#bottom is him first learning shadow magic

[berrryparfait]

amortentia ! ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

‪‪‬♥︎ featuring: slytherin! sylus x hufflepuff! fem!reader | prompt

— ༉‧₊ᐟ premise: oh, how marvelous your school days were—going to class, brewing potions, befriending magical creatures... and getting tormented by that awful (and infuriatingly handsome) slytherin boy! 「you never forget your first love...」

— ༉‧₊ᐟ tags/cws: hogwarts au, some angst, brief depictions of bullying, enemies-to-lovers, first love, character development, implied hea

— ༉‧₊ᐟ word count: 9k

— ♫₊ᐟ soundtrack: harry in winter, neville's waltz, potter waltz (from harry potter and the goblet of fire)

✧ a/n: just a cliche little fic for yall. combining two things i love from the bottom of my heart and turning it into a story of life and first love... i leave this in your hands now, so i hope you love it as much as i do. i’ve included a number of references and easter eggs in this fic—click here for bts! <3

You’ll never forget those glorious days of your youth—Hogwarts really is and will always be your home. The wonderful friends you made, the lifelong lessons you learned, all of it can be traced back to that school, that magical place.

Ah, but you mustn't skip over that part; the story of your very first love. How an arrogant, horrible young boy turned out to be your greatest, most everlasting love. Your only true love.

It all began in third year, the year you discovered your witch-hood and transferred from muggle school. Little did you know, at the time, that a particular white-haired boy from Slytherin house was about to uproot your life…

...

You’ve just been placed in Hufflepuff. The house of the kind, they said. To be completely honest, you’re...excited about your first day of school. You’ve always been an introvert, but there’ll be other introverts around—from each and every house, surely. You won’t have to worry about bumping into boisterous Gryffindors or snobbish Ravenclaws, or even those especially awful Slytherins you’ve heard tales about.

Clutching your textbooks, you round the corner and stop short. Just your luck. A small boy in Hufflepuff robes dangles in midair in front of you, his face streaked with tears. A first-year, perhaps? Cackling in the corner are a group of Slytherin boys who look like they’re having the time of their lives, clutching their bellies as if this is the best thing that’s happened to them all year. You can’t believe it— Such an evil act in broad daylight is...is abhorrent!

Bracing yourself, you take a deep breath and shout, “Put him down at once!” The bullies turn to stare at you, the smiles on their face vanishing for a brief second before returning in full force. Your cheeks flush and you try your best to stop your knees from shaking.

One of the boys recovers from his fit and begins to approach you, a sardonic grin twisting his lips. He’s the tallest of the bunch, with a head of pale white hair that seems to glisten in the sunlight. His eyes are a deep, crimson red, piercing and intense. “Is there a problem?” he drawls, a hidden edge to his otherwise snarky exterior.

“Put him down, now. I won’t ask again.” Though your chin trembles and your hands have gone numb, you stand your ground, refusing to avert your gaze.

His jaw ticks, annoyance written all over his face. “I’m going to remember you, Hufflepuff,” he sneers as he stalks past you and down the neighboring corridor, his shoulder brushing yours as he passes. The boy is abruptly released from the invisible force as the other Slytherins follow their leader into the shadows.

In a moment of shocking clarity, you feel those red eyes glance back at you as you flee the other way.

What a horrible boy, going around scaring people like that! You exhale in relief when they disappear, counting your lucky stars. Still, something tells you this is only the beginning of a terrible—and likely very irritating—string of encounters…

As a result of your rash righteousness, you spent the rest of the year avoiding him—and failing miserably. He seemed to trail you everywhere you went, finding new ways to torment you each week. Every few days or so, he’d either pull a stupid prank on you in front of a million (utterly useless) students or spread some nasty rumor about you that thankfully wasn’t likely to gain much traction.

Most teenagers grew tired of watching the same show over and over again, and soon enough this rivalry of yours became a personal thing. Of course, there was the added effect of him having significantly more friends than you, but that didn’t mean you were unable to defend yourself when it mattered…

…

Why hasn’t anyone been working to find a cure for werewolfism if it’s that deadly? Where’s the urgency—the compassion for those poor werewolves?! You frown at the textbook in front of you, the lack of justice for werewolves muddling your mind.

Something is crawling up the side of your face. “AHH—!” you shriek, swatting the hairy spider away from you. Your vision blurs as your heart pounds so fast you think you might collapse on the spot. You’ve always been deathly afraid of spiders; a fear you’d acquired back when you’d been left on a stranger’s doorstep with nothing but gangly arachnids to keep you company.

“Is something the matter, Miss <y/n>?” The professor appears unamused as he squints at you, mild confusion in his tone.

Pulse stammering, you look down at the floor where the spider should have been...and find nothing. “T-There was a spider, r-right there—” you stammer, a bad, sinking feeling settling deep in your stomach.

You swivel around at the sound of a group of boys giggling uncontrollably, the mirth in their eyes cruel. “There was a spider, she said! Well, where is it? Tell us now so we can kill it!” the purple-haired Rafayel whistles, before proceeding to imitate your piercing scream. The entire class erupts in laughter, and hot tears threaten to spill down your cheeks.

Sitting next to him is his best friend Sylus, a look of pure, spiteful satisfaction on his face. An illusion charm. A blinding rage consumes you, pumping through your veins like lava as you rise, your seat toppling over behind you. The professor can’t stop you. Your deskmate can’t convince you to sit back down. In this moment, you’re invincible. You storm toward the smirking rat so fast that the students you pass flinch away from you like a sea of startled turtles.

Time freezes as you deliver the hardest, most powerful punch you’d ever thought possible, your knuckles bruising from the impact. He’s nearly flung out of his seat, the shock in his eyes tangible. That stupid grin wiped off his perfect face. “What the—”

Your voice, surprisingly steady, cuts him off. “Don’t you ever bother me again. You hear me?! I swear on your bloodline that you will regret it. Leave. Me. Alone.” His friends have gone silent, their mouths hanging agape. The professor is too stunned to speak.

Sylus simply stares at you, a glaring red mark blooming on his cheekbone. His gaze never leaves yours, half-dumbfounded and half-…something else. You sashay out of the classroom, fully aware that your very condemning display just cost Hufflepuff ten points—possibly more. But you couldn’t care less. Today, you stood up for yourself, and it felt amazing.

What felt more amazing, however, was the way his scarlet eyes followed you all the way out the door.

…

On the very last day of school that year, right before summer break, Sylus came up to you in the Great Hall. He was alone, a rare sight considering (you believed, at least) he had an odd fear of being seen by himself.

He sauntered over with ease, a lazy grin playing on his lips. And though you hated to admit it, he truly was gorgeous. All sharp edges and hard lines. Yet there was a boyish sort of charm to him—one he would soon outgrow and trade for a more masculine allure, as you’d come to discover in the years ahead.

You drop your eyes to his hand in his pocket, not wanting to cause a scene on your last day. “What do you want, Sylus…” Exasperation saturates your words.

He appears almost wounded. “Do I have to want something to come and talk to you?”

“Stop playing around. You won’t be seeing me for the next couple months, alright? That’s what you want, isn’t it? Since you seem to dislike me or something…” You gather your books and begin to walk away from him.

“Dislike you? Whoever said that?” He’s as unbothered as ever, sharp canines visible from behind that lopsided smile of his. God, he’s annoying. Why does he have to look like that?

“You’ve spent the past year making my life a living hell!” Sure, life in the castle wouldn’t have been half as interesting without him testing your patience every other day, but you aren’t children anymore.

“Please. Even you have to admit that trick with the spider was a new level of genius, even for me.” Smooth as honey, evil as sin. It isn’t unbelievable in the slightest that he comes from one of the wealthiest pure-blood families in the country.

You huff at his ignorance. A part of you wants him to know just how sore of a spot he’d touched that day. Would it diminish your power act? Maybe. But you want him to feel guilty for what he did. To hurt, if only a little. “I don’t do well with spiders. My parents left me on a stranger’s doorstep when I was a child. It was riddled with them. I’ve been terrified of the creatures ever since.” You say it with confidence, as if it doesn’t bother you in the slightest. What if it doesn’t anymore? Distantly, a part of you wonders if you’re baring your vulnerabilities to him in an act of stupidity. But you’ve also made peace with the fact that this boy’s opinion matters less to you than that of an ant’s.

His lips part ever so slightly at your revelation, and he hesitates. What a foreign display, Sylus hesitating. “I apologize. I was unaware.” He only sounds partially apologetic. Forty percent, at best. But you don’t have time for his antics right now. He can miss the train, for all you care—you’re getting on that carriage if it’s the last damn thing you do.

“Okay. Bye.” You scurry past him as that tiny smirk returns to his face, so quickly it’s as if it had been begging to be set free.

“Don’t miss me too much, Hufflepuff,” he calls from behind you, a lightheartedness in his tone that has you questioning things.

Naturally, you roll your eyes instead of dealing with those things, and your third year ends there; with you running to board the Hogwarts Express, and Sylus left watching you leave, just as he had a million times before.

Your fourth year was as irritating as you’d expected. However much Sylus had bothered you the year before couldn’t compare to the endless teasing and dreadful clinging you had to deal with this time—for instead of pulling pranks on you, he’d started to talk to you.

He trailed you in hallways and whispered to you in classrooms, asking you stupid questions like, “Do you think I should start charging a fee every time I catch you staring at me?” and “I believe there’s a ball of lint somewhere on my robe. Care to remove it for me?”

God, he was a pesky one. Your interactions with him lacked hostility, but were somehow more difficult to deal with. How on earth were you supposed to respond to those questions? What is he trying to achieve here? It all puzzled you to no end. You tried your best to ignore him, but he was like a bad omen stuck to your clothes—permanent and a pain in your ass.

It goes without saying that he wasn’t above making fun of you from time to time. Him and his Slytherin buddies loved a good joke, but it was…different, that year. While his goal last semester had been to humiliate you, now it seemed he was merely after a reaction—any kind at all.

You’ll always remember that small corner of the library; books piled high on your desk, tears streaming down your face, and that insolent white-haired boy finding you at the worst possible time…

…

Again. You failed your Transfiguration test again. You just can’t seem to get it right! How embarrassing to be sitting here bawling my eyes out while all the other students are feasting away on their stupid treacle tarts and cauldron cakes and—

Someone’s coming towards you. You wipe your eyes on your sleeves and hastily sit up in your chair, suddenly acutely aware of how much of a mess you are right now.

Inquisitive red eyes meet yours. “Oh. It’s you,” you say between sniffles, the repulsion in your voice clear as day.

He grabs the chair beside you, spins it around, and plops down, resting his arms across the back like he owns the place. Your tears don’t seem to faze him, nor do they earn you any form of tact. “Looks like Hufflepuff here is missing out on the festivities. Displeased to see me, Myrtle?”

You know he meant it jokingly, but it stings more than it should. Do I really look like Moaning Myrtle right now? “Do I really look like Moaning Myrtle right now?”

He chokes out a laugh before reeling it in, pretending to be mindful of your current state. “A little. What’s wrong? Run-in with a spider, perchance?”

“Not funny, Sylus. I failed Transfiguration, okay? Now leave me alone… I don’t need to hear your weak attempts at rubbing it in…” You don’t know why you chose to be honest with him. The words just rolled off your tongue before you could stop yourself.

“If it makes you feel any better, I failed too.” You stare at him, surprised. Such sensitivity feels strange coming from the likes of him.

“Really?”

“No.” He laughs so hard he’s driven to tears, and though every inch of you wants to be mad, you end up fighting a smile of your own. This boy and his stupid, contagious laugh.

Maybe you feel a little better. It’s impossible to tell—all you want to do right now is smack him on the shoulder. So you do, lightly.

His laughter fades and your sniffles slow to a halt, the sound of your heartbeat filling your ears. Suspend your disbelief, and this almost feels like a comfortable moment between…friends.

Friends? No, that doesn’t seem right. He still pisses you off to no end.

Noticing the awkward silence, he jolts back into annoying mode and coos, “Gullible as ever, Hufflepuff. Good to know that’s a constant.”

It rubs you the wrong way. Instantly, your mood is soured and you no longer want to sit here and play-fight with him. “Great. I’m so glad to hear I’ll always be the same old, gullible me. Always the one getting taken advantage of, right, Sylus?” No response. “I hope you got what you came here for.”

He’s no longer laughing. “That’s not what I—” You don’t hear his feeble protests. You’re already rushing out of the booth.

You know you’re overreacting, but something about him makes it so hard to react...normally. Don’t turn around, you tell yourself. Because even though you can’t see him, you know he’s tracking your every movement.

Fifth year was a tumultuous whirlwind of mess, feelings and blurred lines. You were to sit for your O.W.L.s that year, and you were hell-bent on besting Sylus this time around. How you loathed the way he always managed to achieve top scores while barely paying attention in class. It wasn’t fair.

However, most students seemed far more concerned with another event set to take place on school grounds: the Triwizard Tournament…

…

The tournament has been nothing short of exhilarating. You have to admit, despite your insistence on focusing on your studies this year, you too have been swept up in the heat of competition. Everywhere you go, excitement buzzes in the air, the entire school in silent support of their champion.

Caleb Xia—the charming Gryffindor boy whose name had been chosen by the Goblet of Fire—happens to be one of Hogwarts’ most popular students, and you find yourself rooting for him, too. He’s easy on the eyes and a menace on the Quidditch pitch—a deadly combination.

He’s looked at you once, from across the main courtyard, and you’d blushed so hard your friends teased you for days.

The first task concluded a week ago, with Caleb emerging victorious. Everyone went positively out of their minds, plastering his handsome face on every wall and cheering wherever he went. You cheered too, naturally, though you’d never really expected him to notice a wallflower like you.

You were wrong.

Caleb Xia began to say hello to you. You. It started with simple waves from a few feet away and eventually progressed to him coming up to you and asking what you were up to after class. It still baffles you, the fact that a high-flyer like him would be romantically interested in you, but it feels…nice, to be noticed in that way. He’s sweet, polite, and genuinely compassionate—all traits you hold in the highest regard.

It goes without saying that Sylus has been observing you and your new suitor. He’s mellowed down a little since last year, but a dark presence still trails him like a cloak, the intensity in his gaze grounding.

“How’s loverboy?” he hums, low and calculating.

You bumped into him at The Three Broomsticks and decided to sit down for a drink. Butterbeer, of course. Sylus and his underage drinking have nothing to do with you. “We’re just friends.” It’s the truth—for now, at least.

“Right. And you’re the Triwizard champion.” He takes a slow sip of beer from his cup. Amusement plays at his lips, but his words carry a blade barely sheathed. “I saw you making goo-goo eyes at him earlier.”

“Happy to hear you’re looking out for me,” you chirp in response.

He rolls his eyes, a not-quite-smile tugging at his lips. “Please. As if you’d ever get yourself into any kind of situation.”

A primary gear in you shifts, dangerously, and you feel a sudden urge to do something rash. To prove him wrong. You snatch his mug and chug the remnants of the beer, gulping it down as it drips past your chin.

He raises his eyebrows, mildly amused and probably a little concerned. You've got that lightweight quality to you, and it doesn’t take an expert to notice. “I’m impressed, Hufflepuff. Now, can you hold it?”

Your face grows warm as you struggle to think of a coherent response. I’m not drunk I’m not drunk I’m not drunk— “D’uh…” Damn it, you’re drunk. Buzzed, maybe? You don’t know the difference. Whatever it is, you’re sober enough to make out his next words.

“One pint. You humor me, you know.”

Your mind clears a little—it was only beer, after all. “I told you, I’m not drunk. You’re getting on my nerves now. Bye.”

He puts a hand on your elbow, steadying you as you hop off the barstool. “Not so fast, Puff. You’re tipsy. Let me take you back to the castle.”

You swat his arm away. “Stop pretending to care! It won’t work on me! Oh, look, she’s here—” Your friend walks into the tavern and spots you, in your wobbly state, making your way toward the door. She sighs and grabs you by the waist, steering you in the right direction.

“To the castle!” you shout, throwing one last glare at Sylus.

He sits in silence, your cup of butterbeer in hand, watching you leave.

…

Utter chaos.

The Yule Ball is fast approaching, and the student body couldn't be more ready for a night of dancing and fancy dresses. The air hums with electricity, alive with the prospect of flirting and courtship and mysterious suitors—none of which you had much interest in before, but…things change. Hope fills you at the thought of him asking you to the ball, a feeling you welcome with open arms.

Caleb Xia is a dream come true. And the best part? He’s interested in you. So interested he goes out of his way to sit next to you in the Great Hall, offering you his potatoes after you’ve finished yours.

So why hasn’t he asked you yet? The ball is taking place in two days.

Surprisingly, Sylus doesn’t have a date yet either. It doesn't make any sense—everyone practically throws themselves at him every chance they get. How is he having trouble finding a dance partner? To think he had the nerve to comment on your dire lack of a date when he clearly isn’t any better off…

“Still no date, Hufflepuff? Huh. That’s unexpected.” He said it sarcastically (as usual), which ticked you off.

“I could say the same about you, prick. Relieved to know your fanclub has finally come to its senses.”

He sneered at you then, but was there something else he wanted to say to you at the time? Now that you’re thinking about it, he did linger a little more than usual that day…

Whatever. Who cares what Sylus had to say? Besides, there’s still a chance Caleb might ask you to the ball. Patience, patience…

Speak of the angel.

