your little friend just seemed to be in danger. You can't even focus on your goal, idiot, you kept on prioritizing a life that won't help you achieve it. Maybe if they'd never joined, you would have long gotten your revenge."

Askeladd calmed down enough to grin and jest, "But no," He feigned disappointment and shook his head, "You still refuse to have a bit of your wits about you. When I threaten your friend's life, you throw yourself in front of them. When I tell you to fight Thorkell the Tall, you do so only to be the one to chop off my head. And now...you are here. And so am I. Really, you've helped me along the way, Thorfinn...you've been an useful tool."

The young viking stepped back with a choked breath and a gut-wreching hole in his stomach that seemed to take his heavy heart.

"You're like a dog chasing after food. I should be thankful to Thors."

Everything seemed grow hazy around. The cold, the figures talking away, the ground underneath him. The air seemed more piercing with every breath he so depserately struggled to fill his lungs with, fill it to live but that seemed like a task too great for him. Pain shot through his broken arm and his legs gave out as the snow softened his fall. Everything dislimned before him as if all this never happened at all.

You caught him before he could fall into the snow and suffocate. His body freezing and heavy against you. The second dagger slipped out of his hand.

[chaosmax]

This is some soap opera-level lack of communication snnsn

[fizzyginfizz]

Not Flirting At All

Happy Birthday @ginnyw-potter !!!!! Here's some fluff for your Fluff O'Clock Challenge!

He’d tell himself later it wasn’t flirting.

She had a boyfriend.

His mate Dean.

Wanker.

He’d tell himself he was just distracting his overworked, exhausted teammate during her OWL year.

She had circles under her eyes.

His best friend’s sister.

“Alright,” Harry said, reaching over and taking Ginny’s spare quill out from behind her ear. He didn’t mean to, but his finger brushed against the strand of hair that had escaped the twist in the back.

His hand flexed. He would think about how silky it had felt later. Trying to salvage the moment, he lifted a piece of her parchment from in front of her and dipped his quill into her ink. “Fair warning, I’m not as good at this as you.”

“Good at what? What are you talking about?”

“Poetry,” he scoffed. “What did you think I meant?”

“Uh, well, so many things to choose from,” Ginny mused, happily putting aside her work in favor of her preferred activity, verbal one-upmanship with a side of snark. “Quidditch, baking, pranking, hexing.”

“I’m good at hexing.”

“You’re good at dueling,” Ginny grinned. “There’s a difference.”

“Alright, game on.” He returned her grin, before snapping back to his game face. “I am going to prove I’m a better poet than you.”

A burst of a laugh escaped Ginny’s throat, husky and strong. “Not too difficult. I don’t think anyone would have called any nonsense I pen ‘good.’”

Her laugh made him want to grin again, but OWL-distracting banter was on the menu, so he shrugged instead. “Please. Stop fishing for compliments.”

“I wasn’t!”

“Oh, yes you were. As if anyone could deny the brilliance of getting their eyes compared to fresh pickled toads.”

Ginny sighed and stared up at the ceiling. “You remembered.”

“Of course I remember,” he replied, eyes still on paper. Then, he frowned, stared at her a moment, and began to write. “Her hair flames as bright as a fire crab’s bum-“

Ginny giggled and Harry’s gaze shot up from his parchment at the rare sound. Ginny Weasley laughed, Ginny Weasley chuckled, Ginny Weasley threw back her head in unabashed joy. He didn’t know whether he had ever heard her giggle.

He wanted to hear it again. “Or, should it be arse, instead of bum? ‘Her hair flames as bright as a fire crab’s arse’?”

“Are you asking me the connotative differences between arse and bum?”

“Well,” Harry shrugged. “It’s my first poem. Bum sounds like something you sit on, but arse somehow sounds flamier.”

“Also bigger, though.” She giggled again, and Harry felt like he’d won the Quidditch cup.

“Hmmm… hadn’t thought about that. You’re right. Her hair flames as bright as a fire crab’s bum.”

She leaned over to watch the words on his parchment. Her freckled nose all crinkled up in the most adorable way, her brown eyes were… the words came out of his mouth while his quill hovered over the page. “Her eyes are like melted milk chocolate.”

“Oh no,” Ginny shook her head in mock sadness. “I think you may have rhymed yourself into a corner there.”

“Oh ye of little faith.”

“Alright,” she sighed. “If you insist. I do appreciate you not picking something like mud or poo.”

“Well, I think toilet humor is overrated and there’s already something about an arse in here.”

“Bum.”

“Whatever.” He grinned at her. “You going to keep distracting me, or do you want me to finish?”

“Oh,” Ginny sat back with a relaxed smile, crossing her arms. “Sorry to interrupt your art. Do continue.”

Harry had a sudden vision, Ginny Weasley, pajamas. Mugs of steaming morning tea. Slow, “glad you’re awake” kisses.

What did she taste…

Realizing he was staring at her lips, he ripped his gaze away from her mouth. Do not write about her lips.

How soft they looked. How they had a peachy-pink rightness to them that other girls didn’t have.

Focus on something else. Something not sexy.

Except everything about her was sexy.

Except her boyfriend, he reminded himself.

She had a boyfriend.

His mate Dean.

Wanker.

His pen started scratching on the parchment furiously. “She can hurl gnomes, and write silly poems- “

“Silly?” Ginny sat up, offended.

“Did I say ‘silly’?” Harry dipped his quill back in the ink. “I meant ‘brilliant’. She can hurl gnomes, and write brilliant poems-��

“That’s much better,” she grinned. “But now you’re face-to-face with your chocolate rhyme.”

“I can do it,” he narrowed his eyes at her, competitive spirit rising.

“Sure you can,” she said, with a sarcastic eyeroll.

“Chocolate, chocolate,” he muttered, tapping his quill on the parchment. “Chocolate, gnomes, poems-“

“You’re cracking under the pressure.”

“Am not.”

“You’re crumbling.”

“From her friend, who she likes to mock a lot.”

Ginny blinked. “You’re rhyming chocolate with mock a lot?”

“It sort of rhymes.”

“No it doesn’t!” She laughed. “It doesn’t at all.”

“It does if you sort of, y’know, mush your mouth on chocolate, like you’re French, or something.” He made a funny pinching move towards his mouth and was rewarded with another ring of her laughter. “Make that oh really an ‘ooooohhhhhh.’ Choc-o-loooooot.”

“That’s reaching, Harry.”

“Well,” he shrugged, folding up the parchment. “If you don’t want it…”

“No!!!” She sprang up, reached across the table, and snatched the parchment out of his hand. “I want it! I definitely want it.”

She unfolded the parchment and stared at it a moment, her smile softening to something Harry thought was achingly beautiful. Then, she held the parchment to her chest, and grinned at him over the top of it. “Thank you. All my childhood wounds are now healed,” she said with mock self-deprecation.

“My pleasure,” Harry said softly, wishing she had more dragons for him to slay.

OWL-shaped, or otherwise.