Caleb walks up to you, drenched in sweat after what you can only assume was an intense Quidditch practice. “Sorry I’m late. I have something to ask you.”

Your heart leaps. You dreamed of this moment. Literally. “What is it?”

“Will you be my date to the ball? I know this is short notice, but I think we’ll have a great time together.” A shy smile. Earnest, sincere eyes. How could anyone possibly decline such an invitation?

“I think we will!”

…

Snowflakes glisten like crystals midair, winking at you playfully as you make your way down the grand staircase. They’ve really outdone themselves with the festive decorations—pearly white snow covers the ground, and powdered Christmas trees stand around every corner.

And of course, you’re dressed for the occasion. You picked out a gorgeous off-shoulder gown just yesterday, the dark red fabric cascading around you in majestic waves bound to draw plenty of second glances. Your bosom is tightly secured by an off-shoulder lace corset, and your pointed heels are just an inch too high.

You feel beautiful.

Caleb waits at the foot of the staircase, his mouth slightly agape in awe of your appearance. Standing further behind him, in the shadows, is none other than your nemesis, You-Know-Who. His gaze rakes over you as you glide down the stone steps, dark and dreadful.

You take Caleb’s outstretched hand, and he smirks at the scene before him.

Take that, Sylus. I’m here with a Triwizard champion. Who are you with? Oh, no one? What a shame…

Your inflated thoughts are brutally popped by the sight of a stunning young woman in pastel blue looping her arm through his. It doesn’t take you long to identify her—you’ve been watching her all year, in the crowd. The Beauxbatons champion. The Beauxbatons champion is Sylus’ date.

It’s like the wind has been knocked out of your lungs. “Are you…alright?” Caleb sounds concerned.

"I’m fine. Just a little hard to breathe in this corset," you reply casually, with a hint of humor.

The rest of the night involves a lot of dancing, during which you cast hesitant glances in Sylus’ direction. Really?! The Beauxbatons champion?! She’s ethereal! And so out of his league! They look like the perfect couple, gracefully waltzing to the music while getting lost in each other’s eyes…

It sickens you.

The crowd dies down towards the end of the night, most students trading their cheering and elaborate waltzes for slow dancing and mocktails. Caleb went to the washroom and hasn’t returned since. So here you are, sipping your glass in silence with no one to socialize with.

You turn your head at the sound of footsteps and are greeted by a crisp, very expensive-looking set of robes. He’s dressed head to toe in jet black, silver embroidery decorating his cuffs and collar with meticulous detail. Devastatingly handsome, deathly irritating. You roll your eyes.

“Lost your date?” Though his voice drips with honey, for the first time ever, he doesn’t look so disgustingly pleased with himself.

You decide to humor him. “Lost yours?”

“It seems my dance partner has fled to the toilet with yours.” He says it with disdain, as if the word “toilet” insults his dignity.

An unexpected anger rises to the surface then—and it has nothing to do with Caleb. You realize you couldn’t care less if he were making out with another girl or stealing a Mandrake from the Herbology greenhouses.

You’re furious at Sylus for trying to make you feel less than. What exactly did he hope to achieve by feeding you this information? Did he get some kind of sick kick out of your reaction?

No, that’s not it… You’re missing something. There’s a gaping hole in your emotions, one you can’t explain. It’s like he’s complicating things. Muddying them. The words fly out of your mouth in a failed attempt to untangle your mess of feelings.

“Stop. Whatever you’re doing, it isn’t working on me.”

He crinkles his brows, taken aback. “What are you talking about?” There’s no more sarcasm. No more mockery.

“This. You’re trying to-to trick me or deceive me or—play with my—” You pause, frustrated by your inability to put your feelings into words. “It’s not going to work. You can’t use this against me.”

A shadow passes over Sylus’ face, and—for a split second—he looks like one of those Death Eaters you learned about last year. He curls his lip into a sneer. “All you had to do was ask.”

You’re stunned into silence. What on earth does that mean? “Huh?”

He seems even more offended by your ignorance. “Don’t pretend. I waited until yesterday to ask her, and she said yes. It’s not my fault.”

Understanding clicks, and it does nothing to tame your indignation. You don’t want to address it—not even in your head. You’d rather shove it down deep and ignore it for all eternity. A whole minute passes before you decide that this is too much to deal with tonight.

“You’re an asshole. I never want to speak to you again.”

You turn around and make a run for the exit, nearly tripping over the elaborate skirt of your dress in the process. Suddenly, it’s as if your corset is squeezing the life out of your lungs.

Your heart feels almost as heavy as his gaze on your back, weighing you down with every desperate step you take. Hot tears sting the corners of your eyes, but you’re determined not to let them fall.

Everything is a mess right now. Your night has been effectively ruined, and you still can’t quite figure out why your body feels like a ticking time bomb and your pride has shattered into a million pieces.

But just like how no one’s discovered a cure for werewolfism, it isn’t that simple.

Soon after, your fifth year came to an end. You aced your O.W.L.s and celebrated Caleb Xia’s victory—toward whom you held no ill will, truly. It turned out he’d been in love with the Beauxbatons champion all along and was only trying to make her jealous at the ball. Maybe you should’ve felt vexed at being blindsided, but you mostly felt…indifferent. All power to him.

You figured this was the innocent kind of infatuation they talked about—the kind you quickly forgot once bigger things came along.

As for Sylus… You avoided him for the rest of the year, neither of you making any attempt to reach out after that night. Part of you felt a little embarrassed by your harshness, but another part insisted he deserved it. How dare he complain about not being asked, when he could’ve asked you himself?

Regardless, none of that mattered anymore—your sixth year was about to begin…

…

“Alright, class. Today, you’ll be learning about Amortentia. Can anyone tell me what Amortentia is?”

Someone answers, “It’s the most powerful love potion in the world, Professor. A single drop can stir a powerful obsession with the maker, and it’s said to smell like the things a person desires most.”

You stare at the swirling potion on the professor’s desk, its enchanting white sheen inviting. The first thought that occurs to you is how dangerous this potion could be in the wrong hands. Love is the strongest force in the world—and the evil this concoction could unleash is unspeakable.

“As part of today’s lesson, you’ll each be making a vial of Amortentia. However, I must caution you all that the use of any amount of this potion on other students is strictly prohibited. Take this as a learning experience and a learning experience alone.”

After setting up your cauldron and gathering the required ingredients, it’s time to get to work. You hear Rafayel whisper something to Sylus somewhere behind you and try your best to drown out their conversation.

You and Sylus haven’t exactly been on speaking terms lately. Ever since the ball, it’s as if he’s been avoiding you just as much as you’ve been avoiding him. I don’t care. It’s not like I want him anywhere near me anyway.

"The potion bubbles and glows in the cauldron before you, and it’s as if you can feel its magic brewing beneath your fingertips. All at once, you’re hit with a wave of potent aromas and heady emotion.

Freshly-picked flowers. The pages of old books. Warm loaves of bread…

A final scent hits you then, and your breath catches in your throat. It’s strong. Pleasant. Familiar—too familiar.

You spin around to see Sylus at the back of the classroom, silently cracking up at something Rafayel said. They both look positively unhinged.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

…

The Potions professor asked you to speak with him after class, so you ended up being the last student to transfer your potion into a vial. By then, the transparent vials had run out, and an opaque one had to be fished out of the storage room for you. A small matter.

Now, you’re running to the edge of the forest for your next class: Care of Magical Creatures. You’ve always rather enjoyed this class; animals have always been drawn to you—and you to them.

“This is a hippogriff.” The professor gestures toward a feathered, winged beast, though it isn’t quite a bird. It caws softly at its introduction. “You were supposed to meet this fellow in your third year. However, with the old professor going missing and turning up dead and all—” You wince at the memory of Professor Beans’ death.

As she goes on about the origins of the hippogriff, you reach into your bag for a sip of water—and realize your tiny vial of Amortentia has vanished. No. No no no—

A movement in the corner of your eye catches your attention. It’s Sylus, in his haphazard Slytherin robes, taking a sip from your opaque potion vial. The very same one—

Oh no.

“Now, are there any volunteers?”

You startle at the question, every inch of you tensing in panic. Far too soon. Everything is happening all at once—

“No volunteers? Alright then. Miss <y/n>, Sylus, come up to the front.”

Oh no.

Slowly, you inch toward the hippogriff, unsure whether to be more wary of it or the fidgeting boy beside you. You glance at him suspiciously, anticipating any…strange behavior. His expression is unreadable, but you get the distinct feeling he’d rather be anywhere but here.

“With my help, you’re both going to mount him. You should be back in no time.”

You still. “What?”

No time is wasted. She guides you to the creature’s side and helps you onto its back. Its feathers bristle slightly at the added weight, but it generally responds warmly to your presence. The same can’t be said for Sylus. It resists his touch, crying out once or twice as if distrustful of him. Sylus flinches in kind. Is he…scared?

It’s an amusing thought—but his chest brushing against your back abruptly pulls your thoughts back to his ingestion of your love potion, and once again, your pulse picks up speed. You have no idea what to think, what to feel— Does he hate you? Is he thinking unsavory thoughts at this very moment? Will the effects of the potion last forever—

“Hold tight, Hufflepuff,” he whispers in your ear—and the world disappears beneath you.

Cool wind breezes through your hair as you soar over the forest grounds, large wings flapping on either side of you and a grounding warmth around your waist.

It’s magical. You wish you could bottle this moment and save it for your darkest days.

You’ve never seen sights quite like this: the sprawling castle with its many towers, winding pathways leading to Hogsmeade, huts and fires set up for travelers far below. Breathtaking.

“Wait, why isn’t he going back down?!” you shout over the roaring in your ears. It’s been about ten minutes, and the hippogriff shows no sign of returning to class.

“I don’t know! Look, he’s headed for the mountain pass—” Sylus yells back, pointing towards the giant row of mountains south of Hogwarts.

He lands smoothly, a gust of wind kicking up the loose dirt at the cliff’s edge. You slide off his back with a “thud”, and he nuzzles his beak against your hand. Sylus is practically thrown off and poked at disdainfully, to which he scoffs, glaring daggers at the winged beast.

It makes you laugh, and he turns to look at you—really look at you—for the first time in months.

“This isn’t quite how I’d expected to spend my evening, but here we are.”

“It’s beautiful,” you sigh, gazing out at the shimmering lake below. The sky is awash in hues of orange, pink, and gold, bathing you both in an almost ethereal light. Sunset.

His eyes are on you as he says, “It’s…alright.”

Together, you move to sit at the cliff’s edge, your feet dangling over. The silence is comfortable, peaceful. He isn’t acting strange, so the Amortentia must not have affected him—thank god.

You feel the sudden urge to say something.

“Why haven’t you—” “I’ve been wanting to—” you both start at the same time. Ugh. So much for “not awkward”.

He recovers first. “Wait.” A faint note of desperation laces his otherwise steady voice. “I have no interest in playing any more of these games.” His steely gaze is locked on yours, intense and sincere.

“What games? You’re the one who’s been avoiding me all year.”

He squints. “I assumed you hated me.”

A ball of guilt lodges itself between your ribs, cold and selfish. To this day, his formal way of speaking still endears him to you. “…I don’t hate you.”

He doesn’t respond right away, just stares at you like you’re a puzzle he can’t solve—a puzzle he’s desperate to unravel, so achingly it might kill him if he can’t. “I wanted to ask you. To the ball.”

It stings. “I figured.”

“He had a habit of getting in the way,” he chuckles wryly, that familiar darkness flickering across his face. “Did you love him?”

You shake your head without pausing to think. “Nope. Never did.” You feel lighter. This genuine conversation with him is…nice. “What about you? You ever like her?”

He shakes his head. “I had my reasons for asking, and she had her reasons for saying yes.” You can’t explain the rush of relief that floods you then.

Minutes pass as you talk about dreams, family, and the past—learning things about each other you never thought to ask. You lose yourself in his company, a fragile, delicate thread pulling you closer, twisting your lips into a smile. You learn about his desire to become an Auror, his complicated relationship with his pure-blooded parents, and his particular fondness for sweet treats. You tell him about your experience in foster homes—both good and bad—and what it was like discovering you were a witch.

The exchange is light, yet a tinge of regret punctuates your mood. You’re halfway through your sixth year. If only you’d gotten to know him sooner…

“What, disappointed you never got to date me, Hufflepuff?” He sees right through you, and the mood shifts. Static electricity crackles in the space between your bodies, and that bittersweet feeling somehow intensifies. You roll your eyes at him, fighting a smile.

No. Your stomach drops, the fuzzy bliss fading from your head. The love potion.

“What’s wrong?”

You’re a horrible person. You have to come clean. “The vial you drank from earlier—it was mine. You drank my love potion and now you’re in love with me but it isn’t real so you have to snap out of it, okay? God, I’m so sorry—”

You would’ve kept rambling if it weren’t for the fit of laughter he suddenly bursts into. He’s clutching his belly, wheezing as tears form in the corners of his eyes.

“What’s…so funny?”

“That wasn’t your love potion. How would I even have gotten my hands on it? Use that brain of yours, silly.”

Okay, now you’re really lost. “Huh? I swear I couldn’t find it…” You dig around in your satchel and gasp when your fingers close around a familiar vial—opaque and very much there. “Oh my god.”

He grins that snarky, boyish grin at you, and your stomach flips.

Your cheeks flush pink as you half-heartedly jab at his arm, the most flustered you’ve ever been in your life. As usual, your first instinct is to lash out at him. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?! I thought I was taking advantage of you! I thought I was being a complete idiot!”

Sylus simply stares at you, a dreamy, enraptured look on his slightly rosy face. He looks positively bewitched. “I like it when you yell at me.”

You stutter, at a loss for words. How…infuriating! You huff at him defiantly, but your heart feels full and warm.

Something still pokes at your conscience. “Wait… We have the exact same vial. If you didn’t drink Amortentia earlier, what did you drink?”

He beams at you impishly. Victoriously.

“Liquid Luck.”

…

You stand by the open doors of the Hogwarts Express on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, bidding your friends goodbye and wishing them a happy summer holiday.

A tall, lean figure appears behind you. “Leaving so soon?”

Your face warms at his voice, and you try your best to hide it—though something tells you you can’t hide from him, not anymore. “My family’s waiting outside. We’re travelling this summer.”

He nods, a hint of disappointment crossing his features. “Will you write back?” Knowing him, he tries to act nonchalant, but you hear the subtle fear in his voice.

“I will,” you say, and you mean it. “I’ve really got to go… Bye.” You smile sweetly at him and wave, and he returns the gesture. See you next semester, Sylus.

You turn to leave for King’s Cross, your sixth year at Hogwarts now behind you.

Summer came and went, a dizzying rush of new beginnings and many, many letters. You kept your word, writing back almost instantly each time a new package arrived in the mail, your fingertips tracing the cursive letters that spelled out your name. His script. His scent.

You felt close to him, even though you were away for most of the holiday. So many times, you wished you could be near him. He told you about his new kitten and his strange difficulty casting a Patronus charm. You replied with a few possible solutions, but he’d struggled to think of many happy memories growing up—Something to work on later, you made a mental note.

Subconsciously, you counted down the days until you could see him again. Of course, there were your N.E.W.T.s to focus on—you placed great importance on pursuing your dream career as a magizoologist—but spending your final year at Hogwarts with Sylus felt like a dream in itself. One you desperately didn’t want to end…

…

“Never thought to visit Hogsmeade at this hour.” Your breath fogs as you take in your surroundings.

The village is quiet—fast asleep. A few windows still flicker with candlelight, but not a soul stirs on the streets. The streetlamps cast a soft, hazy glow, their light barely cutting through the mist, shadows dancing along your profile.

It’s enchanting, strolling with Sylus like this. Just the two of you tonight.

His plush Slytherin scarf sits snug around his neck. “Naturally. Ever the follower of rules,” he teases. You punch him in the arm and he sniggers.

It’s still surreal to you, the fact that you’re going out with Sylus, of all people. Your mind flashes back to the days he used to tug on your robes and laugh at your walk, the pesky little scoundrel who went out of his way to make your life miserable. Somewhere along the way, that boy grew up, and now you spend most of your time exchanging flirtatious glances and wishing he would just hold your hand.

As if reading your mind (again) he slips his hand from his pocket and wraps it around yours. It’s large in comparison, warm. Your skin prickles with nerves—the delicious kind—and an uncontrollable urge to kiss him compels you.

You stop in your tracks, and he does too. A single snowflake lands on his lashes. You reach up with your free hand to brush it away. Rising onto your tiptoes, you lean in, and he doesn’t pull away…

“STUDENTS SNEAKING OUT! THERE’S STUDENTS IN THE VILLAGE!” someone howls, and you’re startled away from him.

A devastating smile curls his mouth, and for a second, your need to kiss him senseless only multiplies. He tightens his grip around your hand. “Run?”

You nod and race off into the night with him, laughter bubbling up your throat.

…

For eight whole months, you and Sylus were inseparable. You studied together, went to parties together, snuck into the forest together… You even supported him at his Quidditch games, biting your lip as your eyes searched for the white-haired Beater in the opponent’s robes.

For eight whole months, you were completely, and perfectly, and incandescently happy.

But good things, as you’d soon come to learn, were never meant to last forever.

…

Your N.E.W.T.s went well, and now all that remains is to make a strong impression on the Ministry officials visiting the school this week. If you're lucky, you'll be earmarked as a potential hire in the Beast Division—and finally, you'll have reason to celebrate a successful final year.

It’s a grand affair, with students and Ministry employees swarming the place. Pleasantries are exchanged, hands shaken, introductions made, and though your capacity for socializing is wearing thin, the noble art of “networking” must be seen through.

The head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, a stern-looking elderly woman, approaches you, having heard of your active involvement in the conservation of magical beasts. Oh my god, I can’t believe this is actually happening— A wave of anxious nausea threatens to seize you, but then you glance across the room. Sylus catches your eye and winks. Reassuring. Confident in your abilities.

You take a deep breath and introduce yourself. After that, everything flows naturally. You talk about your passions, your journey, and what led you to fall in love with magizoology. She listens—captivated—and your confidence builds with each word. By the end of it, you're left with a glowing sense of pride. I deserve this.

"I have to say, Miss <y/n>, I’m impressed by your knowledge of the subject and your conviction to expand the realm of magical research. It’s rare for someone your age to show such unwavering compassion, and I must applaud that to the highest degree.” Her voice is frail, yet her gaze is ironclad. “I’d like to offer you a rare opportunity: an internship at the Beast Division, where you’ll be working directly under me.”

The smile that stretches across your face is so wide it hurts. It’s as if a weight has been lifted off your shoulders, the sun’s rays warm against your back. Years of determination have led up to this. I can’t wait to tell him.

After profusely thanking the lady for her generous offer, you reconvene with Sylus outside the hall. From the way you’re beaming like a psychopath, it’s not hard to tell things went well.

He smirks at your squealing, pride glinting in the crimson pools of his eyes. “Didn’t I tell you you had it in the bag?”

Bursting with untapped glee, you wrap your arms around his middle and pull him into a suffocatingly tight embrace. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He places a hand on your head as he returns your squeeze, his breaths coming out short and uneven.

Oops. You almost forgot to ask how it went for him. “And…you?”

He hesitates for a second, a shadow of doubt passing over his face. “…It’s hardly anything to celebrate. Don’t worry about me. I want to hear everything about your interview with the beast lady.” A small smile touches his lips, but it’s false—you can tell right away.

“Hey! You’re evading my question. How did it go? You know you can tell me.”

Sylus shrugs, as if what he’s about to say holds little importance, though it couldn’t be further from the truth. “I’ve been offered a spot as a Junior Auror. It’s no big deal.”

Your mouth falls open. “Sylus, this is amazing. It takes years to become an Auror, and they’ve just handed it to you—! They must know how brilliant you are at Defence Against the Dark Arts. You have to accept it immediately—”

“MACUSA. Junior Auror at MACUSA,” he interrupts, staring at the ground.

MACUSA? America? The realization dawns, and you nod, trying to keep your voice steady. “Oh.”

He waves a hand dismissively. “It’s no matter. I don’t plan on leaving, so it doesn’t concern me.”

“Why not? Sylus, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

He shifts uncomfortably. “I’m perfectly capable of working my way up here. The British Ministry needs Aurors. I’ll do just fine taking the regular route.”

The unspoken truth hangs in the air, but you understand it immediately. He doesn’t want to leave you. He’s willing to pass up a lightning-strike chance just to stay by your side.

No. You won’t allow it.

…

Your last week of school was the worst week of your life.

You tried to act distant, as if you had no interest in spending time with him, when in truth, all you really wanted was to nuzzle up next to him and tell him how sorry you were. Sorry you had to put up this act for his own good. Sorry for disrespecting his decisions.

Sorry for loving him so much that you couldn’t bear to watch him sacrifice his dreams for you.

You hadn’t told him you loved him—not yet. And now you never will.

It tears you apart each time you brush him off, leaving him looking wounded and confused. You feel like a villain, when all you’re trying to do is give him the one thing you possibly can.

So here you are, brisk walking in the rain towards the Hogwarts Express. The train doors should be closing any minute now.

A MACUSA carriage had been sent to the castle to escort students of interest to New York. You need him to get on that carriage.

You need him away from the train.

“Wait—” he calls from behind you. He’s caught up to you. Shit. The harsh pitter-patter of raindrops fills your ears, cold rainwater drenching you, soaking you to the bone. “Tell me what’s going on.”

The quaver in his voice is like a stab to your gut. You spin around so violently he flinches.

Everyone else has boarded—you’re the only students left. Bracing yourself, you bite out the most painful words you’ve ever had to say. “Stop bothering me! Haven’t you taken the hint?!”

The hurt in his eyes is palpable. Somewhere, deep inside, he refuses to believe you’d toss him aside like this. There has to be another reason—something he hasn’t accounted for, a past grievance he never addressed— “I’m sorry for tormenting you when we were children,” he says quietly.

He’s desperate, lost.

“This has nothing to do with that!” you spit, bitterness coating your tongue. “I. Don’t. Want. To be with you. You’re holding me back.”

A flash of unresolved rage fills him then, bursting to the surface like his head’s been held underwater. “Is that all this was, then? Just—some kind of distraction?”

You nod, hoping it stings.

And, oh god, it stings. It hurts. It hurts so much you want to crumple up and disappear. Sylus, the boy who’s always waited for you, always stayed behind and silently looked after you while you conquered your battles and chased after your dreams. Sylus, who never asked for anything in return.

Your Sylus. Devastated beyond repair because of you.

You glance up at him, and his anger is gone. Just like that. Like he can no longer bear to be mad at you.

Like you’re on borrowed time, and all he can do now is beg.

“Please don’t do this…” he whispers, taking half a step closer. “I love you.”

Your entire world crumbles. Tears well in your eyes, and you tilt your head up to keep them from falling; because if they do, you don’t think they’ll ever stop. You imagine running to him, closing the distance, kissing him then and there—his hands on your waist, yours in his hair—as if you were the only two people on earth.

Telling him you love him too.

But some dreams just aren’t meant to come true.

So you turn your back to him. “I don’t love you.”

It’s such a blatant lie you fear he might see right through it.

But you don’t give him the chance. You step onto the train just as the doors hiss shut, eyes fixed on your feet. If you looked back... You might not survive it.

I’m sorry, Sylus. I’m so, so sorry…

You watch, blurry-eyed, as the castle shrinks in the window, bidding your time at Hogwarts—and a very special boy—farewell.

Ten years later…

…

Applications: check. Research paper: check. Sampling session with Tabitha… Need to reschedule that one.

You tap your quill against the table as you try to sort out your schedule, possibly your most daunting task as Head of the Beast Division. It’s been rather busy at the Ministry lately, with reports of magical creatures running wild and escaping into the Muggle world.

Not to mention that creepy coworker of yours who won’t take no for an answer.

Everything’s piling up, and you’re in desperate need of someone to share it all with.

It’s moments like these when your mind flits back to your school years. How you long to return to Hogwarts one day—perhaps as a professor, or maybe even as a tourist. There are so many places you’d love to revisit: Hogsmeade village, the Great Hall, the Hufflepuff common room... Every nook and cranny of that place brims with memories you’ll hold dear forever.

Then, of course, there’s your first love—the boy with the startling snowy hair and striking scarlet eyes.

Your heart pangs, a small piece of you breaking all over again. You wonder how he’s doing now. Is he still in New York? Does he have a partner? Kids?

Great, now your mood’s soured all over again.

Though love is like this—no matter how selfish it makes you feel, no matter how scorned, you wish nothing but the best for them. From the bottom of your barely beating heart.

Your coworker bursts through the door, a glass of champagne in one hand and a half-eaten cauldron cake in the other. "Sorry to interrupt— There’s a party downstairs to welcome the newest members of the Ministry. Care to join us, or…?”

“Yeah, I’ll be down in a second.”

…

Your heels click sharply against the polished floors as you weave through the crowd, eyeing the dessert trays while trying not to knock anyone over.

The headquarters of the Ministry is a sprawling place, all moody colors and serious faces. Maybe you should go on that expedition in Brazil after all.

A hand touches your elbow, and you turn to see your coworker smiling almost psychotically at you. “Miss <y/n>, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Again with the sucking up. You’re fed up with it. How important could this person possibly be that they needed to be greeted with a shiny smile crafted just for them? How entitled—

Tall, built, handsome. A sharp glint in his ruby eyes, matching the equally sharp angles of his features.

A head of pale white hair that seems to glisten in the sunlight.

You freeze, not sure what to think, what to say—a million questions swarming your head— How many years has it been? Why is he here? Does he even remember me?

The past decade of hurt and regret and longing crashes into you, all at once. I can’t breathe.

“Hi,” you blurt out, self-conscious and fidgety.

He stares at you with those bright, intense eyes, a familiar feeling you can’t quite pinpoint written all over his face. “Hey.”

The crowd fades to dust, and suddenly, it’s like you’re standing face to face on the platform all over again. “How are you?”

“Good. You?” He’s still the same boy you remember from your childhood. Yet…he’s changed. He’s grown, matured—just as you have.

“I have so much to say to you,” you breathe, thick, raw emotion rising in your throat, choking you. “So much to explain.”

He shakes his head, smiling softly. “You don’t have to. I’m not an idiot, however much you think me one. And by the way, I finally managed to conjure a Patronus, in case you were wondering.”

A laugh escapes your lips despite yourself, and for the first time in a decade, you let your tears slip.

He’s here. He’s the same, but different. He’s working for the Ministry.

He’s here.

And though you’re both young, and stupid, and very well may always be, there’s one thing you know for certain:

No more running away. No more leaving.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Hufflepuff.”

— ⋆˙⟡ ©berrryparfait

《 please do not copy / plagiarize / translate my works or publish them on any other platforms. 》

[jetpackgeneratedcat]

It took literal months, but I finished it!!

Top left: linked universe logo

The jojo's lu logo is sooooo detailed. It is one of the things I love about Jojo's asethetic with linked universe. The detail she adds brings so much life and information about the world of Linked Universe. Great example is all the embroidery on the chain's clothing. Let's you know about civilization, that an item may be magical, etc. It is difficult to keep small details in watercolor, but I think I caught most of the main details in the painting.

Middle left: Soulful legend

This was the fourth of the images I did for the painting, and the first image I really started to get into the painting. I think legend is my favorite to paint because he makes composition so easy. The red tunic adds an easy focal point. I did learn from this that I do not like masking fluid and likely won't use it again. It added to many hard edges that I wasn't intending. Very happy with the sky!

Bottom left: Evening snack

In this image, I liked the idea that wind and sky don't know what Ramen is because their worlds don't have enough space to produce wheat. So sky and wind are super excited about this new food, while legend has no idea why they are so hyped for noodles. I also liked the idea that four found a green pepper in the ramen as a topping and is a hater (this is from a note that jojo left somewhere saying that the chain will eat anything but four in the Manga does not like green peppers, idk where this note is to link it though....). I didn't end up drawing the Ramen noodles as it was just getting too small of a scale for me to be comfortable drawing the thin lines for the noodles in.

Bottom right: Testudo

I am very hyped in the future when we see more collaborative fighting with the chain and them working together effectively. I absolutely love the scene in shifting shadows part 3 where lenged and hyrule work together with the beam and hookshot.

Middle: Legends storage

This is a reference to one of jojo's earliest works where the chain goes to legends storage for him to pick up some gear. I love that scene and I tried to put as many references as I could. The one thing I need to figure out is how I want twilight to look. I can't wrap my head around it. Need to sit down and just try out a bunch of different faces for him. My Pinterest inspo for twilight is all over the place. I want twilight to look different from time because when Malon was trying to guess who was the descendent, she did not consider twilight (she looked at wars and wind (so I typically draw time, wind, and wars looking similar). For my own personal headcannon, twilight and time are very similar in their manner (the way the walk, stand, etc) and personality (their stubbornness (as seen in sunset pt3)) but not necessarily in looks.

Middle right: Boat boys

The first image I did. I like how the water turned out, but I will not be using masking fluid for the same reasons I noted earlier. I did trace the boat (i think this is the reference [L240632 Hornet Class. J. Arthur Dixon Ltd. Beken and Son]). I do regret not doing anything creative with the boat, but I just wanted to get into painting and needed some confidence by working directly from a reference. I also forgot that legend might not be so keen to be on a boat again based on a comment jojo left in 2022 or something. I think she mentioned something in a discord event back then about legend not too willing to be on a boat again. But that doesn't really matter, I put that boy in a boat whether he likes it or not lol.

Top right: Winter storm

Second image I did for this painting. I did trace most of the horse because I do not care to learn horse anatomy (ref. [Winter Save By David Stoecklein]) Favorite part about this is the lighting on the rope from the lantern. I think it turn out well.

Top middle: Heavy armour

Third image I did for the painting and the one I realized I need to spend more time painting people in neutral or back lite lighting. But for my first time I think it is good. I really want to see what jojo does with the armour sets! I like the idea that war's armour is clean and pristine while wild's armour is rusted and beaten from the calamity. In this painting I played with adding pink to the golden armour and I liked it. In the middle picture of the collage (legends storage), you can see i added pink to time's armour.

That's everything! ❤️

[albondiguilla007]

Drarry as Hogwarts Professors

✨ Finely Drawn Lines / 61k / Draco doesn't consider himself an artist (though the dozens of sketchbooks lining his shelves might suggest differently). Yet ever since Potter returned to Hogwarts, accepting a teaching position alongside Draco, his drawings have taken on a rather singular focus. From the curl of his lips to the exact number of lines that form at the corners of his eyes when he laughs, Draco has catalogued every shade of one Harry James Potter between the pages of his sketchbook.

So long as Potter remains none the wiser, Draco will have no trouble controlling his crush.

But when Potter comes to him with a dangerous proposition, Draco fears things are about to get so much more complicated.

✨ head over heels / 21k / Everyone in Harry's life thinks he's engaged to Malfoy. The solution to this is not pretending to date Malfoy, but here he is doing that anyway.

✨ A Lick and a Promise / 55k / Something sinister stirs in Hogwarts!

When magical creatures and students at the school are hit with a debilitating blood curse, Minerva McGonagall approaches the Ministry for help.

Star Auror Harry Potter seems to be the obvious choice to go undercover-as

DADA Professor, naturally. He's going to need the help of the Ministry's foremost expert in blood magic to get to the bottom of the mystery, though, and he's not entirely convinced that going back to Hogwarts with Draco Malfoy is a good idea.

Things are complicated between them-what's new?-but they know they have to learn to work together (and keep their hands off each other in the corridors) in order to solve this case.

Luckily for them, Hogwarts itself wants to lend a hand.

A tale of love, lessons, and learning to really live.

✨ Darkest Before the Dawn / 47k / The last thing Draco wanted was to show up at Harry Potter's door, cursed blind and holding a boxful of his friends Transfigured into snakes, but here he was.

Between breaking the curse, adjusting to life without sight, and teaching his Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, Draco's got his hands full. Being forced to live with Harry Potter might just be the death of him.

This is a story about the bonds of friendship, fairy tale endings, and learning to ask for help (even from Gryffindors).

✨ how can i love what i know i'm gonna lose? (don't make me choose) / 8k / Harry's soulmark is his scar, but he doesn't know that. He thinks he has no soulmate.

And Draco, who has Harry Potter's scar on the inside of his hip, is not planning on ever telling him. Ever. It would break him in two.

But when Hogwarts institutes a Health Ed week where Draco is tasked with the topic of soulmates, he begins to think maybe Harry needs to know.

✨ The New Potions Professor / 33k / Harry wearily entered the teachers’ lounge to meet the new Potions professor. After much convincing by McGonagall, Slughorn had finally agreed to retire and take better care of his health.

So now some new Potions master was taking his place, and they had arrived today.

Harry went inside and froze immediately.

“You’ve got to be joking.” He said.

or

Harry has taught Defense Against Dark Arts for over a decade and a half and Malfoy thinks he can just waltz into Hogwarts and teach too? Absolutely not.

✨ Phoenix in the Fire / 28k / Harry never expected to have a hot summer fling with Draco Malfoy when he agreed to mind the castle with him. He also never expected that it would all have to end on August thirty-first. What happens when casual sex with Harry’s ex-enemy turns not casual after all? And how the hell is he going to stop Draco from making one of the biggest mistakes of his life?

✨ Two Shadows in the Night / 81k / Five years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry returns to his old school to claim the position of DADA teacher.

The way he's been ignoring his issues and trying to live up to everyone's impossibly high expectations is catching up to him. Will a certain blond ex-Death Eater be able to help him finally heal?

✨ Most Favourite Bedtime Story / 46k / Scorpius' most favourite bedtime story? The story of how his parents fell in love. And his grandmother tells it the best!

�� Living in a Muggle World / 22k / After getting together during Eighth year, Harry and Draco move to Harry's cottage in the Scottish countryside and Draco starts working in a muggle library.

Or

My flimsy excuse to write the sappiest, cutesiest shit with almost no plot and love-letters and cheesy poems and I have absolutely no excuses or regrets.

✨ Spoiled Little Brat / 9k / Harry won't stoop to Malfoy's level.

Really, he won't.

(He will.)

[familyfriendlydilfartist]

Bedtime (Short)

Synopsis; you can’t fall asleep so you seek comfort.

Warnings; None

One thing everyone in camp knew was Astarion enjoyed reading. They would always catch him with his nose in a book, crimson eyes taking in every word moving slowly from the top to the bottom of the page. Astarion often held onto the books he found when looting crates and shelves during your adventures.

It was midnight and everyone was getting ready to settle down for the night. Shadowheart sat In her tent unbraiding her hair and then running a brush through her raven strands before finally heading to bed. Lae’zel sharpened the last of her weapons, a ritual she refuses to neglect. Gale lay in his tent attempting to fall asleep as he used magic to mimic rainfall white noise. Everyone else slept soundly in their tent, or so you assumed.

Well, everyone except yourself. Tonight you lacked the capacity of falling into a deep slumber.

You were kind of like Scratch. At times Scratch couldn’t sleep, too hyper to even lie down. Halsin calls this zoomies so maybe you had zoomies as well.

You lie in your own tent staring at the roof. Gods how you wish dawn would arrive sooner. You huffed sitting up, you couldn’t lie in this uncomfortable tent for much longer, it was driving you crazy. You carefully peer out from the flaps of your tent. You observed the outside. Everyone was asleep, except for one. Astarion. A warm light illuminated his red tent, outlining his shadow. He lay in his tent, with what you could tell was a heavy book.

Astarion and you shared...well could you even call it a relationship? You slept together once or twice and Astarion enjoyed flirting with you but it didn’t seem like he wanted anything more. Whenever you slept together it seemed like he wasn’t entirely there. The only time he truly took satisfaction in the act is if he was allowed a bite from your neck. You it saddened you, to say the least. You really liked Astarion, not just for his stunning look but for his charming character as a whole. However, if all he wanted was to have a fling then so be it. That wouldn’t stop you from being his good friend though.

You slowly crawled from your tent and then tiptoed over to Astarion’s tent. You weren’t hoping to surprise Astarion; his heightened senses wouldn’t allow you the luxury. Your quietness was in favor of Shadowheart and Lae’zel, two people who would stir awake at the slightest snore. Astarion had his eyes on you already, waiting for you to call out to him first.

“Astarion,” you whisper, “It’s me.”

“I could tell.” He states matter of factly, turing the page of his novel. “Whatever is the matter?”

You lower yourself to the tent opening, pushing a flap aside. “I can’t sleep, could I hang out with you?” Astarion stares at you with an unimpressed look. “Please?” you pester.

“I guess so, besides who am I to deny you the pleasure.” Astarion sighs like a bothered mother giving in to her child’s request. You grin and immediately crawl inside. You sit beside him with a silly smile on your lips. There's a silence for a moment, you trying to gain the courage to ask him questions while he read to himself.

“Whatever you want to ask go ahead, the more eager you grow to ask, the more it’ll bother me.” Astarion lowers his novel. The slightly bothered expression he wears provokes an uneasiness in the pit of your stomach. You shyly mess with your nails. “Oh, well, I was just wondering what you were reading.”

“A novel about a boy venturing into vampire territory and what he has learned about my species. His assumptions are quite laughable.” Astarion’s pale pink lips quirk into a brief smile and a small laugh falls from them. “Here he states,” Astarion changes his voice into a mocking one, “One of the known weaknesses to a Vampire is garlic. Garlic will frighten a vampire, so always wear some on your neck to scare them away.”

You giggle too, “I’ve heard that one before. To be honest, I assumed you’d be scared of garlic as well because all the other tales of vampire’s weaknesses were debunked as true by you.”

Astarion shakes his head, “No, darling. It is simply the scent. Truly odorous. And if garlic were truly a weakness of vampires then Gale’s breath after dinner would be my demise.”

You both share a laugh then the silence returns.

“...Could you read to me?” you ask out of the blue. After the moment shared between the two of you before, you had hoped the question wouldn’t be answered too harshly. “-I mean, I like stories too but my mind often drifts from the pages. I prefer being read to than reading it myself and you have the perfect voice.”

Astarion contemplates for a second, observing you as he does. He taps his bed, “Fine.” You do as instructed, tugging the blanket until you’re all warm and cozy. Once you’re settled in Astarion starts on the page he stopped on. His voice is soft and relaxing. As the night goes on you finally fall into a deep slumber.

[skitskatdacat63]

Fernando Alonso & His Relationship With Cards

I'm sure we're all familar with the cards on the back of Fernando's Vegas GP helmet by now, but did you know his relationship with cards goes a lot deeper?

I. Magic Tricks

You've probably seen or heard someone at least mention Fernando's propensity for card tricks. As far as I can tell he was doing them(publically) as far back as 2003 all the way to as recently as 2018. Even once performing a card trick, with a condom and a teddy bear(!??!?!??!!), in front of Valentino Rossi who said "How was that possible?"(x)

But how did this start? According to James Allen, "Fernando admits to having been heavily influenced by his grandfather, a mercurial figure, who taught him magic and card tricks, still one of his passions away from the race track."(x) And I'm not sure the validity of this one, because I couldn't find an actual source, but apparently he once said: "My parents are responsible for the two things I like doing most - driving and magic tricks. They bought me my first go-kart and a magician's kit."

In several interviews he described it as his hobby off track, and that he loved learning new tricks and surprising others in the garage with them! So clearly cards are pretty important to him both as a hobby but also to who he is as a person since they've been with him just as long as racing has.

II. Card Symbolism in His Helmets

This is the reason I originally made this post, but I thought I should also explain the origins of his card fascination first. As I said, we probably all remember the cards on the back of his helmet in Vegas, but did you know that wasn't the first time he had cards on the back of his helmet?

From 2008-2013, he used to have a pair of cards on the back of his helmets. The symbolisms of the cards themselves as well as the evolution of their design is really fascinating to me! Even more so with the recent development of the card choice in 2023.

Fernando said he wanted to reference his two titles in some way on the back of his helmet and after his friend sent him several ideas, he decided on having two cards(an ace of clubs and an ace of hearts, sometimes pictured with 05 and 06 on them as well), saying: "I picked the cloverleaf [the ace of clubs - Ed] to give me luck, but the only pity is that it doesn't have four leaves!"(X)

2008.

Here's the very first appearance of the cards! They're displayed flat, with the 05 and 06 clearly visible

2009.

Very similar to 2008, but with a slightly different design, and they're maybe a bit more straight with less shadow?

2010.

This is the first major change! I was sad they didn't have the years on them anymore, but then I realized they're sparkly to match with his signature lightning bolts on the top of the helmet!!

2011.

Honestly I'm still somewhat unsure if this is the actual 2011 helmet? It's pretty difficult to find clear photos of the back of helmets from older seasons. It's easiest to find them on replica sites or auction sites so I'm not 100%? But anyways, I like that this has the championship years on the underside of the cards

2012.

This is when I started getting weirdly emotional about the helmets. Do you see how they've progressed from being a centerpoint to being curled up and sad at the bottom of the helmet? Not listing the year anymore??

2013.

Same thoughts as 2012. And after this season, they cease to exist (just like his ferrari chair in the garage, WOAH CALLBACK), until cards make a reeappearance in his Vegas helmet, albeit in a different form

2013 Monaco(Honorable Mention):

For some reason 2013 helmets were easier to find proper pictures of, so I happened to witness this absolute beauty. The creativity of this helmet genuinely blows me away??? Wanting to keep the card motif, but making sure to incorporate it into the rest of the puzzle piece design?? Mwah! There was another special 2013 helmet but they didn't change the cards at all so I really applaud this one

2023 Las Vegas(The Return of The King):

The magnificent return! But look! The cards are different cards! Instead of being two aces, it's now an ace of hearts, a four of hearts(his driver number of course!) and, the, now iconic, representation of himself as a Joker. I literally could not believe my eyes when this helmet was released and I saw the Joker card, what a fucking silly old man....I really wonder if he felt nostalgic having cards on his helmet again or if he didn't think about it all and was just like, "ah cards because Vegas!!!"

III. Why Does This Matter?

*The rest of the post was factual, this is moreso my personal thoughts on the symbolism of the cards/designs

This post spawned from me recently watching the 2010 Bahrain gp and noticing "hey wait a minute...are those CARDS ON THE BACK OF HIS HELMET!?" It's a really tiny detail that's unfortunately covered up by the HANS device pretty much whenever he's wearing the helmet, so it's really difficult to spot! But I became fascinated with the fact that he had cards on his helmet before that recent helmet, and now here we are!

There's something to me about how the design of the cards evolves over the course of six seasons from the cards being front and center to being smaller, more folded up and closer to the bottom of the helmet. As I said, the 2012-2013 ones genuinely made me depressed because it feels, symbolically, like his hopes for getting another Ace are becoming more and more unlikely and falling away until they eventually fall falt and fade away entirely after 2013 and disappear for basically a decade.

But when they return? They're not the same cards! Instead of representing Fernando's championships, they now represent him as a person, displaying his driver number and his persona of being a Joker!! Though I do think it's interesting he happened to keep the Ace of Hearts, even though he talked more about the Ace of Clubs before. I'm not sure it's actually this deep in reality, but I like to think that it's him not letting his championships(and the lack thereof) define him, but rather letting who he is as a person shine and be the centerpoint instead! But on a sadder note, as @suzuki-ecstar said to me, maybe the Aces aren't there anymore because he's lost all hope for a chance at a third Ace entirely :(

[thetwstwildcard]

"There is no price we won't pay...We both know what it takes to survive."

Full Name: Veil Aecor

Gender: Female (can change form if desired)

Pronouns: She/Her or They/Them (if not in female form)

Age: Unknown/Immortal

Sexuality: Demiromantic

Birthday: November 19th

Star Sign: Scorpio

Height: 193 cm (roughly 6'3)

Eye Color: One amber eye, one pale blue eye (which is blinded)

Hair Color: Dark blue that fades to lighter blue

Dominant Hand: Left

Voice Claim: Romi Park (Japanese) Liz Morey (English)

Inspiration: Scylla

Homeland: Python's Abyss

Dorm: Octavinelle

Year: 3rd

Club: Track and Field

Best Subject: Alchemy

Worst Subject: History

Favorite Food: Jellyfish

Likes: Nearly frozen water, dark water, the faint memories of her mother, seashells, poisons, "people fearing her", her personal space, staying at the bottom of the Octavinelle water and pure/innocent creatures

Dislikes: Herself, her current appearance, her father, the gods, Loxias, Acacius, Kyrios, her curses, being the lounge bartender, "persistent guppies", godly meetings, people thinking she'd be like her father, remembering her mother's death and overheating

Personality: Curt and cruel with a voice laced in venom, this demigoddess towers over her dorm mates in the lounge. She is quick to threaten to keep people away. However, her bark is worse than her bite, though if she were to actually bite it wouldn't be a pretty picture. As the daughter of the "mad God killer", most fear her and for the sake of her curses, it's for the better. She may be sarcastic and monotone, but she does care and protect those who cannot protect themselves ("what no-one did for her").

Unique Magic: Serpent's Venom: Allows her to concentrate her venom for various effects, at the weakest its a decent electric shock, and at its highest its like getting hit by lightning all while being unable to use any magic. The poison must be obtained and concentrated by her consuming poisons.

Trivia

Her father (Python) killed Loxias's mother (Kyrios's wife), and was bound to solitary confinement by his fellow gods, while in actuality he was losing his sanity from blot. Due to his deed, Veil was also cursed (to make her parents suffer) where she cannot express her emotion nor words of affection

For example: If she says she "loves" a glass, it will shatter. If she says she "loves" an article of fabric, it will burn. If she says she "loves" a person, it is like they were stung by 100 box jellyfish.

She learned the effect on people by accidently causing it to happen to her mother. This, plus the "loss" of her husband, led to her mother making herself become sea foam

The eye she is blind in is actually partial blindness, that is she can see shadows and light.

This blindness was caused by Loxias who wanted to avenge his mother and took it out on Veil. He stole his father's lightening blot and blinded the demigoddess with it, who in return used her venom for the first time and bit Loxias's arm to make him release her. He did pull away but not before Veil's venom "cost" him his arm, and he scarred half of her body.

Her curse from Acacius gave her a monstrous true merform with 6 snakes for "tails" due to Veil injuring Loxias.

While she's cold blooded, and is terrible in the cold she forces herself to stay in it.

Can take her pseudo mer form on land (basically a naga form)

Has python teeth but longer fangs to inject venom

Her father is a sea snake God/monster, and her mother was a blue glacus oceanid

Uses people's fear of her to keep them away (so the curse doesn't harm them)

The "fins" in her human form are fake (given by Nereus)

Is the bartender in Mostro Lounge and is an unemotional shoulder to cry on/listening ear

Judges Azul for the "cheap" drink mixers he buys

[lovelaurs]

HOW SWEET IT IS (TO BE LOVED BY YOU)

pairing : garroth x laurance synopsis : while training in the woods together, laurance suggests the two of them take a break and enjoy each other's company. how will they enjoy it you may ask? well... tags : pre-established relationship, not so secret relationship, dueling, romantic, kissing, making out, suggestive word count : 1k a/n : i originally misunderstood my first request, which was meant to be garrance related and NOT an x reader (my bad). so, here's the awaited original prompt that was meant to be written about in the first place! title is after the same named song by remi wolf! i could see it playing as they kissed so i just HAD to name it after it. hope you enjoy!

MASTERLIST

The sound of metal clashing was all that could be heard within the forest.

Garroth and Laurance were having their weekly training session out in the woods, a place they chose specifically for its factor of being quiet. Nobody would be able to bother them out here.

As they continued their third battle for the day, Laurance dodged attack by attack from his trusty partner, managing to outrun each strike Garroth sent him.

Of course, his luck would only run so long after so many battles today.

With Laurance dodging each of his attacks, Garroth quickly noticed his footwork getting sloppier with each blow, giving him an idea.

His plan ended up being masterful indeed, with himself dodging to the left, catching Laurance off guard and causing him to trip.

With Laurance on the ground and Garroth’s sword aimed at his throat; the duel was over.

Laurance smiled, looking up at O’Khasian. “You win again it seems.”

“Naturally.” Garroth grinned, feigning a sense of confidence as he attempted a hair flip. Laurance couldn’t help but giggle at the blonde, before a mischievous smile arrived on his lips.

“Can we take a break? I have an idea as to what we can do while we rest.”

He pulled back his sword and sheathed it, offering out his hand to Laurance. “Of course.” Garroth tilted his head in curiosity. “What do you have in mind?”

Laurance stood off his knees and took the hand Garroth had offered him, pulling himself up; allowing himself to move in closer to the blonde.

With the proximity between them closing in, Laurance whispered, “Why don’t we have some fun while we’re alone, hm?”

The suggestive tone in his voice was enough to make Garroth fluster; a light pink tinting his cheeks. He knew exactly what Laurance meant. “I-I’m not sure that would be appropriate…” He whispered, “We’re outside, Laurance. I don’t… I don’t want to get caught.” He began to nervously look around.

Laurance trailed a finger from the bottom of his neck to his chin, tilting his head up. “Are you sure? I mean, this is a very covered place… with all the shrubbery, well, I doubt we’d be seen.”

His touch sent Garroth spiraling, his eyes almost fluttering close at the feeling.

The brunette watched as the blonde’s breathing slowed, clearly calmed at Laurance’s touch, and decidedly put his other hand on his waist. 

“Well?”

Garroth drew a deep breath in, closing his eyes as he tried his best to stay composed as the other man teased him. His brain scrambled to try and think of a proper response, but alas, no solid thoughts were produced.

As the blonde was falling into the feeling, Laurance abruptly pulled his hands back and started to back away.

“But hey, if you really don’t want to, I understand-”

Within a second of Laurance trying to deescalate the situation, Garroth swooped forward, pinning the Shadow Knight against the nearest tree, his voice slightly above a whisper as he pleaded, “Please don’t stop.” 

Laurance raised an eyebrow at the request. “Wow, with the magic word and all.”

“I’ve learned from our previous encounters that you love to see me plead, Laur.” “That I do.” Laurance brought his hand around and gripped his ass, drawing a squeak out of the bulkier man.

His hand raised, wandering to the small of his back, letting his hand graze over it while giving Garroth a devious smirk. “What do you want from me, Ro’Meave? I want to hear it.”

“Everything."

That was all Laurance needed to hear before he cupped his cheek in his hand and leaned in; their lips colliding in what felt like perfect harmony.

It seemed that their more, how you say, abrupt romantic encounters were becoming ever so frequent as of late. Could it be because of Laurance’s flirtatious actions? Or perhaps how Garroth’s is so easily flustered? It’s hard to say, really. But with Laurance’s hands wandering over Garroth’s form, and his lips so passionately pressed against his, it wasn’t a hard argument to say they were completely infatuated with each other.

Garroth lowered his hands from the tree and placed them on Laurance’s hips, gripping them and pulling him closer.

Laurance pulled away with a smirk. “It seems that training riled you up, huh, Garroth?”

The blonde didn’t respond, but instead kissed him once more, shutting the brunette up. Oh how he loved doing that.

Usually, the two would fight over who would take the lead, but in this case, it seemed Laurance was fine in complying to Garroth’s overtaking presence. 

Laurance brought his other hand to his cheek as he continued to slowly rub his back as they kissed.

Garroth just couldn’t get enough.

From the way Laurance held him, to the feeling of his slightly bruised, cracked lips against him, and the way he always made sure he was okay whenever he flustered and lost his breath… he loved him.

Even if the man was quite unserious when it came to dire moments, he always made sure Garroth had a smile on his face. And after years of running and never experiencing much happiness behind his safe-guarded helmet? He needed it.

The next thing he knew, tears were running down his cheeks at the realization at just how caring Laurance really was.

Laurance pulled back at the feeling of the salt water against his hand, frowning. “What’s wrong, my love?” He wiped away the trail with his thumb. “Is everything alright?”

The blonde nodded, smiling softly at his lover. “I… I can’t believe you care for me so much.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Garroth’s grip on Laurance’s hips loosened. “It’s just that I feel unworthy of your love. That I’m not strong enough. Or- Or that I’m just not as good at showing my affection.”

“How about I show you just how worthy you are?” Laurance continued rubbing away the tears. He wanted to show Garroth all the love he deserved.

He leaned into Laurance’s touch, smiling. “I’d like that very much.”

Moments later, Garroth was on the ground with Laurance on top of him, his face in the crook of his neck planting kisses while his hands traced every curve and muscle on his body. 

Laurance pulled his face from his neck and looked Garroth in the eyes; his pupils dilated and lips puffed. “You asked me to do everything to you earlier, correct?”

"Yes…”

“Well mark my words, Garroth Ro’Meave. I’ll make sure you’ll never feel unworthy after this.”

@lovelaurs, 2024. do not repost this work in any way!

[eridianfic]

✧put me to work✧

you help Leander collect himself when he returns to the Wick after a long night of who-knows-what

Pairing: Leander x Fem!MC Length: ~3,000 words Tags: femdom, porn without plot, power dynamics, piv sex, woman on top, female mc, sub!leander, grinding, creampie, assume Leander uses magic off screen as birth control bc I didn't want to write that part, no beta a/n: written for the discord fic exchange. simple+ quick pwp:) title references this song. You can read this fic on Ao3 here

“Getting ready for bed all by yourself, beautiful?”

The words sink in the air, threadbare and weak instead of in Leander’s usual velvety voice. All the charm he can muster is in that one sentence. You know right away that it’s going to be one of those nights. One of the nights where his eyes carry that leaden, dead look to them. A night where he nearly staggers through the door to your room, more than just exhaustion draining him. A night where the only thing that can bring him back to himself - put him back together, piece by piece - is you, taking him apart first.

So you don’t ask him what happened, or how he is. There’s not much point to it. You learned that quickly after enduring a litany of excuses and subtle attempts at misdirection each time you’ve tried before. Instead, you cross over to the door frame that he leans so heavily against, hair falling across his face, and yank him forwards, shutting the door behind him and turning the lock with a click. The din of the bar below fades as it closes.

“You came to me for a reason, didn’t you?”

He nods, his breath ragged. His eyes are downcast, shadows beneath them a dark purple. He shrugs his coat onto the floor with a roll of his shoulders.

You reach up and slide your hand across the raised scar on his neck and through the soft, short hairs at the back of his head. You scratch your nails along his scalp lightly. “What do you need?” 

But your words don’t seem to reach him, and he gives no response other than shuddering slightly in your grip. You sigh in mock exasperation. “As much as we work on this, you still need a reminder, hm?”

Raising your hand a little further to tangle in the longer hair at the crown of his head, you form your hand into a fist and yank, bringing Leander stumbling to his knees before you with a groan. His hand closes around your wrist in surprise. Normally he’s a little more with it than this.

There’s always a thrill that runs through you when he’s at your feet. To have someone who is so strong and powerful beneath you, desperate for your touch. But it’s paired with concern - a care for him that he struggles to accept outside of these quiet, secretive moments you share in private. 

You loosen your grip and push his hair back from his face, hand gentle. He gazes up at you from his position kneeling on the floor, green eyes unfocused. Your other hand comes to cradle his cheek, thumb resting on the gaunt of this cheekbone. His hand still encircles your wrist, but his grasp is loose now. There’s a moment where you both breathe together, his breaths shuddering and yours controlled as you hold his head in your hands. He leans into your grasp. That feeling of his cheek against your fingertips, something you've only shared with him, still makes your heart pound and your face flush. The strands of his hair feel so silky between your fingers.

“Let’s try again,” you whisper, regarding him evenly. “What do you need?”

“…you,” he breathes, voice not much more than a sigh. There’s something still so far away in his eyes, as if unimaginable horrors are what he sees when he looks at you, rather than your searching gaze. As if he has sank to the bottom of a lake and you’re the light from the surface, a barely perceptible twinkling.

You shake your head, expression hardening. “I’m right here.” You slide your hand out of his hair and let his head slump forwards. The curtain of Leander’s hair casts a shadow over his face. His hand drops from your wrist to hang limply at his side. 

You exhale and lift your stocking-clad foot from the floor, tracing it along the inner part of his thigh. He shifts his weight, adjusting in response to your touch. You shove the ball of your foot into his leg at the knee, kicking it out further to widen his stance. 

“I'm pleased you’ve come to me. That you trust me enough to see you like this. But for me to help you, I need more.” 

There's no response from him except for the steady rise of his back as he breathes. And a rosy flush that begins to color his cheeks and creep down his neck. You press onwards, lifting your foot and placing it at the apex of his thighs. The leather of his pants is smooth beneath your sole. As you slide your foot up and down his hardening length, he groans lowly, air hissing through clenched teeth. “You want to get off just like this?” you taunt, rubbing against him. “Rutting against my foot because you’re too mindless to ask for anything more?” 

Leander exhales harshly, taking one hand and placing it behind him, sitting further back on his heels and canting his hips upwards towards you. His hips rock softly, jutting into the firm pressure that you give him. Just as he begins to gain momentum, to grind unabashedly upwards towards you, you step away, leaving his hips stuttering against the air.

Your eyes meet and there’s a glimmer of himself. A look in his eyes that you recognize, instead of the lost man who walked through your door. Not the bravado-filled leader that Eridia knows him as, no. But the flushing, eager to please man that you’re lucky to call your own. 

“C’mon, boy,” you coo, watching the hungry desperation that flits across his face. “Speak.”

Leander shudders. “Hurt me. Use me.” He swallows, collecting himself for a moment. Stills his rutting hips that grind uselessly upwards. “Put me to work. Please.”

You slide your palm against the hot surface of his flushed cheek once again and smile. “Now, was that so hard?” You push his hair out of his face again, affection zipping through you as it immediately slips forwards to cover his eyes. “Take my clothes off for me.”

You cross the room to stand beside your bed, waiting for him. He rises unsteadily from the floor, staggering to his feet as he follows. You can see the proud outline of him jutting stiffly through the material of his pants. Leander looms over you and it might be imposing if it wasn’t for the bashful pink that colors his face and the subservient way he casts his eyes to the ground. He reaches for the bottom of your sweater and lifts it up, careful not to tug as it goes over your head. His hands are so gentle. One comes to rest on the bare skin of your hip bone, as if asking for permission. You nod and he continues, bending as he unbuttons your pants and pushes them to the floor. When you shift your weight to step out of them, you can feel the slick slide, wetness already pooling in your underwear. He pauses for a moment when he’s at your feet once again, face in front of your groin. Sways towards you like he can smell your arousal. It’s clear how badly he wants you. How he wants to rip your panties off and press his face in your mound. One hand closes around your ankle in supplication. “Let me taste you,” he pants, lips pink where he’s bitten them.

“Not tonight.” You press your fingers under his chin and bring him to his feet. As you stand before him in your underwear, chill and arousal hardening your nipples, Leander watches you like a drowning man. Like standing still in obedience takes all of his control. His eyes dart over your form, flitting from your face to your breasts and the curve of your waist. “So good for me.”

A smile softens the panting line of his mouth into an arc. He drinks in the praise, eyes dark. Adorable. You pull him closer, feeling the muscles at the small of his back tense as you step into him. Standing on your tiptoes, you kiss him, his shoulders curling in as he bends to meet you. It’s a hungry, claiming thing. A kiss where your mouth slides hotly over the slick span of his lips, desperate and biting. There’s a burning emptiness within you, yearning to be filled. Your hand slides further up onto the broad stretch of his back, tongue and teeth messy and panting into his mouth. Your nails claw against his skin and he whines, pulling on your hips and pressing his groin into your waist. Taking what you’ll give him. Trailing away from his mouth, you press heated kisses into the sharp line of his jaw, following the scar as it snakes down his neck.

“Your turn.” You lift the hem of his shirt and he does the rest, undoing belts quickly with fumbling hands. The broad expanse of his chest ripples as he yanks his shirt over his head, muscles firm. He shoves his pants and underwear down, kicking off his shoes with the rest of his clothes. His gloves follow, almost as an afterthought. His cock stands stiffly against his stomach, the head red with desire, and you ache. 

“Please,” he breathes, jade-colored eyes fixed on your impassive face. “I need you, I need you so badly. Let me touch you, I’ll make you feel so good, let me, please-”

Despite the way he begs, he keeps a respectful distance, waiting for your command like a dog called to heel. “We’ll see,” you say, and you press your hand into the firm muscle of his chest, steering him backwards until the backs of his knees meet the side of the bed and shoving him down. He drinks you in as you pull off your bra and panties, tossing them to the side. There’s no question about how badly he wants you. He tosses his head back against the mattress, jaw clenched as he waits. Like looking at you is almost overwhelming. “Let me make use of you. Hands under your back.”

Leander places his hands beneath the small of his back, palms open and flat against the mattress. His cock bobs against his abs as he shifts. You crawl across the bed to hover over him and spread yourself open, sitting along the flat side of his length. You won’t let him fuck you, not yet. The skin of his thighs is soft beneath yours. His shoulders tense and he makes a choked noise as you rub against him, wetness letting you slide easily. “The way you feel, let me touch you, please, please, ngh-” You ignore him, grinding against him steadily. Your thighs ache with the stretch of spreading around the width of his legs and you hum, enjoying the feeling of him beneath you. The slick from you spreads across his throbbing cock, wet sounds from your body matching his punched-out breaths. You place your hands on the taut muscles of his pecs, nails biting into his flesh as you lean against him for leverage. The new angle allows you to rub your clit against the head of his cock, and your stomach jerks as the motion sends burning waves of pleasure through you. It’s so easy to close your eyes and use him just as you promised, to enjoy the sweet friction of him beneath you. But it’s better to watch as he struggles so valiantly to contain himself, mumbling promises. How he restricts himself because it’s what you want when he could so easily toss you down into the sheets and have his way with you. To watch how he looks at you with desperation, pleading with his eyes that you’ll have mercy and allow him to do more. If you choose to let him. 

Leander is losing himself in the sensation, hands balled in fists beneath him and eyes closed, abs twitching as each grinding slide presses against the head of his cock. “L-Let me fuck you, let me eat you out, anything, I can do it, I’ll be good for you, please, this is so much,” he gasps, senseless with desire. “You’re already good for me,” you pant. “I thought you wanted to be used?” “I-I, ngh, didn’t know what - what I was asking for,” he mutters, and you huff out a breath of laughter. He’s coming back to himself. Though he keeps his hands behind his back, he starts to roll his hips, matching your grinding rhythm. You can feel the strong flex of his thighs as he drives upwards. And the heat of it, the burning ache of it that rolls through your groin like soft flames licking against your skin, builds into a roar. Until your muscles are tense, pulled into a tight line as you chase your release, both of your hips snapping against each other. Only a few more searing rolls are enough for you to peak, shuddering against him, legs clamped around the tense muscles of his waist. You let your weight rest on the flat plane of Leander’s abs, giving yourself a moment for the fluttering sprint of your heart to calm. 

“You’re so well behaved!” you say, voice a little too fucked-out to be as sacharine as you intended. His hands are still behind his back but he’s tense, muscles in his forearms working as he struggles to hold still. A flush has spread down from his face to his chest and sweat beads at his hairline, shining faintly in the lantern light. His body shudders, hips jerking upwards in little involuntary motions.

“And you’re - you’re evil,” he states, but there’s no venom in it. “And gorgeous. Please, please, I’m going insane-” 

There’s no way you’d make him wait for too long, not when your release hasn’t touched the yearning emptiness in you. The one that aches for him to split you open and fill you. “I don’t know,” you stall, watching the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Convince me.”

“I want you, only you. There’s - there’s no one else that makes me feel like this, t-that makes me hard like this, please, from the moment I saw you, th-the way you touch me, I’m so close already, you’re so fucking-”

Your hand slides down to press against his length and he hisses, breath coming from clenched teeth. “Ngh, I- I need more, I’ve been so good, please, pleasepleaseplease-”

With that, you decide he’s earned it. Or maybe you’re just eager to feel the stretch of him pressing into you. You rise onto your knees and grasp him, pressing the head of his cock to your aching entrance. His pleas give way to a breathy whine as you slowly bottom out, stretched around his length. You take a moment to adjust, circling your hips gently. “I don’t know,” you remark, reaching down and feeling the slick place you stretch taut around him. Press delicately on your clit, so sensitive still that it almost hurts. “I’m pretty tired.”

His look of outrage is enough to make you giggle. His half-lidded eyes open wide in accusation, but you soothe him with a hand on his sternum. “Let’s flip over. I’ll give you a chance to prove your worth.”

It’s as if Leander’s been waiting for you to say the word this entire time. And maybe he has. In a blink, you’re on your back and he’s above you, a strongly muscled arm braced by the side of your head. His other hand slides up the back of your thigh, pulling your knee around his waist. He sinks into you and it feels so different when he’s the one who does it. When he’s the one pressing in so deeply that you can feel it in your stomach. It tears a shuddering moan from you, your voice trembling just like your legs that wrap around him and pull him in closer. You feel all of him as he crowds in close around you, like he can climb within you somehow, blur the borders of where you end and he begins. The fire within your skin isn’t the gentle flame from before. It’s a white hot ache, heat and pleasure blurring into one scorching sensation. As he grinds his hips so sweetly, breath soft against your skin, you know it. How badly he tries to prove that he deserves to be yours.

The composure you’ve kept this whole time is lost and your hands skip from place to place, grasping the sheets, the taut line of his snapping hips, the rigid column of his arm.

Your gasps are punched out with each searing thrust. “J-just like, like that, fuck Leander-” and he can’t reply, jaw tense as he drives into you. It’s been so much, how you’ve teased him and teased him and it’s built into a momentum that’s now unstoppable, the relentless pull of his pleasure crashing forward until he’s drunk with it, brow furrowed and mouth hanging open as his hips pound against yours. You keen, swept along with him. The way his cock strokes through you, the way his hips drag against your clit, the way his chest flexes as you lie within the cage of his arms. It doesn’t take much more for him to come. Leander’s hips stutter, rhythm faltering as he presses further, impossibly deep, the force of it grinding the material of the sheets harshly against your back. He falls to his elbows, shaking. Aftershocks spin through him, and he twitches where he’s buried deep within you, face bowed into the side of your neck. Your hand falls to his shoulder, tracing along the raised lines of the scar that crosses it. 

“The things you do to me,” he groans in your ear, still breathless from his release. “That was just what I needed.” 

Both of you gasp from the sensation of him pulling out, his release dripping onto the sheets. He flops onto his back next to you, arm slung above his head. You trail your fingers down your stomach to the place where you still burn, your own climax paused but not halted, still aching. 

“We’re not done yet,” you murmur. “You’ve gotten me all worked up again.”

He tilts his head towards you, shadows dark under his eyes. “I’ve given you everything I can muster up at the moment,” he protests. 

“You can give me more, and you will.” you say firmly, unsteadily rising back onto your knees and crawling over to him. “Don’t worry, I’m very patient. Didn’t you promise to be ever-so good for me?”

His hands come to rest on your hips once more, amused resignation curling his lips into a smirk. “At your service.”

[phantomtwitch]

For angstfest! I'm a little late, but here's one for a No One Knows AU.

They’re already moving as soon as he’s gone. 

Tucker grabs Danny’s legs while Sam picks up Danny beneath his arms and shoulders. He’s long past the point of being embarrassed about Sam being stronger than him, and they have to move fast as they drag Danny’s body into an empty classroom nearby. He mutters curses under his breath as the heavy classroom door bounces off his side, and Sam huffs and rolls her eyes. “Drama queen,” she accuses, and he sticks his tongue out at her as they carry Danny’s body the rest of the way inside and the door shuts with a too-loud slam behind them. 

But they’re not worried about the noise attracting attention. Most of the students are staying within their own classrooms, ignoring whatever odd sounds they might hear as the ghost alarm goes off in the background. The harsh, blinking lights cast odd shadows on Danny’s face, making Tucker queasy for a minute as they prop his body up against the wall below the whiteboard. 

“How long?” he asks, panting heavily and trying to catch his breath. 

“Two minutes and forty-five seconds,” she says with a grin as she sits down next to him. “Pretty sure that’s a new record.”

“Nah, we did it in two minutes and thirty-eight seconds last month, remember?” he says as he sits down beside her and starts to unpack his backpack. The defibrillator is buried at the bottom, tucked beneath his things. It’s the smallest one they could find that’s still effective, even if they’re not exactly using it for its intended purpose, and Sam carries another just in case. For a normal person, it wouldn’t be possible to restart their heart and lungs with an electric shock, despite what the movies claim, but for Danny? Electricity is the only thing that works, the only thing that will bind his spirit back to his corpse as it infuses and activates the ectoplasm flooding his blood stream. 

The Fentons could no doubt provide a scientific explanation as to why and how it works, but to Tucker, it’s an odd kind of magic, of horrifying necromancy as they forcibly, painfully force the electricity to run through him again, so similar to the accident that caused this problem in the first place. It’s only by chance that they know it works, having tried the defibrillator hanging on the lab wall in the basement after he came out of the portal and his body fell to the ground as his ghost hovered over it in shock. He didn’t give it much thought the first time. Tucker merely assumed the movies were right and that they restarted Danny’s heart. It wasn’t until later that they learned the truth. 

With practiced ease he pulls Danny’s old NASA t-shirt off, and then scowls as he notices that Danny’s wearing a new necklace with a constellation on it that Tucker probably should know the name of after being Danny’s friend for so many years but doesn’t. “Great. More stuff to take off. Wonder who gave it to him,” he grumbles, twisting it around in his fingers until he finds the clasp and removes it. He checks him over for any more metal and finds none. “How long now?” 

“Four minutes,” says Sam, and he nods. They worry one day it’ll be too long, that there will be no forcibly stitching his soul and body back together, that all will remain is a ghost and the body of a boy who’s been dead for longer than anyone knows. The longest Danny’s ever gone is thirty-three minutes, yet they were still able to bring him back that day even as it seemed to take longer than usual. But there’s no one they can ask for help or advice, no one that’s dealt with this before besides them and Jazz, and none of them trust the Fenton parents enough  to not shoot their own son in the face if they learn the truth. Because so far, at least, when Danny’s back he is alive again. He’s grown a few inches since this started a year ago. He’s been forced to get his usual haircuts, to trim his nails when they get too long. His heart beats within his chest, and he breathes and smiles and laughs like there’s nothing different, nothing wrong, and absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about him.

They shift Danny again, laying him down flat on the floor on his back as Tucker kneels down beside him and sets up the defibrillator and sticks the pads to Danny’s chest. There’s nothing they can do until he returns, so they wait, Tucker drumming his fingers against the side of his leg as Sam continues to glance at her watch every few seconds. “Did you hear that they’re remaking the first Nightmerica movie?” he asks, looking for any distraction he can. 

“Ughh, yeah,” she groans. “Which completely misses the point of why it’s so good in the first place. I don’t want a modern version with modern effects. I want cheesy 80s costumes and music and horror and the chance to cheer as stuck-up cheerleaders get murdered. I mean I guess there’s a chance they’ll keep the original charm, but I doubt it.”

“Yeah, there’s already rumors that they’re casting, like, Scarlett Johanson as Nightmerica,” adds Tucker. “Doesn’t really bode well.”

“Seriously? If she gets cast, I’m just going to nope right out, pretend it doesn’t exist, and hope everyone else does the same,” she says, and then goosebumps erupt across their skin as the temperature in the room drops precipitously as Phantom enters the classroom, phasing through the wall. 

He looks rougher than usual as ectoplasm drips from his arms and chest, deep claw marks gouging through the thin black and white hazmat suit he wears even now. His eyes are consumed with green light, his hair floating over his head and flickering like sparks, and there’s a faint hint of white beneath the dark suit, of the shape of bones even as Phantom is nothing but ectoplasm. “Rough fight?” he asks.

There’s heavy static behind each word. Talking to him like this is almost useless. They can’t understand the ghost speech, the odd echoes and noise and whirring, and trying to teach Danny sign language or morse code or any other method of communication when he’s whole again is worthless, none of the knowledge transferring to his ghostly self, the wall between his two halves too solid for even Phantom to phase through. They don’t know why Phantom is one of the only ghosts that can’t speak without the noise and distortion, that can’t make his words understood, but it’s a truth that’s held fast for as long as Danny’s been like this. 

But Tucker’s gotten better at reading his unnatural body language, the way he twists upside down and curls his tail around himself as his sharp, pointed teeth flash. “Sorry, man,” he says. “I wish you didn’t have to do this.”

They don't know why he feels compelled to fight the other ghosts. They don't even know what triggers the transformation, even as they've come to recognize the warning signs, like the odd vacant stare that sets in, the way Danny’s hackles almost seem to rise as he silently snarls. And it's not as if Danny can tell them.

Phantom whispers something in response, the words still lost in the static, and then he floats over to himself, putting a hand over his own corpse, because as hard as it is for Tucker to think of it that way, he knows, on some level, that’s what Danny's body is without Phantom. There’s no life in it, no presence, no spirit. It’s merely flesh, an empty vessel, and he shudders to think what could happen if another ghost found him like this, if he might be able to possess him somehow. 

"We're at nine minutes," says Sam, and Phantom lets out something like a sigh as he floats back into the corpse. Danny's eyes snap open, green and glowing, and they move quickly.

Unlike the one in the lab that was old and lacked the safety features of most modern AEDs, they had to make a few modifications to this one to get it to work. A modern defibrillator won't let someone shock a body with no heartbeat. Messing with the tech felt dicey, but they couldn't find any other methods to safely deliver a shock to him that wouldn't risk their own safety, too.

The pads are already placed, and he pushes the button, biting his lip as he waits. It delivers the first shock, but aside from a twitch in his shoulders and a confirmation from the AED, there's little to no sign it happened. 

A hiss of soft static, and Tucker understands the meaning despite the noise, a bitter plea for them to do it again. It takes three shocks before they see it, the strange white light around his midsection, and Tucker turns off the AED as he and Sam scramble a few steps back.

The light spreads, eventually too bright for them to bear the sight of it as little arcs of electricity dance along Danny's skin, and when it finally stops he's sitting up, staring vacantly. The daze won't last, but they take this moment to put away the defibrillator, removing the pads from his chest. Tucker puts the necklace back on, his fingers shaking as he snaps the clasp together. Much as he tries to act like this doesn’t bother him anymore, he can’t contain his relief at seeing Danny sitting up again, his chest slowly moving with each breath, his pulse steady beneath his wrist and neck. 

They've just pulled his shirt on when he blinks, and Danny looks down at his hands, wincing as he touches his chest. "I feel like I got run over by the GAV," he groans, and Tucker forces himself to chuckle.

"You might as well have. You hit the floor hard when you fainted," says Tucker. The injuries are never there, but some phantom pain always seems to remain as his ghost heals. "I'm sorry we never manage to catch you, man. I know it’s gotta hurt."

"It's fine," mumbles Danny. "How long was I out?"

"About ten minutes," says Sam. She doesn’t point out that they time this, now, down to the second. It’s not as if timing it changes anything, but it makes them feel better when they revive Danny in under twenty minutes. More than that and they start to worry. Tucker’s still not sure how Danny doesn’t have any brain damage at this point from the lack of oxygen. 

Danny hums, flexing his fingers for a minute as the ghost alarm shuts down. "I . . . Doesn't it seem like this is getting worse? I can't even remember seeing a ghost. I . . . I never can."

"You know this messes with your memory–"

"Yeah, but that makes this seem more like I'm having seizures or something, not fainting. And it's always one of you or Jazz when I wake up, which seems weird, maybe? I just  . . . Maybe we should tell my parents," he whispers, and Tucker's heart aches.

"I don't think that's a good idea–" begins Sam, but he cuts her off.

"--why not?" He looks between the two of them, scowling, his fists now clenched. "What aren't you telling me?"

He and Sam exchange a long look. It always comes to this eventually, yet despite their best efforts, it's pointless. Some part of Danny refuses to hear the truth, to acknowledge that he died or at least half-died in the portal, and within an hour he always forgets they even discussed this at all. They don't know why. They've proven over and over again that they accept him and love him despite how he’s changed. But the wall is still too solid to break through.

They should explain it to Danny again anyway. Tucker knows that. But he's so tired of repeating himself, and he knows Sam is, too. Jazz says his psyche needs more time to process and accept the truth, but it's been a year with no sign of things changing. 

Sam eventually sighs, forcing the words out. She's always been the strongest of the three of them in more ways than one. "A year ago, you had an accident. You were hurt badly, and we saved you, but–"

The door swings open suddenly, and he sees Mr. Lancer there, the relief evident on his face. "Lord of the Flies! Is everyone okay?" he asks as he takes in the sight of the three of them on the floor. At least the AED is back in Tucker's bag and out of sight, since Tucker doubts Mr. Lancer would be willing to ignore what that might signify if he saw it. 

"We're fine," says Sam. "We thought we heard the ghost and hid. I'm sorry we worried you."

"Somehow that always seems to happen with the three of you," he says with a frown, clearly questioning it, but thankfully he doesn't push it further. "But I’m glad that you’re safe, at least, and now that the ghost is gone you three need to get to class."

"Okay." They stand up, and Tucker can see the worry and distrust as Danny clenches his jaw and refuses to look at them as he heads out into the hallway. But that’s not the worst part. No, it’s knowing that by the time lunch rolls around, Danny won’t remember his suspicions or his fears. They’ll be pushed down, slowly hidden beneath the protective part of his mind that refuses to let him know the truth, and instead of questioning why he constantly faints whenever there’s a ghost, why he has strange aches and pains, and why he often sets off his parents’ equipment even when he’s human again, he’ll talk to them about the latest video games and movies and gossip and homework. 

He desperately wants his friend to know the truth. It hurts, even as he knows they’re not lying to Danny about what’s happening, that they’ve tried to explain it before. And despite how naturally taking care of his body comes to him and Sam now, despite knowing the signs that herald Phantom’s emergence, Tucker knows they can’t keep this a secret forever. Inevitably, they won’t be there one day, they’ll miss an obvious sign, or someone like Lancer will walk in a little too soon. And once they learn the truth, he and Sam and Jazz know that Danny will be taken from them as he’s locked away in a lab by the GIW or his parents and becomes some gruesome science experiment, tortured as he can’t even remember the reason why. 

More and more Tucker’s beginning to think they’re running out of time. They need to find a way. They need to get Danny to understand who and what he is so he can protect himself, because Tucker’s not sure how much longer he can keep up the lie, too. 

EDIT: I wrote a Part Two, it's here.

[suckishima]

i am once again thinking about how chapter 297 is titled Master and Student and is focused on how Kuroo has been a mentor to Tsukki in regards to his blocking skills

and then the chapter ends with tsukki acknowledging that he knows kuroo is better than him and that he never had expectations of beating him on his own

only to then perfectly transition into chapter 298 titled Guide (!!!) where yamaguchi is subbing in to serve.

(god i have so much to say about this, it was genuinely difficult not to just paste the entirety of 298 when i quoted panels)

i mean, these next two panels make me crazy. the first one (on the right) is the last panel in 297 and it's the first time we've seen yamaguchi in the whole chapter and furudate has set it up so that it's right when tsukki says that he couldn't do this alone!! and THEN the panel on the left is from the second page of 298 right after kuroo says that while tsukki may not be trying to win on his own, yamaguchi sure looks like he's determined enough to do it—and not only does tsukki agree that yamaguchi probably is thinking of taking them down with his serve, but by saying the "he's always one step ahead of me after all" line he's also admitting that this is a quality of yamaguchi's that he admires and is likely inspired by!!! and THEN in the bottom left of that panel (which is where the eye usually goes last in the way the panels are laid out) we get the chapter title drop to emphasize that yamaguchi is indeed guiding tsukki (despite the implications from the series up til now that yamaguchi is seen as being in tsukki's shadow )

the rest of 298 goes on to essentially beat us over the head with all the ways in which tsukki has come to see yamaguchi as being that guide to him. and the way furudate achieves this is so so well done

in contrast to 297, Master and Student, in 298 furudate doesn't explicitly tell us that yamaguchi is the guide—the title drop and tsukki's 'walks ahead of me line' that i just mentioned are the closest things—instead, in order to get the audience to feel (rather than just know) the importance of their development (together and as individuals), furudate shows it to us.

first, yamaguchi gets a service ace right off the bat (the first one of the match, even before kageyama got one), basically proving that he can beat all of nekoma in a way (which is a nice subtle callback to earlier scenes in the series about how serving is the only solo weapon in the game, the only time you can truly take down the other team on your own)

so this little bit is great for a few reasons, 1 it confirms that yamaguchi's hard work in extra practices/dedication to learn the serve in the first place, is still paying off, 2 it confirms that his confidence in being able to take points on his own is warranted and 3 it confirms that tsukki's confidence in yamaguchi's skill has not been misplaced.

the chapter continues by transitioning to show how yamaguchi's serve can still lead to points even when he doesn't get an ace, by showcasing his and tsukki's first perfect serve and block combo. it shows the way the two of them are wordlessly thinking in sync, how mentally connected they are,

and then it shows us how, even though they haven't practiced it directly with each other, they've both been working toward this moment for a long time (a quick panel of bokuto calling tsukki's blocks wussy, cutting to tsukki having a monster block that mirror's kuroo's from chapter 297, and then a beat later a quick panel of yamaguchi overhearing ukai say that other than an ace, a serve and block is the perfect/ideal play)

but then, for me, the real magic of this is that furudate doesn't emphasize those moments as the most meaningful ones that got them here. yes those were the moments that allowed them to consciously start practicing the physical skills that they needed to pull it off, but those panels are small and more for context, because what furudate does want to emphasize is what emotionally and mentally led them (especially tsukki) to be here. the things off the court and away from the game that still contributed here

furudate (again instead of just telling us) shows us the payoff of tsukki saying "he's always been one step ahead of me after all," shows us how tsukki came to think that in the first place. which furudate does by redrawing, recontextualizing, and reframing moments that we've already seen throughout the series, but this time framing them to clearly be from tsukishima's perspective

there's no dialogue between the two of them in the whole chapter, and no narration in these few pages, just the new redrawn panels that show how tsukki has been aware this whole time of how where yamaguchi started, how yamaguchi was the one looking up to him, and how he watched as yamaguchi passed him by.

the audience has seen these scenes before, but never from this lens—some were small, or inconsequential, or they were important but, they were one-off events—before they certainly didn't seem connected. and now, we feel the moments again as tsukki feels them, remembers them; it puts us directly into his head, and imo, it makes the ending of the chapter hit even harder

because we've just felt the triumph that tsukki and yamaguchi felt in succeeding in that play, and on the court in the story kuroo too could see tsukki enjoying himself and he (teasingly) asks him how he's been liking volleyball lately

and this is it. this is the culmination of tsukki's character arc right here.

yes, his stuff block against ushijima was the moment that hooked him, but imo this takes it even a step further. (the moment in the shiratorizawa match was about his skill—his blocking abilities, his mental resolve to track the ball, to learn, trick, and bait the setter—and allowing himself to feel pride in his hard work despite years of telling himself that hard work didn't necessitate results)

but here, now, tsukki makes a point to emphasize that it's because of everyone that he finally has fun playing volleyball. chapter 297 talked about the importance of tsukki physically learning to be a better blocker from kuroo, and 298 showed us how he was inspired by yamaguchi's dedication to better emotionally/mentally commit to the game. and both chapters come together here and circle back around to one of haikyuu's biggest themes: connection, and connection as a form of love.

if yamaguchi hadn't told tsukki he was being lame at the tokyo training camp, tsukki wouldn't have gone to ask bokuto what he liked about volleyball, he wouldn't have asked kuroo for blocking tips, he wouldn't have had the skill to stuff ushijima, or to pull of the serve and block here with yamaguchi. and he wouldn't have had the inspiration to even try to care to do any of that in the first place. because for tsukki, it was never really about the skills. it was about not understanding why he should care to learn those skills in the first place.

kuroo taught him what to do, bokuto told him how it could happen and yamaguchi showed him why it was worth striving for at all. without those friendships, without those connections, tsukishima would have never found this happiness, this self worth. he may not have been able to truly reconnect with his brother.

without everyone, he wouldn't go on to play professional volleyball for a div. 2 team.

this still volleyball. all plays are connected.

and furudate put us right into the moment to let us feel it alongside him. across the net, through the page, we connect too

[clockwork-ashes]

Of Fire and Poison - Part II

Read on Ao3

Summary: Prompted by one of Elain Archeron’s visions, the Night Court decides it’s time to remove Beron Vanserra from Autumn’s throne. Azriel must learn to tolerate being in the presence of his oldest enemy, but he comes to find that spending time with Eris is not what he expected.

Note: My first time writing a multi-chapter azris fic!!! I’m very excited about it, so thank you for reading <3

Tag list: @the-darkestminds / @secret-third-thing / @lady-of-tearshed / @jules-writes-stories /

Eris winnowed into his chambers clumsily, stumbling in an effort to maintain his balance. He reached for the uneven stone wall behind him, grounding himself to keep from falling to the carpeted floors. 

“Fuck,” he mumbled into the empty space, cringing at the way it sounded. 

Dragging his sleeve roughly across his face, Eris wiped away the trickle of blood that leaked from his nose and over his mouth. He frowned as he noticed how the scarlet stained the rich fabric, making the lovely forest green resemble a muddied brown. 

Watch how you speak to me, child.  

His father’s words had been a blade, slicing through the carefully crafted layers of restraint Eris had worked so hard to build. The weight of the night’s confrontation pressed down on him, suffocating. The taste of his own blood was sharp, and he ran his tongue over his teeth, checking to make sure they were all still there. He waited a moment, letting the emotions slip away from him like a steady rainfall. 

In a ragged breath, Eris pushed himself away from the wall. He staggered toward the fireplace, pulling his ruined jacket off, trying to ignore the way his muscles screamed in protest. He tossed it carelessly onto the armchair set by the hearth, wincing. His side ached, and the throbbing along his jaw made him think that it was sure to leave an ugly bruise.

Eris ran a hand through the curls of his hair, allowing his own magic to slowly heal the marks his father had left. He rolled up his sleeves, focusing on each of his movements. He decided that he needed a strong drink, something that would quickly temper the heat that continued to build deep within his chest. 

Before Eris had the chance to search for the bottle of cognac he usually kept in the bottom drawer of his desk, a whisper of movement had him pausing in his steps. A barely perceptible shift in the darkness had him straightening, amber eyes flicking around the dimly lit room, narrowed to predatory slits. 

The faintest of shadows in the corner of the room captured his attention. Darkness was everywhere, flickering as the flames in the fireplace danced, but there was something different about the shadow that Eris was unable to tear his gaze from. 

It seemed to ripple and move with a mind of its own. 

Eris remained still as stone, feeling as the shadows stirred behind him, their looming presence familiar. His heart stuttered in his chest, his reaction instant, almost reflexive. His hand shot out as he turned swiftly, grabbing Azriel by the throat and slamming him against the stone wall with a force that seemed to shake all the furniture in the room. 

Azriel didn’t flinch. His face was unreadable, an impassive mask that gave away nothing. Eris noticed that despite the icy facade, there was a tension in the other male’s stance, a slight wariness in his shoulders that betrayed him. 

Eris offered Azriel a wolfish smile, pressing him more roughly into the wall. The torches flared to life at his silent command, bringing vicious light into the space. “Always a pleasure, shadowsinger,” he drawled, taunting. Azriel ignored him, gaze flicking briefly to the blood that stained the white collar of his shirt. 

The other male met Eris’s eyes, his mouth turned downwards into a deep frown, just visible beneath the shadows that wrapped around him like a cloak. 

“What happened to you?” The spymaster’s voice was a haunting whisper, each word grating like the sound of dead leaves scraping along a path of stone. 

They were so close now, so impossibly close, that Eris could feel the heat of Azriel’s breath. He could even see his own flaming gaze reflected in the dark mirror of the other male’s eyes. It was an amber ring, a bright beacon as lovely as a shooting star. 

Eris was surprised that the words weren’t mocking, that there was even a hint of concern dripping from his tone. 

For a moment, everything seemed to blur. Eris’s grip on Azriel’s throat loosened, but he didn’t dare release him. Something in the air, some strange recognition, kept them both rooted in place. 

Eris didn’t answer, and Azriel didn’t make a move to break free from his grip. Instead, he stared at him with that same unreadable expression, head cocked to the side, as though he were still waiting for an honest response. 

Azriel’s eyes flickered in the dim light, the shadows clinging to him. When it became clear that he wasn’t going to say something, Eris shattered the silence. 

“I don’t take kindly to uninvited guests,” Eris’s voice held a quiet warning, the raw edge of his anger still there. “How many more times must I find you lurking in the shadows of my home?”

Azriel’s eyebrows twitched, almost imperceptibly, as though he were considering the question. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he brought up his gloved hands so they could grip the forearm Eris still had pressed against him. His wings moved, and the shadows around him seemed to shift in response. He no longer resembled a phantom, the dark peeling back to reveal the male beneath.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to notice,” Azriel replied, his gaze never leaving Eris’s. “You could say it was a theory I wanted to test.”

Eris’s heart thundered in his chest, and for a fleeting moment, he wondered how much trouble he would bring to his door if he decided to snap Azriel’s perfect neck. 

Thin shadows twisted around his wrists, as if they could track his thoughts and were ready to protect Azriel should Eris go through with his idea. He wondered how sentient the little creatures were. For a moment, all he could hear was the sound of Azriel’s heart beating steadily, unafraid.

Eris released Azriel suddenly, the movement sharp and quick. He shoved the other male back with a scowl, watching as he remained silent once more. Azriel didn’t stumble, didn’t falter, but his gaze shifted to the blood still staining Eris’s shirt.

Eris turned so that his back was to the shadowsinger, fairly confident he would stay where he was. He took a deep breath, bringinging his hand to the tender skin of his jaw, glad that the bruise no longer felt as raw. He stepped toward his desk, anger at his father still simmering beneath his skin. He yanked open the drawer with a snap, his fingers finding the bottle of cognac easily. He twisted the cap off in a practised gesture, the sharp scent of the amber alcohol hitting his nose as he took a deep drink. The burn of it spread through his chest, settling his agitation just enough for him to think clearly again. 

Eris leaned back against the desk, allowing some of the tension to leave his muscles. Instead of offering a glass to the shadowsinger, he held the bottle out towards him. Raising his brow in question, he spoke. “Did you want some?” 

Azriel’s eyes flickered briefly to the bottle, and although he took a step closer, he didn’t respond to what Eris had asked. “You didn’t send a letter,” he said.

Eris paused with the bottle nearly to his lips, amber eyes narrowing. “What?”

“The Night Court wondered,” Azriel continued, voice steady. “If you’ve reconsidered our bargain.”

Eris gave a soft laugh, the sound bitter. “The Inner Circle has kept me waiting for years.” He set the bottle down with deliberate care. “When I don’t immediately do as you’ve asked, you all seem so quick to worry.” 

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, although when he spoke again, his voice was calm, a dangerous edge to it. “You’re nothing if not quick off the mark,” Azriel said, his tone measured. “And still, you’ve remained silent. Not a word in months. You think that doesn’t raise questions?” 

Eris turned his head slightly, the hint of a mocking smile tugging at his lips. “I’ve had other matters to attend to,” he said with a wave of his hand, golden rings glittering. “It’s hard to find time to write letters.” There was no mistaking the anger in his voice, the rawness of it as it slipped free. 

“Your father,” Azriel said slowly, almost cautiously, “seems to have a way of dividing your attention. Is that why you’ve been avoiding the Night Court? Or is there something else you’re not telling me?”

Eris’s fingers tightened around the cognac bottle again, the glass smooth under his grip. His anger was still there, a fire burning beneath his skin. 

“What I do, or don’t do, isn’t your concern,” Eris said with an elegant shrug, the pain in his side a muted reminder to watch his words. “You should know that by now. And I didn’t come here for your questions, Azriel, I came here to find a little bit of quiet.”

Azriel’s gaze flickered, something darker passing through his eyes. “Then you have my apologies, Eris.” His voice remained calm, deceptively so, as he took a step closer. The shadows around them thickened, and the air seemed to hum with an unspoken tension. 

“I haven’t reconsidered the bargain,” Eris finally said, his voice much quieter, but still laced with that same mocking edge. “But I’m not a hound that responds to the Night Court’s every wish. You should know that by now.”

The spymaster studied him for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. And then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. “Then we’ll meet where it’s convenient for you,” Azriel said, his voice low, final. “The border with the Spring Court. It will be... neutral ground.”

Eris’s lips twisted into a small, hard smile. “As neutral as it gets, I suppose,” he murmured. “We’ll meet there, in a week’s time.”

Azriel took one last look at him, gaze softening for the briefest of moments as his shadows swirled around him. Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the dark, his presence slipping away like the smoke of a dying fire. 

Eris stood there for a moment longer, the weight of the conversation still heavy in the air. His hand clenched around the bottle of cognac once more, but this time, the warmth of the drink did little to ease the churning in his stomach. An uncomfortable feeling settled in his chest, and he had to stop himself from rubbing at his sore ribs. 

Eris frowned, wondering why Rhysand and Feyre would have assumed he needed to be reminded of their plans to remove his father from the Autumn Court throne. Bargains that were to be sealed in blood were not, he thought, easy to forget. 

[mxtantrights]

Bounded by blood and shadow (13)

azriel x magic!fem!reader

You’re having a nightmare. You know it’s a nightmare and yet you can’t stop it from grabbing hold of you and sinking you further into fear and despair. All you can do is watch.

Watch as Kynas sinks his sword into your brother. Behind the both of them are the bodies of everyone you’ve ever known. Cyril. The council members, the towns people, Semaj and his family. 

You try to scream but no sound comes out. Everything is silent. 

Azriel watches as you thrash around in your sleep. He was looking around the palace, trying to find anyone when he felt your fear down the bond. He raced to get to the room he placed you in. 

When he got there he saw you sleeping. He knew what it was instantly. 

He stood at the door, not wanting to crowd your space. But the more agitated you got the closer he moved.

That’s why he’s now standing over you and watching you sleep. Debating whether or not to wake you up. Some people need to ride it out for themselves, but others need to be woken up before they get into more of a fright. 

When you start screaming, like visceral blood curdling scream, is when Azriel has had enough. He grabs your shoulders and shakes you. Lightly at first. But when you don’t seem to respond and your thrashing becomes more violent he shakes you harder.

He's worried.

“Wake up!” He shouts.

-

You awaken with a gasp of air. You knock into something hard. You shut your eyes at the pain and reach up to rub the spot on your head that you hit. 

When you recognize the feeling of hands on your shoulders you open your eyes.

Azriel.

You had hit Azriel with your head. Right there in front of you his lip is bleeding. How did you end up hitting him? Why were you sleeping in the first place?

“What happened?” You ask.

“You passed out. Do you remember?” He asks you now.

You turn your head and think to yourself. Yes. You remember. Cyril and the other council members. The empty palace. Azriel telling you he’s stuck here.

You look at him again, “I remember.”

“Good. I’ve already sent a message out to the others, they’re going to meet us at the edge of the wards.” Azriel starts.

You can’t help how you focus goes from the words he’s speaking to the blood that lays vibrant on his bottom lip. You can feel it. You can feel your blood mixed with his.

Which meant he lied. He isn’t stuck here like he claims. But that doesn’t make sense does it? Why would he lie about that? 

You look up into his eyes. You haven’t heard a word he’s said past ‘wards’ and you don’t want to embarrass yourself and ask him to repeat them. 

“Did you see them?” You ask.

There is only one them you could be talking about here. And if he brought you inside the palace, and all the doors were still open, then he knows exactly who you’re talking about. 

You look away from him then, turning your head a bit to the left. So that you’re eyes can’t catch his again.

“Yes.” He says simply.

“I have to bury them, they deserve proper burials. And I have to—“ you start listing all the things you have to do.

Azriel’s grip on your shoulders goes tight. You stop talking. You hadn’t realized he was still touching you. One of his hands leaves your shoulder as it goes up to your chin.

He moves you face back forward, facing him. He lets go of you completely. 

“Take a breath. You just learned about their deaths, you need time.” He says.

You shake your head, “Time is the one thing I don’t have, Azriel.” 

He seems to go slack for some reason. It confuses you. He seems to pick up on your confusion and he smiles a bit. Sheepishly looking away from you.

“I think that’s the first time you said my name.” He speaks.

“No it’s not. In my mind I-“ You cut yourself off but you realize you’ve said enough for him to understand.

Great.

You clear your throat and rise to get out of bed. Azriel moves himself away from you, it's just a couple of inches but it’s enough. You think to yourself how you might have ruined something between the two of you.

If there is a two of you.

“I need to bury them. Today.” You say.

“Okay, I’ll help you.” He adds.

“And I need to get out of this dress.” You speak and turn your back to him.

You realize that you didn’t ask him to help you so he might just leave the room so that you can get undressed. But when you look over your shoulder you find him already there.

Gently he undoes the ties on the back of your dress until it becomes loose. You hold the front with your hands. You try not to think too much about the brush of his fingers against your back and the shivers you get in response.

-

You stick the shovel into the soil with a grunt. This is the last hole. It’s fitting the last body you will bury today is Cyril. He raised you. He told you how he wanted this to go to. Nothing fancy, no decorations. 

He said you could bring one—one single flower, and a candle to perform his last words. You don’t have a flower nearby or a candle, but you could atlas abide by his last wish.

Sadly you look down at your feet. Your hands interlocked.

“Can I use your blade?” You ask without turning to him.

You knew he had many on him. You didn’t care which one he gave to you. Any sharp object would do right now. 

A moment passes before, in your line of sight, his hand is holding out a blade. You take it into your hand, thanking him with a whisper.

You hesitate for just a second. This is really it. Your’e performing his last rites and you’ll truly never see him again. When you were younger life and death seemed so far from each other but now, as you stand upon the graves of seventeen people, life and death seem like similar things.

You press the blade down into your palm. When it cuts into the flesh, you pass the blade back to Azriel. He takes it without a word.

You hold out your palm over the soil.

“De dónde venimos y adónde regresamos.” You whisper the chant once.

You repeat it a second time with your eyes closed, the tears streaking your face. And for one last time you repeat the chant and open your eyes.

You let out a strangled breath and wipe the tears from your face. You turn to look at Azriel and see his head bowed. You watch him like that for a while. If you didn’t grow up here, and if you didn’t know everybody, you would think he belonged here just as much as you did.

He picks his head up. When his hazel eyes catches yours he takes a step back. The action just adds to your building confusion about him. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep.” he says.

You shake your head at his words, “You didn’t. It’s okay.”

“What does it mean?” He asks.

You look at the grave now. 

You know he’s asking about the words you said. What’s the harm in him knowing? It’s not like he’ll be here long. And it’s not like the council will forbid you from telling him, they’re dead.

“From which we came, and to where we return.” You answer.

He nods his head once, “It’s beautiful.” 

“Cyril wouldn’t allow a speech. He begged me a few years ago to never let it happen.” You admit.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Azriel says.

“Thank you,” you say then you take a step back, side by side with the shadow singer, “Are your friends here yet?” 

“I haven’t heard anything. We can go check.” He answers.

-

As the two of you walk in silence towards the edge of the wards you keep thinking to yourself. Why would he stay? This seems far more than finding out more information about you for Nesta. This seems like something more. 

“Thank you for helping me with the bodies.” You speak up.

“You shouldn’t have to go through that alone.” He answers.

“If my brother were here…” you trail off, you can’t say the words.

If he were here, you wouldn’t have to be. You wouldn’t have to bury Cyril and the council members. But you think it might not be his fault that he’s not here.

“Kynas, your ex husband, does he want to kill you?” Azriel asks. You shake your head, “I’m not too sure. He wants power, and he will kill to get it obviously. 

“So why not just kill you to get the throne?” He asks.

You let out a curt laugh. He was right. If Kynas was willing to kill the council members then he could easily go after you. You’d put up a fight but seeing as he’s a hundred years your senior, it wouldn’t be impossible for him to overpower you.

“Wow.” You comment.

“Apologies, I meant that—“ Azriel starts. “It’s okay Azriel I understand what you meant. I think he’s trying to assume the throne properly.”

“This is proper?” 

You sigh, “Getting rid of the council so no one can outvote him. Most likely taking me or my brother hostage so that we would trade the throne for one of your lives. As far as toppling monarchies go this is fairly smooth.” 

“I would hate to see what rough looks like.” Azriel says.

You want to laugh at that. You had seen what a rough transfer of power looked liked. It happened to your parents once. They had to abdicate the throne to a dictator. Of course they bid their time and planned well enough to take over once the dictator was killed. 

This wasn’t rough. But it also wasn’t easy.

Just as you’re about to say something a branch breaks behind the both of you. You both stop walking. You can feel the presence of someone in the woods with you and Azriel.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

After being in complete denial about the movie for the past 2 days I want to know if you happen to have nah recommendation or some good fanfics that is either based on Harry Potter or in the Harry Potter universe I’d appreciate so much. I think I’ve been scarred by this movie completely 😬

Yes. I am always happy to share uncredited works of she-who-must-not-be-named.

Amortentia by raspberrylimonade

(1/1 I 1,113 I General I Stydia)

Potions was always terrible in the week leading up to the full moon. Scott’s already heightened sense of smell was especially sensitive during this time. All the scents and fumes, on top of the typically gunky smell of the poorly ventilated dungeons, drove his nose crazy.

Today they were brewing amortentia. It was a rather difficult potion. Half the class was over-excited and making mistakes, which meant weird smells hitting his nose from all directions.

And then there was Stiles and Lydia’s potions.

shirley temple, on the rocks by orphan_account

(1/1 I 3,006 I Teen I Sterek)

“Are you sure you’re a Gryffindor?” Derek says.

“The hat did try to put me in Slytherin,” Stiles shrugs. “But I asked for Gryffindor, so," and he drains his drink, crunching on the bits of syrupy ice at the bottom.

kickstarts again by 1001cranes

(1/1 I 3,544 I Teen I Sterek)

Derek has known Stiles was his mate since Fourth Year; Stiles keeps getting lost on the way to the Common Room - these two things may very well be related.

That Witch! by sapphireginger

(1/1 I 3,580 I Teen I Hermione/Stiles)

“Are any of your books damaged?” he asked, prepared to pay to fix them if needed.

The girl quirked a brow. “Would it matter if they were?”

Stiles nodded seriously. “Absolutely. Books are knowledge. The destruction of knowledge is blasphemous in my book. Anyone who says otherwise is a bloody fool and—”

“I’m sorry,” she said between giggles. “You’re American. I wasn’t expecting you to say ‘bloody’.”

Mischief Unleashed by Artemis_Charmed for one-fandom-became-all-fandoms (Sara36913)

(1/1 I 6,241 I Teen I Sterek)

The thing was, magic was real. And the entire school was magical. Literally. The stairs moved; statues winked. There was a room that seemed to be around when you required it. So nothing should surprise him. Except. There was a large black wolf lying in a corner, under the half moon light shining through the window.

"The Enigma: Shadows of Magic" by uronthinicepal

(2/63 I 6,512 I Mature I Sterek)

When Stiles Stilinski finds himself at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he's placed in Ravenclaw. In a world where werewolves and wizards exist in the same universe. Instead of Scott navigating his own way, he is sent to Ilvermony, the school for magic in America, to assimilate into werewolf life. Stiles is magic, he is a spark. He is sent to Hogwarts to learn and for his own safety. Join Stiles on his enigmatic journey into the world of magic, where the unexpected can become the greatest hero. Oh, and Derek's here too.

Hufflepuffs Are Awesome by Thealmostrhetoricalquestion

(1/1 I 10,524 I Teen I Sterek)

"My fierce firecracker,” Stiles gasps out, between laughs, “my precious little shortfuse.”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek says, his voice muffled as he hides his face in his hands.

“Captain Aggro, defending my honour,” Stiles chokes out, heaving himself upright. “My champion of love.”

“If you don’t shut up,” Derek warns him, “this bed is going to be your only companion for the next month.”

Or the one where Derek and Stiles are in Hogwarts, and there are shenanigans.

Dead Faint by MaddieStilinski

(1/1 I 29,872 I Not Rated I Sterek)

A few things happened in very quick succession once the potion had left Stiles’ hand. Derek brought it up to his eyes to look at it, shook it a little and uncorked it.

It took Stiles a couple of delayed moments to notice two very important things. The first, being the iridescent colours that danced across the top when Derek shook the potion. The second, that the room had started to spin around him. From very far away, Stiles registered the calming potion in Derek’s hand, transparent where it should have been blue. Derek brought the potion to his lips.

‘Wait-‘ Stiles started. Then, the room still spinning, he collapsed in a dead faint.

Moonwalkers by twinklingpaopufruit

(68/68 I 531,781 I Explicit I Sterek)

Stiles had his entire Seven Years of Hogwarts all planned out:

Prank and Prank Hard. Woo Lydia Martin. Avoid detention and Potions at all cost. Have crazy fun.

Enter brooding werewolf to send this plan to the bottom of the Black Lake.

[affectionatecorpse]

Alright so I replayed Shadow of the Colossus and I'm being totally normal about Dormin /s sooo I'm gonna say my opinion on the "if they are evil or not" argument.

Now before I get into my interpretation, I just wanna say, I respect everyone's opinion on the matter. That's the point of a story, to read between the lines and come to your own conclusion, to form your own thoughts on it. However you see Dormin as a character is valid. But let's keep things nice and peaceful, yeah?

Right off the bat, I don't believe Dormin is evil. Morally gray, perhaps, but they don't really do anything significantly EVIL. The most evil thing they probably do in game is order the extermination of the Colossi, which yeah, okay, fair enough, is kinda unfair. But people seem to forget that these Colossi ARE Dormin. They are all pieces of them left behind after their downfall. By killing the Colossi, you're simply returning the fragments back to where they came from; the very person who wants them back.

We don't know why Dormin was sealed away, but a common theme in human history is fearing the things that are stronger than us. From what it seems regarding Dormin's powers in life and death, Wander is not the first person to approach them for help playing with mortality. It's very likely Dormin was sealed away because of their power, or perhaps because of a bad side effect that they probably warned about beforehand.

Which brings me onto the fact Wander suffered greatly for what he did. But Dormin DID warn him. They warned him several times in fact. He chose to do it anyway, and Dormin let him make that mistake himself. After all, mistakes are important, they help us learn. But Dormin never disrespects his decision. They're sympathetic to his motivation, whereas most entities might not care about 'just another mortal'. But Dormin very clearly shows empathy towards the predicament Wander is going through, and honours that wish through and through.

In fact, they go above and beyond for Wander's efforts. The deal was to bring Mono back to life when back at full strength. But assuming the theory that the eagle is Dormin is actually true, they also keep a close eye on Wander. They watch over him. It may also be safe to assume that Dormin is the one to bring Wander back every time he collapses, as that magic is in fact theirs, which is not something they were ever obligated to do. They could've just let him find his own way back after waking up, but he's never left out in the open for too long.

Let's not forget, they also took responsibility for Wander getting hurt in the final battle. They claimed to 'borrow' his body in order to fight a fair battle, perhaps to avoid the unfair advantage they had against a group of humans. When Wander got caught up in their resealing, they could've let him die, as they go back to their life of solitude and wait for someone else to free them again. But they don't. They spend whatever power they have left to bring Wander back, something they really didn't have to do. And that's probably why he came back a baby, because they didn't have alot of time (or power) left to heal him fully.

Which is also the case with Agro. Let's be honest here, nothing could survive that fall. Not a human, and definitely not a horse. These things get all their bones broken if you so much as look at them wrong, do we seriously thing Agro just got up and walked away after that drop? Even if there was water at the bottom, that height would destroy her, or at the very least knock her out, which would again mean she drowned. Not to mention how she got back up to the top remarkably fast despite there being no clear path. So with all that in mind, it's highly likely it was actually Dormin who helped Agro. Which again, they wouldn't be obligated to do by any means.

Dormin is by no means a golden character. But I don't think they were evil. There is so, so much to take into consideration, and so many incidents that simply could not be solved without them acting selflessly. They never even blame Wander for being sealed away again, they never get mad about it at all. Any energy that could be spent on frustration, they instead use to keep Wander, Mono and Agro alive in the end.

Though don't get me wrong, I don't think there's any villain in that story. Not Wander, not Dormin, and not Lord Emon. Each person was simply doing what they felt they had to, and unfortunately, this resulted in an unresolved yet hopeful end to the story.

TL;DR: Dormin is an incredible character to read between the lines of, but any interpretation of them is valid nonetheless.

[fever-fluff]

Home IV

Word count: 2.3k (not proof read)

Azriel doesn't know what to think of her, and can no longer hide from the past few months of his life. He begins to think his choice wasn't the right one... Warnings: mentions of past trauma, panic attack, violence...

(Updates will be slower after the next one or two. I'm back to college and that unfortunately takes up an ungodly amount of my time)

Part III , Part V

When Azriel saw that his shadows had slithered from where he'd hidden them under his wings, he felt his soul drop to the very bottoms of his feet. His curiosity about her had been so strong that he hadn't even needed to voice it and they were itching to feel and listen for anything they could glean from her body sitting an arms length from his.

He should have called them back, but no one had ever sensed them before, he'd done this countless times in the past to know that. But her lack of one sense had heightened the ones she had left. Fae were apex predators when the time came for them to be, but many relied on their sight too much, and he had exploited that weakness for Rhysand many times.

The tendrils that had reached for her hand and legs were practically nothing, and could pass for a light chill in the evening weather to anyone else. Their dark complexion barely noticeable to even him. But she'd noticed, even before they'd reached her, and he'd been ensnared in his misstep, needing to reveal his greatest asset.

But Cauldron, her easy demeanor. It was irritating him beyond all reason. She didn't even blink in the presence of them when he'd said it, even bringing up her hand almost knowing it'd follow, and said hello.

He couldn't understand why he was so frustrated as he watched her let them explore and return back to him in due time, their song to him sung softly of all they learned. Truly blind and light, so light like a feather. Swift power, like water - no, wind. Light, light as a feather-

He drowned it out with a rumble of a growl, they'd repeat themselves for eternity if he allowed.

"Is there a particular reason for you souring mood, Shadowsinger?" the mirth in her voice grated on him. "No, not particularly" "Then I'd be making quick work of changing it before Aodhan returns if I were you, he doesn't take well to unfriendly company." Why was she still smiling?

Aodhan had in fact made his return not long after. With a quick word of goodnight she had turned from the two on her mat and seemed to fall into quick slumber. Here, in a forest with an unknown male with unknown powers, who could easily overpower the much younger Aodhan beside him. Brien, who's name he'd learned earlier, had been circling above until she had turned in for the night and he shifted to a larger version of the feline Azriel had first seem him in, and curled himself round her small body.

Aodhan didn't seem inclined to follow her and Azriel found the thought of sleep unsavory. Since that night of Elain's confession, he'd found it hard to command and ended up hiding from his body's natural call to it. So the two sat, staring at the slowly dimming fire until his companion had tossed another log onto the embers.

Aodhan had returned to his jumpy nature leading Azriel to throw him a bone with a sharp deliver of out with it so he could contemplate in peace. "What's Prythian like?"

Of course, the male had rarely seen outside of the islands, never mind crossing the ocean to the west. "It depends, its split into courts, some seasonal, some, like mine, named after a time of the day. Each one holds certain deep magic which is controlled by the High Lords chosen by it." Aodhan mulled over his words and the two began sharing back and forth of the Fae that resided there and their customs, before naturally turning to the Night Court itself. At that, Azriel shared small snippets of truth in clipped words, barely painting a blurry picture for Aodhan to discern what his home was like., but it seemed that like everyone he knew and loved there, Aodhan was a busybody who didn't know when to stop pushing.

"Do you like it there?" Azriel bristled at the question, "why wouldn't I?"

"That's not an answer." Mother, he was so much worse. He shot to his feet as crossed to the opposite side of the fire, shooting "it's the only answer you're getting" over his shoulder.

Truth was, as Azriel tried to find a half decent position to rest, that he didn't have an answer. He loved his brothers, loved Feyre and Mor. He respected Nesta and Amren and Elain he- his mind didn't allow him to delve into thoughts of that. Did he like it there?

If you had asked him that question 60 years ago, his answer would be yes, he did. He had everything he needed, felt like he had a place in the world Rhys was making. He felt wanted. But with everything that had happened, he hadn't thought of what he'd wanted for so long. Rhys found Feyre, Cassian was tormented by Nesta, even Amren had hoarded a pretty male into her collection of beautiful things. Azriel had... no one.

Trying not to dwell on the thoughts, he closed his eyes in surrender to sleep, hoping it would be better than reality for a moment.

Everything was pitch black, there was no light coming from anywhere, and yet Azriel looked to his hands and could see them. But there weren't his, at least they hadn't been for centuries. They were small, red and shaking as they'd been in his youth after his half brothers' experiment. He called to his shadows but none answered in the depths of the void around him. Something else did.

He could hear them, the voices. Ones that sounded like Rhys, Cassian, his mother. But what they were saying didn't seem like them. Poor little Azriel, all alone in the world with no one on his side. The voices melted together slowly, grating on every nerve in Azriel's young body. What will you do now little Bastard? Not even Elain wants you, how could you think we'd ever wanted you? You shouldn't be here, should've stayed in the flames.

Panic squeezed Azriel's chest, locking his breath away and left him grasping at his neck, clawing as if he'd be able to breathe again if he could just rip it open.

Why do you think we sent you away? We don't want you here, there is no place for you in this world. No place for a brute who's only talent is killing and maiming on someone else's orders.

He tried to block it out, to remember his family, his true family. They wouldn't want this for him, they -

Do you truly believe that? You were just a dog leashed long enough to do the work none of us wanted to soil our hands with. What use are you now that peace overrules war? You are violence Azriel, cold violence and secrets no one needs getting out. You're a hindrance to this peace we want, you're nothing.

No, no, it wasn't true. Azriel. His family still needed him, Rhys still needed him-

Really? Then why are you here, and not with him?

Azriel couldn't breathe, Azriel and no matter how much he tore at his neck the skin just wouldn't break. Azriel He was choking, on the lost air and the words bouncing in the cold around him. Azriel Why, why was he fighting it? Azriel He was alone, why was he still tryin-

"Azriel!"

His hand shot out on instinct, pure unbridled instinct as he gripped something. Truth-teller in the other hand just as fast and pressed against something soft, breakable. Azriel couldn't see past the dots of black in his vision, couldn't hear over the roaring in his ears for precious seconds until he picked up on something muffled in it all. Something soft and firm, even - a voice.

"You're in the forest north of Indere, you're heading for Inis Gaoithe. You travel with two others, can you remember their names?" Azriel could finally look to her and the blade he pressed to her neck that had pulled a crimson bead from the flesh with the pressure he held it with. Nodding, he repeated her name and Aodhan's, slowly easing his grip on her arm and taking away the steel as his breathing evened.

She nodded back to him, slowly falling back on her knees and loosing a breath she must have been holding in fear of splitting herself anymore on the blade. The cut was shallow, and had already healed over, but the smear of red was still there and Azriel felt dread creep up his spine at how close he had been to slicing her neck in pure panic.

She stood slowly and offered him a hand, helping him from where he sat. Brien was nowhere to be found, and Aodhan slept undisturbed at the opposite side of the long dead fire. How had he not-

"He didn't hear a thing, I made sure of it." Her voice cut through his thoughts once again, and although he wanted to ask how, he just nodded and gulped down the air around him. "There's a stream not too far from us, come." She didn't wait for his reply and began walking, not looking to see him following.

The cool water pulled him out of the last dregs of shock that sat on his mind while he watched her clean the blood from her neck. She sat back, silent, and he'd cleaned his neck and hands of the sweat and dirt. "Wash your blade as well." there was no room to argue that he had already wiped it before he'd replaced into the sheath at his side. And her tone suggested he should do as she said or there'd be hel to pay.

He couldn't look at her, not with the shame that had been building in him for quite some time now, as he apologised. "Why are you apologising?"

Heat burned on the back of his neck, "I shouldn't have grabbed at you like that. I hurt you and I'm sor-"

"Stop."

She moved to his side, and turned his face towards her with a strength he didn't know she would possess. "Do not apologise for that. I put myself there knowing there could be a consequence for waking you up like that. I chose to take that risk. Do not think me a fool who doesn't know that you are capable of using instinct to ensure your survival in a time of panic." He wanted to argue, to refuse what she was saying. But wasn't it true? He was panicking, and in blind fear of himself had done what had been instilled in him as a boy - to react. It didn't make his actions right, but it didn't make them wrong either. All he could do was tear his face from her hand and stare at the water running lazily beneath him.

She was already rising to return when she spoke again. "The sun won't be up for a few more hours, I'll send Brien for you when we need to set off again." Some part of him was grateful that she had not pressed him to return with her, but it was small and he did not answer her. It seemed she didn't expect one as she was already finding her way back to their temporary camp.

He hadn't moved from the stream when the familiar came from him. Barely felt himself lift and slowly walk back with the feline slightly ahead. The words he'd heard from the voices sat heavy in his mind the entire journey that day, even Aodhan steered clear of him. They'd have half a day's travel left when they'd stop to camp the following night, and Azriel was no better than when he'd been in the morning.

The question of why had swallowed him. Why was he here? Why had everything come to this? Why wasn't he enough for Elain? Why had she put herself in danger to pull him from his own plagued mind?

Azriel was supposed to be the one with the answers, and yet they evaded him like they didn't even exist.

He had no reasoning, no logic to pull him from this. He didn't even know if he'd find them in his near future. Did he even want these answers?

She'd barely spoken a word to him after the stream, and when there was cause for conversation, it was light and brief. She didn't flit around him as if he would crack, but seemed to distance herself to give him space. He didn't know how he felt about it. He couldn't feel anything beyond the self loathing eating at him slowly. Maybe he was wrong, that he wouldn't be able to do this. He could barely hold himself together, how could he convince a world separated from his for so long to rejoin it? He should just leave at the first chance he got, forget about this whole self righteous bullshit.

But as if sensing his decision Brien had not left his side like he was to keep watch over him, like a fawn ready to dart at the first smell of danger. He walked everywhere Azriel walked, and flew so close he was sure the familiar would perch itself on his back and mooch off him the rest of the way. She was holding him to his word whether he liked it or not.

They carried on. At the first sign of the coast, Azriel wondered if he had imposed himself to imprisonment on the islands barely visible over the crashing and swelling of waves so high they looked to swallow the horizon whole.

TAGLIST @mis-lil-red , @justdreamstars , @florencemtrash

[wickedadaar]

Letter to Liana from Beck

OC to OC Letter

@apothe-cary’s Rook, Liana, and my Rook, Beck in response to their letter here: https://www.tumblr.com/apothe-cary/782606949426577409/a-moment-to-say-hello

Make sure to read theirs first!

Sent in a box, delicately assembled and sealed. When opened, there is a letter in a sealed envelope that reads:

Liana! So nice to meet you,

The Shadows absolutely adore you! (Especially Neve, but if she knew I said that, I’d be at the bottom of the Minrathous Harbor). As for the Mourn Watch, you could learn a lot more about the actual magical bits, especially Emmrich and Myrna. Emmrich loves talking about necromancy and that sort of thing. Be careful, he’s like a wind-up toy. Once you get him started, he won’t stop for a while. While I’m about as magical as a tea kettle, I do know a lot of really cool ways to reflect and negate it (some even the Templars don’t know, but you didn’t hear that from me). 

As for animals, I love them, especially cats. By the sounds of it, you probably do too. I always wanted one, but the Watchers frown on pets, especially those who can see and sense spirits. Something about them scaring the spirits? I don’t know, they explained it once, but I didn’t really listen. 

I missed the Watchers a lot when I had to leave. They might be a group of strange individuals, but they’re my family. I grew up in the Necropolis, and I didn’t really understand the world outside of it until I was forced to leave. I learned as much as I could from the Lords, especially Isabella and Taash. They were so helpful, especially Taash. They made sure I didn’t get swindled or robbed when drinking at the Hilt. I know what you mean about the Viper. If Vorgoth had hair, I’m convinced I would have caused it to go grey by now.

The scents are lovely, by the way! I’ve always liked sweet vanilla, but also the smell of books (I know that one’s kind of weird, but you don’t grow up in a Necropolis and come out completely normal.)

I’ll be sure to send you any other cool rocks I find!

Stay safe out there,

Beck

Under the letter is an assortment of rocks, each with a number. On the back of the letter is a list detailing where each rock is from in numerical order (with commentary from Beck):

Shoreline outside the Halls of Valor. Looks like it might have part of a seashell inside it?

Found this one in an abandoned ruin in Rivain. Had our appraiser look at it, and I think they said it was some kind of gem? 

Small town outside of Nevarra City. Can’t remember the name of the town for the life of me

Got this one out of a Crow’s nest on the Rivaini coast. It didn’t seem to be happy that I stole it. Damn bird followed me for three days

Traded one of the Lords' vendors for this one. I just thought it looked neat. Hope you like it too